Monday, November 05, 2007
Daily Douchebag: my dogs
DOB: October 8, 2001 and June 10, 2002, respectively
Occupation: sleeping, disrupting my sleep, eating, barking, stinking, shitting, pissing on things, eating garbage off the street, chasing sticks and squirrels, wagging tails/question marks, panting, dogging it up
Hometown: Tacoma, Washington and Howard Beach, Queens, New York, respectively
Current residence: Sugar Hill, Harlem, New York, New York
Douchebaggery: In one of his greatest masterpieces, Robert Sylvester Kelly once described how on a typical night, he "walk up out the club with a dizzy head, I got two chicks both got dizzy legs, I'm bout to double up." If you replace "walk up out the club" with "climb into bed" and "two chicks" with "two stank, disruptive canines," then you have a relatively accurate account of my typical evening's efforts at retiring. Of course I love my dogs something serious, and to the point where it may just be unhealthy. However, just because I love them and they are cute dogs doesn't mean they make it easy for me to sleep. This morning, my alarm went off and, because I was a little hung over from watching football all day yesterday, I hit snooze. The dogs, who were flanking me on the bed, decided, however that they were ready to get up. Well, not get up, but readjust themselves to establish a more comfortable position on my bed.
Caesar started wagging his tail, and since his ass was facing me and his tail might as well be another limb, it was like having a large, brushy windshield wiper going back and forth on my face. Meanwhile, Chingy! did some of his usual recalcitrant sneezing on the other side of my face, then stepped on my right tit before deciding that he was too lazy to actually climb over me to Caesar's side. So he stepped on my tit again before curling up again on my side, yawning at me and treating me to a gust of Pug morning breath (which is slightly worse than Pug any-other-time-of-the-day breath). As my buddy Rack noted yesterday, "Bless his rancid little heart." Then Caesar heard one of my neighbors locking their apartment door outside in the hall, and decided to start barking furiously to advise me that as usual, he suspects that my neighbors are up to no good. At this point, I abandoned all hope of snoozing for another blissful nine minutes and hauled my sorry ass out of bed.
Like I said, I love my dogs, but sometimes when they double up with doggity shenanigans like those described above, I am like, "You assholes are lucky I don't sell your stank asses to Cruella DeVille for use as dogskin coat raw material." When R. Kelly talks about "doubling up," he means having threesomes with a pair of drunk cousins with enviable foot massage and hair braiding skills. For me, it means being rudely awoken by two goofy, furry, stinky quadripeds. Doubling up for me is like routine, player.
Labels: Caese Doggy Dogg, CHONGAY CHONG, Daily Douchebag, doggity style, Razzification, Robert Sylvester Kelly
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