Another Cool Dog Job

So, I have discovered yet another awesome job. Of course, like Sarah (the asshole) would ever let me do something like join the Army. Because that would be awesome, and Sarah is anything but.

Torture. Pure Torture.

So, Sarah (the asshole) got a gift for Christmas: a camera. However, it's not just any camera. It's a camera that hooks onto my collar, and takes pictures every few minutes. Sarah fucking loves this thing, and I have to bear the consequences.

Like today, for instance. Sarah put the camera on me, so she could see what I did all day while she was at work. Obviously, I do shit while she is at work that I am not allowed to do while she is at home. Before the camera, I got away with all sorts of shit. Not any more. Sarah got to see me lying all over the good couch, getting it nice and furry and smelling like peachy me.

Now, this Big Brother shit would be bad enough, but Sarah has seen fit to start a fucking blog and put my antics all over the internet for the world to see. Such an asshole.

Dogs in the News: Obvious Edition

Here's a headline for you: "Your Dog May Be Smarter Than Your Kid."

No shit, Sherlock.

Dogs in the News: Burnin' Down the House Edition

You know how people are always fucking complaining about news coverage? I’ve got my own complaint over this particular article: “Dog Blamed for $10K House Fire.”

Seriously, news assholes, not cool. Did you ever stop to think about the dog in this story? Did you even consider that the owners of this particular dog might have been fucking lying to get themselves out of trouble?

I mean, look at these lines from the story: “Fire investigators in Baton Rouge say the pup was playing with a pillow a little bit too close to a space heater, and the cushion ignited. Two people were asleep in the bedroom when they woke up at 4 a.m. Thursday to find flames in the room.” That sounds fucking fishy to me. Did this reporter ever stop to think that one of the people who was asleep in the room knocked the pillow onto the space heater? Or, more likely, the humans were getting frisky and knocked a pillow onto the space heater, and were too embarrassed to say so? I’m a fucking dog and these possibilities are immediately obvious to me. And humans think they are so fucking smart...

On the plus side, this article does give me a new idea of a way to piss off Sarah.

I Am Not A Football Fan

So, Sarah (the asshole) is off to watch ND for the weekend in Pittsburgh (allowing me to stay with a friend - suhweet). This is the humiliation I must endure because of her fandom:


What an asshole.

I'm Back, Bitches!

Long time, no bark. A crap load has been going on. If, by crap load, you mean that I have been forced to deal with Sarah (the asshole) and her stupidity on a daily basis.

Today, I am just going to hit on the low lights of the last few months: Hallo-fucking-ween. Or, as Sarah insisted on calling it, "Howl-o-ween."

Here I am in a fucking chicken costume:


Who the fuck dresses a dog up as a chicken? I will tell you who: assholes. Like Sarah. I look like a tool.

Of course, Sarah, being the Supreme Queen of the Assholes, was not satisfied with dressing me up as a chicken. So she bought a SECOND Halloween costume for me:


A pumpkin? The only good thing about this outfit compared to the chicken is that it doesn't involve a hat. Of course, that small plus is outweighed by the fact that it makes my curves look less curvy, and increases the "fat ass" look that I am trying to avoid.

And seriously? Who buys her dog two Halloween costumes? I'll tell you who: a 30 year old single woman without children. What an asshole.

I'm Not a Football Fan

Sarah (the asshole) is a HUGE football fan. Unfortunately, this means that she thinks I am a football fan, too. Newsflash, asshole: I'm a dog. Why the hell would I want to watch a bunch of grown men hitting each other?

Despite my lack of desire to watch football, Sarah dragged me to Colts training camp this weekend, because Colts training camp happens to be in Terre Haute. Now, Sarah is not even a Colts fan (if she's watching football, it's Notre Dame or the Bears), but she said "in August, football is football," and so I found myself dragged off to training camp Saturday morning, when I could have been lying around at home taking a nap.


See me? I'm watching anything but that stupid football. Sarah could have at least bought me a hot dog or something, but why would she do something nice for me?

You know who else I blame for this? Peyton fucking Manning. I hate his stupid commercials. Of course, Sarah thinks he's the second funniest thing in the world (second after torturing me, which she obviously finds to be the most fucking hilarious thing in the world). Like we would go watch the stupid Colts if his ass wasn't there. God, my life sucks.

The Dangers of Sarah's Cooking

Once again, the stupidity of Sarah (the asshole) has caused me to have a horrible weekend.

This all started Friday night. Sarah decided to make herself supper. Now, Sarah may suck at 99% of life, but she does manage to cook halfway decently. Normally, this causes me to complain, because she hardly ever gives me anything that she makes. The skinny bitch eats everything herself. She must have worms or something, because I have no fucking clue how she manages to stay skinny. Meanwhile, I am forced to eat this hard-as-rocks shit dog food (if “food” is the proper term for what I have to eat).

However, something Sarah made Friday night gave her food poisoning. While normally this would make me super happy, and give me wonderful dreams about what I would do if I got to go live with some other people, this was pretty much the worst fucking timing ever. You see, on Saturday, we were supposed to go to Bark in the Park, which, from the advertisements on television, looked like a fucking awesome event, where you get to take a nice walk outside, get treats, and see lots of other dogs. But instead of getting to go to Bark in the Park, I had to sit around the house while Sarah barfed. So I can only assume that Bark in the Park was as awesome as advertised, because I didn’t get to go.

Of course, it was the first time ever I was happy that Sarah didn’t give me any of her fucking food. I hate barfing.

Do Not Take My Picture While I Sleep

OK, Sarah (the asshole) needs to have her camera taken away RIGHT NOW:

Seriously. I was taking a fucking nap in the car, and Sarah decides to take a picture of me. This is so, so wrong. There I was, minding my own business, oblivious to the world as I dreamt of locking Sarah in the crate while dangling beer and margaritas in front of the cage, and then snap! Sarah takes a picture of something that should remain out of the public eye.

This is all so very humiliating. I’m sure she has no idea how much email from sick internet perverts I will get after this is published. Actually, maybe she does. That seems very Sarah-like - post pictures of my girl parts so that internet pervs will send me indecent emails. Very sneaky, Sarah. I’m fucking on to you.

Dogs in the News: Panda Version

For the first time since it happened, today is the first time that I have been glad Sarah (the asshole) had me spayed. It all has to do with this article about a dog in China:

"Two red panda cubs abandoned at birth by their mother have found an unlikely wet nurse: a mongrel dog."

Holy shit, that's just fucked up. A dog nursing pandas? Puppy abandonment? This is just so mind bogglingly wrong. I mean, those baby pandas aren't even cute! Have you seen a puppy? All puppies are cute.

Then again, that dog is really small. Maybe it's really a cat. Cats are big enough assholes to think this sort of thing is OK.

A Tornado? Seriously?

OK, so, Sarah (the asshole) took me to Wisconsin for the 4th of July weekend, which was, obviously, awesome. Dog park, lots of people to pester for food, cats to chase up trees, and three straight days where I could avoid Sarah to my heart's content.

Unfortunately, something this awesome could not possibly last (at least, not as long as Sarah is in charge). So, today, Sarah packed up the car and we headed back to Terre Haute. Now, usually, I just pretty much sleep for the entire car ride home. I mean, what the hell does Sarah expect me to do for those five hours? Stare out the window at corn? B-O-R-I-N-G! At least if I am sleeping, I might have an interesting dream where I get to lock Sarah up in the crate at night, and I get to sleep on the comfy bed instead.

Today, though, just for shits and giggles, Sarah decided to liven up the trip home - by DRIVING THROUGH A FUCKING TORNADO. Yes. Seriously. A fucking tornado. Don't believe me? Well, like the dumbass she is, Sarah stopped (after we had driven past the thing) and took a picture:



Of course, being a dumbass, Sarah didn't realize she was driving us through a tornado until after we were past it. Because, you know, the fact that every other car was pulled over to the side of the road wasn't a clue to her. Or, you know, that funnel thing in the sky didn't give her the slightest indication that something was amiss. In case I didn't already suspect that Sarah was trying to kill me, this would confirm it.

Dogs In The News: The Not On Your Life Version

So, a crap load lot has been going on in my life lately. Don't worry, I have been giving plenty of life lessons to Sarah (the asshole). More flip flops have been chewed, shit has been shat, and I even managed to spill red Kool-Aid all over a bunch of her stuff the other day. She was pissed off! It was awesome!

Anyway, I saw this article yesterday. It's about a dog who got shot by would-be robbers at someone's house, then the dog proceeded to chase after the robbers, even though she had just been shot. And the dog lived! Now that's a pretty bad ass dog.

Of course, if Sarah thinks I'm going to take a bullet for her, she is fucking stupid. Seriously, she would be lucky if I even barked at robbers coming to the house. The last fucking thing I want is to let some guys with guns know where I am so that they can shoot me. If anything, Sarah should take a bullet for me. I mean, hello, who is the cute one here? At least I make the world a little prettier. Sarah just makes it a little assholier.

Greatest. Week. Ever.

Sarah is on vacation. I am at the kennel (aka, doggie day care EVERY DAY!). This is seriously hte greatest week ever.

The Outdoors Is a Toilet, it Doesn't Need One

So, Sarah (the asshole) has been up to her asshole antics again lately. Just this morning, she came across an invention that she seems to think would be a great improvement to the backyard:



Seriously? Because it's so fucking hard to walk the twenty feet into the house to flush it down the toilet? If Sarah wants to throw her money down the toilet, I can think of many better ways to do so. I mean, hell, I could just eat it. The money would still end up in the shitter that way, and at least I'd get the satisfaction of tearing it up first.

On the plus side, I did enjoy the part of the video where the dude stepped in the pile of dog crap. That was pretty fucking cool.

Stuck in a Chair

This is just so not cool:

Seriously, Sarah, this outdoes your normal assholishness by so much, it's like you've been taking asshole classes. I mean, really? You went and got you video camera to take a picture of me stuck instead of helping me? That was just plain wrong.

And who has lawn chairs as family room furniture? This whole problem could have been avoided had you bought real chairs, instead of these $10 Wal-Mart things. Heck, even I could get behind the purchase of a couch, even though it might mean fewer toys and less food for me. Plus, it will prevent this from happening in the future, if ever I decide to jump on the chair again.

Puppy Training Has Ended

Now, I may have had some problems with puppy training in the past, but I have to say, Sarah (the asshole) may have been on to something with it. Sure, the whole sitting and staying on command thing is degrading and crap, but getting to hang out with other dogs for an hour is pretty fucking cool.

However, last night, we had puppy training graduation. There was, of course, some humiliation to be had at puppy training:

Seriously? A fucking graduation cap? I think my look in that picture says it all.

Oh, and, of course, because I actually enjoy puppy training, Sarah has decided that I will not start intermediate level training for like a month or two. She claims it's because none of the scheduled classes work for her, but (a) I'm pretty sure she's lying to piss me off, and (b) even if she is telling the truth (unlikely), why the fuck doesn't she have her priorities straight? I should be number one. Screw her schedule, I need my weekly session of fun!

Also, Sarah is really fucking proud of me for passing puppy training:


Seriously, asshole, did you think I was going to fail the class? First, no one fails, so it wasn't even a possibility. Second, how fucking stupid do you think I am? We only learned, like, six commands, it wasn't like there was some brain surgery or something involved here. I would have been fucking pissed off at myself had I failed.

This Is My Kind of Horse

Now, I'm not terribly fond of horses, but this seems to be one I can get behind. Seriously, people "I Want Revenge" is a pretty badass name. Perhaps I can get Sarah (the asshole) to consider a name change for me.

I Do Not Need Another Nickname

So, for those who are not aware, Sarah (the asshole) got me right after a trip to New Orleans. Rather than give me a nice, normal dog name, she decided to name me "Tchoupitoulas." Yeah, it's stupid, but what can you do? Until they have name change court for dogs, I'm stuck. Plus, it's not like Sarah is going to call me by a four syllable name every time she yells at me, so I am "Choppy."

Actually, I don't really mind "Choppy," which is what everyone calls me. I mean, seriously, it sounds kind of bad ass. Like, I might take a bite out of you. Or something to do with motorcycles. Or I like to make illegal football blocks on you. Unfortunately, Sarah is not content to call me Choppy, so I get a whole host of other names.

If it's not Choppy, I get "Pork Chop" and "Chop Suey." Yes, asshole, I realize that I am fat, I don't need you to remind me with a nickname that involves food. And Chopster, which is stupid, too, but at least it doesn't imply that I eat a lot (even if that is the case).

This morning, though, the asshole came up with a new one: Sir Shits-A-Lot. Seriously??? Seriously???? Seriously?????

First, asshole, I'm a chick, not a mans. If anything, it should be Lady Shits-A-Lot.

Second, just because I took two craps in the house this morning (and one outside) does not mean that I deserve this nickname. I mean, seriously, it was raining and craptastic outside this morning. Where the hell was I supposed to go? And it's not like three times is excessive, I'm sure Sarah goes at least that many times a day (she certainly spends enough time in there to poop three times).

On the plus side, I took two craps in the house, which really pissed Sarah off. It might be worth the nickname if I don't have to go outside to do my business.

Monday Does Not Suck For Me

You know what sort of weekends that I hate? The ones where Sarah (the asshole) doesn't leave Terre Haute. I mean, there are a couple good things about staying in Terre Haute (I go to the pet store, I don't have to hold it for hours on end while we are driving), but it pretty much sucks.

This weekend sucked even more than usual, because Sarah spent most of the weekend at home doing home improvement projects, and we didn't even get close to the pet store. For me, this means lots of time in the fucking crate. Sarah claims it's because she doesn't want me to get hurt while she does stuff, but I know better. She just doesn't want anything to do with me (I can't stress this enough: she is an asshole).

Eventually, after what seemed like eons in the crate, Sarah let me outside to see what she had been doing:

Turns out, the asshole had been tearing up the astroturf on her front porch. She seems to think it screamed "old people live here," but I was definitely in the "it's like bringing the toilet up to the porch" camp. Of course, it goes without saying that I lost this argument, and the astroturf came up (but not before I got one last urination out on the stuff).

I Want to Fly!

Oh, SHIT YEAH:



An airline that flies pets? Consider me a fan. They even have a website. I mean, seriously, riding in a plane would be like the coolest fucking car ride ever.

Sadly, they don't fly out of Indy, which is super close to Terre Haute, but it would be totally worth it to go to Chicago if I got to take a plane ride to Cali. I mean, helloooo, with these good looks, I was born to be in pictures. I bet I would step off of the plane and some producer would point at me and say "Dah-ling, you would be perfect for the lead in my next movie!"

Of course, like Sarah (the asshole) would ever spring for tickets on a pet airline. I'm sure she would be perfectly fine with having me ride in the cargo hold like a piece of luggage. In fact, I bet she will someday take me on a plane ride just so she can make me ride in the cargo hold. She is that much of an asshole.

Dogs in the News: East St. Louis Version

How come I can't be so lucky as to be a dog nearly repossessed for non-payment?

Oh, that's right. I didn't cost $5,000, like the dog in this story. I'm all paid up. Seriously, people, $5,000? That's a lot of fucking squeaky toys. Next time, go to this place called the pound. Look at the cute sort of dogs who come from there:


P.S. - East St. Louis, if you end up having the dog repossessed, I'll help you come up with a trumped up charge against Sarah (the asshole) and you can come get me to work for you. As previously chronicled, I would love to be a bad ass mo fo police dog.

Back to My Craptastic Life

Sarah (the asshole) has returned from her trip to Notre Dame, and, unsurprisingly, my life has returned to craptastic-ness.

While Sarah was gone, I managed to get the carpet in the back room looking much better - lots of muddy paw prints, chewed up sticks ground into the carpet, etc. Definitely an improvement over its formerly cleanly state. However, it only took Sarah about ten seconds after getting home to pull out the vacuum cleaner and start vacuuming. Even worse, once she was done with that, she got out the steam cleaner and ran that. Seriously, asshole, do you know how long it takes me to get the carpet in that sort of order? It's going to take hours of backyard digging in the mud and searching for sticks to get it back in shape. I have better things to do with my life, especially because I'm pretty sure Sarah has a new pair of shoes somewhere that I have not even gotten close to.

But then, in a horrible turn of events, she took me to the vet AGAIN. How many fucking times a month do I need to go to the vet? It's not like I'm sick or anything. And, of course after getting a shot (probably done solely to piss me off, because I've already had about a million shots and I'm only four and a half months old), the vet went in with his shit scooper to get a sample. Seriously, what does he think he's going to find up there? It's not like I recently started shitting diamonds.

And you know what else? Puppy training is canceled tonight, so I don't even get that one small pleasure out of life. I'm sure Sarah is highly fucking amused by how craptastic my life is right now. Asshole.

The Greatest Day EVER!

Oh man, for a week that started out so craptastic, it has turned into a GREAT week. First, I destroyed the flip flops. Then, I managed to find Sarah's iPod earphones and destroy those. Last night, while Sarah was watching television, I snuck into the kitchen and found some hamburger buns she had on the counter and tore those apart, too!

But then, this morning, I found out something so fucking awesome, I still am almost in disbelief that it is actually happening. You see, Sarah had those hamburger buns because she is going up to the Notre Dame spring football game. I sort of assumed that she was taking me with her (because, obviously, hanging out with tens of thousands of drunk assholes is my idea of a good time...not!), but it turns out, I GET TO STAY HOME!

Greatest. Day. Ever.

That's right, for the entire weekend, I will be free of that asshole, able to run around and break rules that the people who are taking care of me don't even know exist! It's like God has finally decided to throw me a bone. You should see the list of plans I have for the weekend: chew up as many pairs of shoes as possible, jump on the couch, dig holes in the backyard, refuse to follow commands. It's going to be unbelievably awesome!


So, so happy.

Dogs in the News: Russian Subway Edition

I saw Sarah (the asshole) looking at an article on Russian stray dogs this morning. I have to say, the article was pretty fucking cool. For example, it contained this picture:

If that's the way things are in Russia, that's awesome. Person on floor, dog on bench. The way things ought to be, if you ask me. Not like Sarah ever would care about my thoughts and desires, but a bitch can hope.

Also, there was some dog porn video at the end. For free! That's worth a trip to the website alone. It's a little bit short, but if you like small dog on big dog action (SDOBD, for those who prefer its acronym), it should float your boat.

Unfortunately, not everything about this article was good, as it seems to have given Sarah the idea that she should take me on the el next time we are in Chicago. Newsflash, asshole: I don't do public transportation. While I may complain about your piece of shit car on a regular basis, it is infinitely better than public transportation. Seriously, have you seen some of the people on there? I could get fleas just by sitting on some of those seats. And do you really want to deal with a flea-ridden dog? I highly doubt it. So, asshole, just try to make me ride the el. You will only try it once.

Success!!!

So, I started feeling better sometime yesterday afternoon. It's a good thing, too, because Sarah (the asshole) got home from work and left her flip-flops lying around in the front hall, and then she went upstairs to do God knows what (though, if I had to guess, whatever she was doing probably had something to do with making my life as miserable as possible). Having the perfect opportunity to complete my previously plotted destruction of the flip-flops/dog toys, I took full advantage:

As you can see, the front, toe separator is no longer attached to the rest of the flip-flop. As I bit off the connector, it can't be reattached. Success!!!

Deviously, I only went after one. This doubly pisses off Sarah, because she's cheap and hates to get rid of something perfectly useful, which the non-destroyed flip-flop still is. So, so satisfying.

To end, I will quote that lyrical poet, Ice Cube: "I can't believe - today was a good day."

I Feel Like Crap

Oh. My. God.

I don't know what I ate yesterday that made me feel like this, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't the giant ham bone. Or the dirt. Or the cat feces. Or the stinky fountain water. Those things were all pretty sweet tasting. I'm guessing it was my nasty dog food. That stuff is crap.

Anyway, I was up all night with what can best be described as "projectile poop" (I would call it shit, but I like the alliteration). Nice and liquid-y, it got EVERYWHERE.

Unfortunately, despite the somewhat cool nature of the problem, I still kind of want to die, I feel so gross. Sarah (the asshole) took me for a walk this morning, and I didn't even have the energy to act up. Much.

Actually, the only thing that is making me feel slightly better is watching Sarah have to clean up the projectile poop. That's actually pretty fucking cool. Also, I kept her up all night howling and crying every time I went, so even though I didn't get any sleep, she didn't either. That's the way things should be.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I see a wall that doesn't appear to have any poo on it. I think I can remedy that situation.

Another Holiday, Another Outfit

Oh, Jesus, look at what things have come to here:


That's right, Easter has now devolved into people dressing up dogs in bunny ears. Somehow, I don't think this is what You had in mind back when You did that whole rising from the dead thing.

So fucking humiliating (yeah, that's right, I even swear when it comes to Easter. I'll give you one guess as to what I won't be giving up for Lent any fucking time soon).


Happy Easter. And be thankful you aren't me.

Dogs and Umbrellas Are a Poor Combination

I saw Sarah (the asshole) eying this the other day:


Oh no. Oh HELLS no.

You know, here I thought the fucking rain coat was bad. Leave it to Sarah to find something even worse than a dog rain coat to humiliate me with. Seriously? A dog umbrella? With a matching one for you?

Do you know what Sarah's reaction to this was? "I wish it came in pink, because then it would match my rain coat!"

Someone, please put me out of my misery.

On the plus side, it could be worse:

Sarah could carry me around in a sack around her neck. This may be the first time I'm happy that I'm a wee bit big boned.

Be Careful What You Wish For

I thought I had that whole collar thing licked. I was wrong, oh so wrong:

Do not adjust your computer screen. That is, indeed, a pink collar with little flowers on it. I didn't think it could get worse than the pink collar with fake diamond studs, but leave it to Sarah (the asshole) to find something even worse than that to wear.

The worst part? Sarah seems to have wised up since I destroyed my last collar, and now she won't put me in the crate with my collar on (note for the record that Sarah did not do this because she was worried about my safety and the warning on the crate not to put me in there with a collar on. Nope, this is solely a financial decision for her - she doesn't want to keep buying me collars). Of course, she leaves me in the crate for eight hours a day, so I have plenty of fucking time to come up with a way to destroy this new monstrosity of a collar. It's only a matter of time...

I Do Not Need a Collar

Haha! I have succeeded in one of my recent goals:

Destruction of my collar! Sarah (the asshole) seems to think that it's a good idea to make me wear a fucking collar all the time. You know what I think about my collar? It's a way to humiliate me and keep me subservient to her stupid ideas of what I should do with my life. Asshole!

But the other day, Sarah put me in the crate with my collar on (this, despite the warning on the crate not to put me in there with a collar on. Asshole! Do you want me to get it caught on the side of the crate and strangle and die? Actually, you probably do want me to strangle and die. Super asshole!). So you know what I did? I wiggled out of that sucker, and then chewed it up!

Seriously, what did Sarah expect me to do? Just wear the fucking thing? Without attempting to destroy it? The thing was pink with diamond studs. There was no way I was going to wear that thing a second longer than I had to. Asshole.

That's Not a Shoe, It's a Toy

Sarah (the asshole) is always throwing a fit when I grab the best toy in the house:


You know what I have to say about this? If it's made out of colorful plastic rubbery crap, it's not a shoe, it's a dog toy.

Normally, Sarah wears stiletto heels wherever she goes. And I mean everywhere. She has climbed a rock wall in them and pitched a tent on a camping trip in them. Yes, a fucking tent. In heels. I can't believe this is who I have to put up with on a daily basis.

That said, I have no trouble with high heels. Those are real shoes, unlike those flip-flops. But here's the problem - Sarah never takes me out for walks in heels. Nope, I only get to go on walks with her while she wears these disgusting dog toys on her feet. Something about me not walking well enough on a leash yet to take me on a walk and risk having her fall on her ass while she is in her heels (Haha! That would be hilarious! It might be worth walking better on the leash solely to act up the moment Sarah decides to walk me in her heels). So, I have to walk next to her while she looks like a dumbass in her dog toy flip-flops.

God, I have to get my teeth on those again. They need to be destroyed.

I Hate April Fools Day

So, I saw this over at the blog of Martha Stewart's asshole dogs yesterday:

My immediate thought was that I had been pulled in by a stupid April Fools Day joke. I mean, seriously, who has a Faberge statue of their dog?

Evidently, Martha Stewart.

Seriously, this was not an April Fools Day joke. I mean, I should have known from the first moment I saw the post, because (a) those smug little bastard dogs could not have come up with something so subtle and crafty for a joke, and (b) Martha Stewart has no sense of humor.

So, boys and girls, Martha Stewart owns a Faberge statue of one of her dogs. It's not a good fucking thing.

I hate April Fools Day.

P.S. - I am totally obsessed with that stupid website of Martha Stewart's dogs. I hate those smug little bastards, and not just because they're smug little bastards. I also hate them because they're lucky bastards who get to live at Martha Stewart's house, where I'm sure there are no assholes like Sarah around to pester them all the time. And they're loaded. I mean, for Chrissakes, their owner went to jail for like a year, and they managed to get by just fine. If Sarah went to jail, I would be up shit creek, because the stupid cupboard where she keeps my food and treats is locked up tight, and there isn't anyone else around to open it up (stupid Sarah and her lack of a mans).

Also, Sarah seems to love Martha Stewart, so that's enough reason to hate her and anything involved with her.

Evidence of Sarah's Stupidity

On our trip to Chicago this weekend, Sarah (the asshole) managed to out-dumbass even herself. And let me tell you, I know from personal experience that out-dumbassing Sarah is a tough task. She's probably the only person who could actually do it.

On Friday, after leaving me in my kennel for at least three fucking hours (thanks, asshole, I really wanted to sit in the kennel after sitting in the car for three and half hours), Sarah finally decided that maybe she should come home from the bar and let me out of the kennel so I wouldn't have to piss on myself. We were staying at her brother and sister-in-law's townhouse, and Sarah got the code to get into their garage before she left the bar. So, Sarah manages not to forget that number in between the bar and their house (which is somewhat shocking to me), and gets into the house and lets me out.

At which point, the house alarm goes off.

Now, I have to admit, I kind of lost my cool at this point, and ran out the open garage door toward the busy street next to the house (in retrospect, I should have stayed there and made fun of Sarah). But seriously, that thing was fucking loud! I have sensitive ears. There was no way I was going to stay in that house a second longer than I had to. After a few minutes (and two frantic text messages to her sister-in-law), Sarah managed to turn the thing off. So, all was happy and good, right?

Not a fucking chance. Because this is when the CPD shows up. Yes, the police. I'm still running around outside (without my leash - score!), and Sarah is still feeling the effects of three and a half hours of bar time. She drunkenly attempted to explain the situation to the CPD, while I ran around, hoping that maybe (a) Sarah would get arrested for burglary for breaking into the apartment and I would be adopted by the CPD and become a bad ass mo fo police dog, or (b) Sarah would get arrested for public intoxication and I would be adopted by the CPD and become a bad ass mo fo police dog, or (c) Sarah would get arrested for not having me on a leash and I would be adopted by the CPD and become a bad ass mo fo police dog.

But noooo, instead, the police officers start joking around with Sarah about what happened (stupid skinny bitch, soon you're going to be too old and busted to flirt your way out of trouble). And to add insult to injury, she asks if either of them saw me go potty. And one of the officers tells her that he did, indeed, see me do a number two. Seriously? A number two? Are we in kindergarten here, assholes? And why the fuck are you watching me go to the bathroom? That's sick and twisted right there.

Anyway, Sarah didn't get in trouble, I was not adopted by the CPD and did not become a bad ass mo fo police dog, and I was humiliated. I'm sure Sarah was real fucking proud of the evening.

Oh. My. God.

Wrong. Just fucking wrong.

Snow?! In April?!

Hey Mother Nature, I have something to tell you: Fuck you!


Seriously, Mother Nature, it's almost April, yet you saw fit to dump several inches of snow on me yesterday? Not fucking cool. So not fucking cool I refused to even look at the camera for a picture yesterday on my morning walk.

However, Mother Nature is not entirely to blame for this one. Unsurprisingly, most of the blame for this latest terrible incident in my life falls squarely on the shoulders of Sarah (the asshole). See, instead of staying home in Terre Haute, where the tulips are blooming and the weather is decent, Sarah decided I needed to join her in a trip to Chicago for the weekend to visit her siblings. Did it snow in Terre Haute? Of course not. Next time, I am staying home.

Do Not Leave Me In Here Again

Oh, Bitch, it is on!


Seriously. I can handle being in the crate all day, because God knows that if Sarah was at home all day, she would drive me fucking nuts, and I would probably have to kill myself just to get a little peace and quiet (daily watchings of The Price Is Right? I swear, there is hell on Earth, and it starts with whatever Sarah decides to watch on television. Have you ever watched Maury? I have, because Sarah TiVos it every single day. I get stupider just by being in the room when that shit is on).

But last night, Sarah decided that I should spend two extra hours of my day in the crate, because she wanted to go out to a birthday party. The worst part was, she came home to let me out, then she took me for a walk, and then she put me right back in the crate! That sort of shit? Not fucking cool. I haven't thought of my revenge yet, but when it happens, it will be quality revenge. Because it is so on, Sarah. It is so on.

The Vet Can Suck It

OK, veterinarians of the world, what is up with your obsession with my ass?


Seriously, every time I go to visit you, you're sticking something else up there. First, it was the whole spaying thing. I realize that this is not exactly my ass, but it may as well be. Then, it was the thermometer. Wholly unnecessary. This time, it was the collection of fecal matter (right, fecal matter. Let's cut the crap and call it what it is. The shit scooper). I can't even imagine what it will be next time, nor do I want to imagine.

Vets are assholes.

What I Could Have Had In Life

It turns out that Sarah (the asshole) used to live in Wisconsin. So, this last weekend, Sarah took me up there to visit her parents, which is why I couldn't post anything for your reading pleasure for the last few days. Here's what I learned while there:

1. Cats are assholes. This is a picture of one mere seconds before it smacked me.

I hate cats. Almost as much as I hate Sarah.

2. Wisconsin is freaking awesome. So, of course, Sarah moved away. Probably with the thought that she was going to get a dog and then torture it with weekends in Wisconsin. And I'm the one who has to suffer.

3. Baths suck:

Newsflash, Sarah - I sat in that mud puddle because I LIKE being muddy. I did not need a bath, nor did I want one. And you know what I wanted even less than a bath? Having my picture taken while getting a bath. That was a true asshole move right there. I mean, seriously, Asshole Hall of Fame quality right there. You must be real fucking proud.

I Do Not Need a Seat Belt

Oh, dear Lord, what fresh hell is this?


A dog seat belt? Seriously? I just don't have words. OK, maybe I do have a few words.

First, I can see that this could be a good idea, given Sarah's less-than-stellar driving record. But did you see how stupid I look in this? If I ever find out who invented the doggie seat belt, he's definitely going to be the subject of "People Who Should Have Their Balls Cut Off." Frankly, I'll take my chances with Sarah's driving if I can do it while looking cute. Instead, I have to wear this seat belt while in the car, and I look like an asshole.

Second . . . there is no second. A doggie seat belt is just a stupid fucking idea. I'm sure Sarah, dense though she can be, got the point when I wiggled out of the thing. Twice. At least if I die because I am not in the thing, I'll leave a cute corpse, and Sarah might actually appreciate me for all the joy I give her.

Oh, and P.S. - Before someone gets his or her panties all up the asshole, because I'm in the front seat and could get hurt/killed by an air bag, let me remind you that Sarah, asshole that she is, drives a piece of shit car. The thing is most definitely NOT equipped with something so fancy as passenger air bags.

I Deserve a Better Car

I swear, Sarah (the asshole), is trying to kill me. Don't believe me? Look at the piece of shit car she drives me around in:


Yeah, that's right, she drives a car with a front bumper that hangs off. As if being a lawyer who drives a Saturn isn't bad enough, the damn car is hardly road worthy. You'd think that a lawyer would drive a Beamer or a Benz, but not Sarah. Nope, for her, it's a Saturn with 115,000 miles on it. And she seems to have zero desire to replace the thing, either, which forces me to be seen all over town in some broke ass piece of shit car. Oh, I'm sure it was a great car five years ago, but that was five years ago. Things change - just look at Sarah's gray hair. That wasn't there five years ago, I'm sure.

Oh, and in case just being in a car that is in danger of falling apart just by being driven, let me tell you how Sarah did this to her car: she hit one of those cement pylons when she was parking it. I shit you not, she can't even avoid objects that aren't moving. This isn't even the first stationary object that she has hit. I've seen her driving record, and I know all about that brand new parked car that she backed into and totaled. Smooth move, ex-lax. I'm pretty sure that my death will be coming in some horrible accident, most likely involving Sarah hitting a curb or something otherwise completely innocuous.

I hate my life.

OK, I May Have Judged Puppy Training Too Quickly

So, a bitch should be able to admit when she's wrong (that's attractive to men, right? Not that it will do my spayed ass any good, but whatever). Puppy training class is AWESOME!

Today, we spent like half of the class just playing! I got to take out my aggression on other puppies, who don't give a crap when I bite them, unlike Sarah (the asshole), who screams ouch at me the second my teeth touch her skin. I know it doesn't hurt that much, but you wouldn't fucking know it from the sound that comes out of her mouth! You'd think someone up and died, the sound that she makes.

And, because I'm like twice the size of the other dogs, I totally kick their asses when we play! It's great! I totally showed that schnauzer what's what. And what's what is moi.

OK, sure, there was some demeaning sitting and walking like a prissy girl on the leash, but whatever. It was still pretty fucking awesome, because that shit only took like ten minutes.

But here's the thing - I only get to go to puppy training once a week. I could totally do this every night, but there's no way Sarah's cheap ass pays for that. So, I'm stuck doing stupid training with Sarah six nights a week, which sucks. I should have known she wouldn't have done anything cool.

St. Patrick's Day Is Just Another Day of Humiliation in My Life

I fucking hate St. Patrick's Day. Look what Sarah is making me wear:

In case you can't read it, that's a t-shirt that says "Sniff My Butt, I'm Irish." This is so wrong on so many levels, I can hardly even begin to get my mind around it.

First, I can tell by the fact that she took my picture that Sarah thinks this shirt is pretty fucking clever. I've got news for you, asshole. It's not.

Second, I DO NOT want random dogs or people or whatever sniffing my butt. I'm a discerning individual, not just everyone gets to sniff my butt. Unlike your 30 year old ass, I'm still young and attractive. I may not be as skinny as you (Bitch!), but I have youth and energy on my side.

Third, I am most def-uck-inetly NOT Irish. You've seen my picture. I may be a Mon Grel, but my ancestry is clearly Teutonic. Do you see me eating potatoes and dancing a jig? I don't think so, asshole.

And you know what the worst part of this is? It's puppy training day, so I have to wear this fucking t-shirt in public, with other dogs. If she makes me watch The Boondock Saints when we get home from training, I'm totally going to eat a pair of her shoes.

I Need a Weekend Break, Too!

You will never guess what crap Sarah (the asshole) made me do this weekend:

See that? That's Sarah deciding that I am the "outdoorsy" type of dog. I have no idea where she got the idea that I would want to go on a two mile hike on a Saturday morning at the butt crack of dawn, but she did. And so, I found myself traipsing through woods and a creek, like Bear Grylls with fur. Hell, because Sarah seems to have chick wood for taking my picture, I even had my own camera crew.

The least she could have done, having made me go on this stupid fucking hike was let me do it without the leash. But Noooo, the rules say dogs have to be on a leash, so for those entire two miles, I have to act like her bitch, and walk next to her. What the hell kind of good is being a lawyer if you can't find a way around a leash law?

Anyway, I did show her who was boss, because I made her take me around the cave that you're supposed to crawl through. Seriously, bats are fucking creepy, with their dog-like faces and the whole flying mammal thing. Also, I totally refused to sit still for a picture in front of a waterfall. The closest picture Sarah got was this:

That's right, I showed her my ass as I went back up the stairs to the car. Seriously, two miles? I have better things to do with my weekend.

I Need My Evening Walk

The other night, Sarah was being a lazy ass, and didn't walk me after work, because (a) it was like 28 degrees outside, and (b) her beloved Notre Dame Fighting Irish were on television in the Big East tournament.

These are definitely not excuses to keep me from going on my evening walk. First, the cold is no fucking excuse for Sarah to stay inside. She's from Wisconsin, for chrissakes, and Wisconsin may as well be Canada as far as cold is concerned. Second, she was fucking delusional if she thought ND was going to win that game. The Irish were down like 17-2 after three minutes. That's not basketball, that's a blowout. But noooo, someone kept watching that debacle and made me go out in the backyard during the commercial breaks, instead of taking me for our evening walk. Asshole!

So, you know what I did? I didn't get mad at that asshole, I got even. I had four "accidents" over the course of the evening, even though I am fully capable of getting my big boned ass outside to take a shit or a piss. After two accident-free days, I'm pretty sure that Sarah got the message that I need my evening walk.

I'm a Mon Grel

When Sarah (the Asshole) takes me out for a walk or to the pet store or whatever, people are always asking her what kind of dog I am. Like the asshole that she is, Sarah always says, "Oh, she's just a mutt."

First, asshole, I am not "just" anything. I am 15 pounds of awesomeness and cuteness, and there is no need for any sort of qualifier on that.

Second, and more importantly, the correct term for my breed is not mutt, it's Mon Grel. Calling me a mutt just makes me sound like a bitch who doesn't aspire to something better out of life. And here's a newsflash for you, Sarah. You're a mutt, too. You just call yourself an American to make it sound better. If you're going to come up with a flowery lie about your own ancestry and blow smoke up your own asshole, the least you can do is grant me the same chance.

Got it? Next time, Mon Grel. I'll be listening.

I'm Not Going Out in the Rain

Do you see what she is making me wear now? It's a fucking rain coat.

I have news for you, asshole. I don't need a rain coat. And do you know why? It's not because I'm a dog, it's because there is no fucking way I am going outside while it's raining. I don't see your pansy ass going outside while it's raining. I am perfectly happy to piss and shit in the house until it stops raining, thank you very much.

People Who Should Have Their Balls Cut Off: Bob Barker Edition

Welcome to a regular feature here at Choppy's Dog House, called "People Who Should Have Their Balls Cut Off." It turns out, Sarah isn't the only asshole out there. Today, for the inaugural edition, I will appropriately look at a man who has caused many balls to be cut off, Bob Barker.

Bob Barker, you should have your balls cut off.

Bob, let me tell you a story about a dog. To protect the innocent (and adorable), let's call her "Shoppy." Now, Shoppy used to have a uterus and ovaries. But, about 10 days ago, a certain asshole named Sarah (I'm not protecting her. She's definitely not fucking innocent on this one) decided that Shoppy wasn't using those ovaries and that uterus, and had someone cut Shoppy open and pull out her reproductive organs. ASSHOLE! Just because Shoppy was not using them right now doesn't mean that she wasn't going to use them in the future! Think of all the fucking cute puppies that could be populating the future. But Nooo. Someone had to go and have Shoppy spayed.

Now, as big an asshole Sarah is for having had Shoppy spayed, it turns out that there is another asshole that spent years and years of his life encouraging people all over the United States to spay and neuter their dogs. The name of this asshole? Bob Barker.

It's bad enough that Sarah had me . . . I mean, Shoppy . . . spayed, but this man, this Bob Barker asshole, he is single-handedly responsible for the spaying and neutering of thousands and thousands of otherwise virile dogs. This is serious asshole behavior. And I've sniffed a lot of assholes in my life, so I know what I'm talking about here.

Of course, because he also encouraged people to spay and neuter their cats, he's still less of an asshole than Sarah, who Bob has a message for in Number Three here:

I Hate Puppy Training Class

So, Sarah seems to have decided that my charms could use some refining. Evidently, her idea of charm and refinement requires me to demean myself by doing things like sitting on command. How this makes me more charming I have no fucking clue. If you ask me (which Sarah obviously didn't), it makes me someone's bitch, and not just in the female dog sense.

However, as you can see from this picture, Sarah seems to think that this is all quite fun and cute, and made me sit there while she took my picture. Asshole.

The worst part about puppy training class is that there are a bunch of other asshole dogs there. Sarah seriously couldn't spring for the private lessons? She's a fucking lawyer, and I know that lawyers make serious bank. The least she could do if she is going to demean me through these lessons is to keep them private, but Nooooo. Instead of getting me private lessons, she had to have two new pairs of shoes last week, as if someone who has 63 other pairs of shoes needs two new pairs. Bitch, please. Shoes aren't snagging you any mans. We all know you aren't going to find a mans until you start lying about what you do for a living. No mans wants to date a lawyer, unless he's a masochist or a retard. Oh, and while we're on the subject, perhaps you should start lying about your age. No mans wants to date a 30 year old when there are nubile young 20-somethings out there. You can probably get away with 28 still, 27 if you start dying your hair. Oh, don't pretend like you haven't seen those gray hairs sneaking in, because I certainly have.

Oh, and do you know the worst part of this whole fucking thing? I have to go back again next week. Sarah is such an asshole.

I'm Choppy the Dog, Bitches (and Dogs)

That's me, Choppy the Dog. God, I'm a cute little bitch.