I Am Not a Monkey

Sarah operates under the misguided notion that I am a creature put on this planet solely for her amusement. Of course, only she thinks of it as "amusement" - I tend to categorize what she considers amusing as humiliation, degradation, great indignities, or some combination of the three.

Take one of her winter projects, which was to teach me to catch a Frisbee. Now, on the one hand, I really don't want to learn to catch a Frisbee. I mean, it's just humiliating on so many levels. It's like she wants me to be her trained monkey, and do whatever she wants me to, whenever she wants me to. That? Not cool. Not cool at all.

On the other hand, if I don't do the trick, it suggests to Sarah that I'm stupid, and unable to learn the absolutely inane things that she wants me to do. The last thing I want is for Sarah to think is that I'm stupid, because, obviously, I'm not (unlike Sarah, who does so many stupid things on a daily basis that she could have a blog devoted entirely to the subject: "Stupid Things Sarah Did Today." A stupid name for a stupid person).

It's quite the conundrum, actually. Do Something Degrading vs. Looking Smart. Ultimately, I chose looking smart. I mean, catching a Frisbee is SOOO easy. It took me, like, no time to become pretty decent at it.

What I didn't count on was that Sarah would put evidence of my humiliation on the internet, for the whole world to see:



Of course Sarah would humiliate me by putting this on the internet. I should have known better.

But I do have one trump card that's not in the video. Even though I look all nice and obedient, I refused to give Sarah the Frisbee back. So, while I do catch the Frisbee all nice, I proceeded to run around the yard and chew on it, preventing Sarah from throwing it again and humiliating me further.

I'm calling this one even. But next time, I'm figuring out a way to get the upper hand.

Who's the Most Popular? Choppy!

I meant to mark the occasion when it happened, but thanks to Sarah (the asshole) giving me other things to complain about, I didn't get the chance to mention this until today. You see, I am officially more popular than Sarah! As of last week, I have more Facebook fans than she has Facebook friends!

Who rocks the Facebook socks? The Chopmeister, that's who!

Now, I know some may consider Facebook a poor method of judging popularity. Those people are obviously assholes and should be ignored.

Unfortunately, Sarah falls squarely into this category of assholes who consider Facebook to be a poor method of judging popularity. But of course she would think this, because by this method, she's much less popular than me! And she's less popular than me on Facebook even though she has at least 20 "friends" who hardly qualify as such, because they're people she has met once, or is even unsure of how she actually knows them. These people hardly count as friends. But because I'm a sweetie, I would even give her these people in this contest. And she still loses!

So thank you to all my Facebook friends! And Sarah? She sucks. She gets no thanks until she acknowledges my superior popularity.

A Squirrel-y Road Trip - Part 2

Continued from yesterday...

As I discussed yesterday, Sarah (the asshole) decided that the best way to spend Saturday morning would be to go on a road trip. While this would normally be cool - we might go to the pet store, or a dog park, or Wisconsin - yesterday, the road trip was definitely not cool. Not cool at all. You see, Sarah took me to a town called Olney, Illinois, which is known for its white squirrels.

The first thing Sarah made me do was get out of the car to get my picture taken in front of the town sign. Even though the road by the sign was super busy, Sarah managed not to get killed getting out of the car by some semi passing by at high speed (though had this happened, I would have gotten a new owner, which would have been cool). Then, she made me tramp through some swamp-y ditch, just so she would have a picture me in front of the sign.

It's the same picture from yesterday.

Now, in addition to the cars passing at high speed, thanks to the swamp-like conditions near the sign, I had to traipse through mud, hoping not to get bitten by some water moccasin or other dangerous swamp creature. Thankfully, after a couple of pictures, Sarah let me get back in the car, where I felt somewhat safe (as long as I ignored Sarah's shitty driving skills).

Now, I had hoped that Sarah would find my picture with the sign to be adequate, and we would turn around and go home to Terre Haute. My hopes were sadly misplaced. Instead of going home, we went into town to look for live white squirrels.

It did not take long to find those white bastards:

A demon bastard and a regular bastard squirrel look at each other. Probably making plans to taunt me as I sit inside the car.

Now, it turns out, white squirrels are just like regular old squirrels, except with white fur and red eyes. So, basically, they're demon squirrels (as if the regular ones aren't bastards enough). Now, instead of Sarah letting me out to kill these abominations of nature, she forced me to stay inside the car.

Does a regular squirrel taste different from a white one? I will never know, thanks to Sarah.

I totally could have caught at least one of those bastards, even if it had just been a regular one. I mean, those things were everywhere!

A bastard buffet, if only Sarah would let me out of the car.

But did Sarah let me out of the car? Of course not! Instead, she drove to some stupid lake nearby, and made me run around there, where there were no squirrels to chase after, of either the regular or demon sort. So, I jumped in the lake and got back at Sarah by getting the car all dirty when I got in to go home. It wasn't as cool as catching a demon squirrel, but it was something.

A Squirrel-y Road Trip

Sarah (the asshole) really outdid herself today.

This all started when she woke up early this morning, which never happens on a Saturday. Most Saturdays, I have to start whining to get Sarah to wake up and let me out. She seems to think that I can hold it a lot longer than I actually can. I can't help my bladder size.

So, I knew from the first thing this morning that something was up because of this whole waking up early thing. Then, when she put me in the car right after our morning walk, I was definitely sure something was up.

Now, I LOVE the car. I can stick my head out the window and feel free, like Sarah isn't even there. It's great! Plus, with the exception of the vet, car rides always end somewhere awesome.

Is this heaven? No, it's the car.

Oh, how wrong I was about car rides always ending somewhere awesome.

After driving for what seemed like FOREVER, Sarah finally let me out of the car. It only took me a few seconds to realize that Sarah had brought me somewhere horrible. Somewhere infested with vile creatures. Somewhere called Olney, Illinois.

Home of the white squirrels.


To be continued...

The Vet Is Not My Friend

As I have detailed before, I am not too fond of the vet. Lucky for me, I haven't had to go in several months, so nothing has been poked into me or pulled out of my butt recently.

I should have known that my luck wouldn't last forever.

On Wednesday, Sarah (the asshole) took me to get my shots and a check-up. This seemed pointless. After all, I'm a healthy young pup. What could possibly be wrong with me? Plus, some of the crap that goes on at the vet is completely pointless. Like, the vet had to draw blood for a heartworm test, even though Sarah makes me take these super gross heartworm pills once a month. If the heartworm pills work, why the hell do I need to have the blood test? For an animal that has found its way to the top of the food chain, humans can be real morons.

Only Sarah would see me acting so sad and still make me get my shots.

Of course, I did not willingly submit to this stupidity. Sarah had to pick all 62 pounds of me up and carry me into the exam room, because I wiggled out of my collar when she tried to drag me in there (seriously - who voluntarily goes into a room where you know someone is not only going to drain your blood, but stick a spoon up your butt to pull out poop?).

The least Sarah could do if I am going to be forced to go to the vet is schedule all of my shots at the same time. But no, Sarah can't do that. So, in May, I have to go back to the vet for a second set of shots. Thanks for nothing, asshole.

Dogs Need Beds, Too!

Sarah (the asshole) is perpetrating a great injustice against me. You see, while Sarah gets to sleep on a nice, comfy bed every night, she forces me to sleep on the hard, hard floor, with only a bedspread to soften my sensitive self:

This is what Sarah considers a bed. This? Not a bed.

Now, I can totally see how Sarah would want the entire bed to herself. I mean, who doesn't like to spread out and take up as much room as possible when sleeping? I am certainly guilty of hogging space.

Here's the problem. You see, Sarah makes me sleep on the floor of her bedroom every night, with only a blanket, even though she has an entire, empty, spare bedroom, complete with a bed, that I could sleep on!

You know who sleeps in this bed? No one. You know who should sleep in this bed? Me!

Now, it's one thing to be an accidental asshole. I mean, some people are born as jerks, and don't even recognize that they are the way that they are. But with Sarah, it's like she takes pride in being as mean to me as possible. I mean, if I so much as smell the bed in the spare bedroom, she freaks out! Seriously, Sarah, take a pill! It's just a dog sniffing a bed! Calm down!

Unfortunately, in cultivating her assholishness, Sarah not only won't let me on the spare bed, she doesn't even let me in the spare bedroom when she is not around. It's like she doesn't trust me at all while she is out of the house. OK, yes, I spend lots of time on the good couch when she is at work. And I have been known to counter surf every now and then. But come on! It's just a bed, it can be cleaned. I need my beauty sleep! Stupid rules. And stupid Sarah.

Gloves: Part of a Nutritious Diet

You know, if Sarah (the asshole) doesn't want me to chew up things, she shouldn't leave them lying somewhere easy to get to, like inside a backpack on top of a counter. Take today, for example. Sarah did just that with her gardening gloves.

Now, her gardening gloves smell wonderful - a combination of dirt and manure. Those are just the sort of things that I LOVE to chew up.

The destroyed glove - note the chewed up thumb. So much fun!

Of course, even better than the joy of chewing up Sarah's gardening gloves was bringing them to her and showing off my handiwork. She was so pissed off at me! She took them away from me, and put them right back in the backpack where they had come from. So, obviously, I went right back and got them out again to continue chewing on them.

Unfortunately, this time when I brought back the gloves, Sarah took them and put them away in a drawer, which I have (so far) been unable to figure out how to open up. It's kind of idiotic of her, though, because what is she going to do with a glove with a chewed up thumb? It's no good any more, she might as well let me continue chewing them up.

But before she did that, she made me take a picture with the fruits of my labor:

These only cost $2, yet Sarah is still pissed off at their demise. Not just an asshole, she's cheap to boot.

So, so mean to me. I hate Sarah.

Counter Surfing Is the New Hotness

Among Sarah's insane number of arbitrary rules are about a million rules related to food. One of the most annoying is her rule against counter surfing.

For those of you not in the know, counter surfing is when a dog - such as myself - puts his or her paws up on the kitchen counter to see what sort of goodness is being hidden up there.

I'm only 2 1/2 feet tall. How does Sarah expect me to see what's on the counter if I don't counter surf?

Like, 90% of the time, there's nothing on the counter worth my time or attention. Probably because, in addition to being an asshole, Sarah is very, very boring (and yet she wonders why she has no mans...).

But sometimes, Sarah leaves perfectly good food up there. I mean, just this weekend alone, Sarah left several plates with decent amounts of leftovers in them on the counter. And you know what she was going to do with that perfectly good food? Put it right down the garbage disposal! Does she think that I'm going to let perfectly good food go to waste like that? Not a chance! So, I counter surfed, and ate up what was leftover.

Of course, over time, I've gotten better at counter surfing. Sarah used to be able to put things at the back of the counter and keep them away from me, but I've wised up:

That's right, Sarah. I figured you out!

Of course, there might be some of you who see my desire to get at food on the counter as a source of my not-entirely-svelte figure. And you know what? You're assholes, just like Sarah.

Bath Time Is Not Fun Time

For some, the weekend is the best part of the week. For me, though, it sucks. You see, during the week, Sarah (the asshole) is at work most of the time, so I am on my own to do as I please. However, on the weekend, Sarah is here, and I am forced to put up with her all day.

Take yesterday. It was a beautiful day here, and it started off just fine - Sarah took me for a nice, long walk, and I got to see a bunch of other dogs. But then, we got home, and, because it was nice, I went out in the backyard, where I was minding my own business. As part of my business, I decided to roll in a substance I found back there. Hey, what can I say? I like the eau de shit (I am a dog, after all).

Now, I came back in, and Sarah was not very happy with me. This is what I looked like:

Lookin' good, if I do say so myself.

While I was happy to have pissed Sarah off, I was not happy with what happened next. You see, Sarah immediately decided I could not be in the house in this state, so she dragged me upstairs and gave me a bath. I wasn't even that dirty, just a little dirty!

I hate baths.

Thankfully (and surprisingly), Sarah did not take a picture of me while I was getting my bath. However, after I got out, she took this one of me:

All clean. Not a happy camper.

But I got the last laugh - as soon as I was all clean, I went right back outside and rolled in the crap again. Sarah was so frustrated she didn't even give me a second bath. And she left me alone for the rest of the day. It was awesome.

Backyard Fun With Holes

Among my few joys in life is the backyard of my house. Other than the squirrels, it's pretty awesome. One big reason it's awesome? Sarah (the asshole) very rarely goes out there.

Now, because she is rarely back there, this means I can pretty much get away with anything in the backyard. And you know what one of my fave things to do back there is? Dig holes.

One of my wonderful digging creations. Hopefully, I will find someone else to take care of me at the bottom of this hole.

Now, I am always hopeful that I will dig deep enough to get to China (or at least Illinois), where I will find someone to take care of me. So far, no good on that one.

However, there are other good things about digging holes. As one of my goals in life is to make Sarah's life as miserable as possible, I have to live with whatever results from this goal. Namely, this means I worry that Sarah will one day get so angry with me that she will stop feeding me. As I enjoy eating a lot, this would be very, very bad. So, to deal with that potentiality, I have to hoard whatever treats Sarah gives me.

Now, I can't just leave the treats lying around the house, or Sarah might start to think that I don't like treats and shouldn't get any more. That would be a horrible turn of events. Treats are a shining beacon of good in my otherwise joyless life.

So, to hide my treats, I just bury them in the backyard, where Sarah won't find them. It's actually quite a good plan - Sarah has so far never, ever found even one of my buried treasures.

But you know the best thing about digging holes? On the few occasions where Sarah does go in the backyard, seeing my holes everywhere really pisses her off. Which is, obviously, awesome.

St. Patrick's Day Sucks

You know, at least if Sarah (the asshole) had been drunk, there would have been some sort of reason for her to have thought doing this to me was a good idea:


Of course, she wasn't drunk when she took this picture, and even more unfortunately, neither was I. That's not beer there, it's just water with food coloring in it.

Even worse, I'm sure I'll be forced to watch The Boondock Saints when Sarah gets home from work today. She'll probably have a beer, and I'm sure she won't share with me (she'll probably try to foist more green water on me).

I hate St. Patrick's Day.

Rules Are Not For Me

Sarah (the asshole) has some completely arbitrary rules around the house. One rule that really pisses me off involves the two couches in the house. In the TV room, we have a hard, uncomfy couch without pillows. In the living room, we have a soft, super comfy couch with a bunch of pillows.

Now, Sarah only lets me go on one of these couches. I'm sure you're familiar enough with Sarah's asshole ways to know that I'm not allowed on the comfy couch, even though Sarah rarely uses it, AND it has a great view out the front window of the house.

Heavenly napping on the good couch - so close, yet so far away.

Luckily for me, Sarah is gone at least 8 hours a day at work. So, in the morning, after watching Sarah leave and making sure that the coast is clear, I jump right on up on the couch and settle in for a nice nap. Now, it's all fine and dandy when Sarah is at work and I can just snooze away. But when she comes home, I'm forced to obey the couch rule and only sleep on the uncomfy couch.

Admittedly, sometimes I try and break the rules, like when Sarah is watching TV and super caught up in paternity tests on Maury (she has AWFUL taste in television, like so many other things). But the moment that she gets up off of her butt and catches me, all hell breaks loose. She immediately yells at me, like I've eaten a pair of shoes or something really bad. I'm always thinking, chill the fuck out, Sarah, I'm just lying on the couch. It's not the end of the world.

I guess I really shouldn't expect anything else from Sarah, though. She is, after all, an asshole.

A Short-Lived Victory

Haha! I completely messed with Sarah (the asshole) earlier this week! You see, Sarah spends far too much time on her computer, when a good owner would spend that time taking me out for walks or to the pet store or for a car ride. So, Thursday night, I pretended I was chewing on a toy, but instead, I was chewing right through the computer cord:

See that? That's the cord in two pieces. I even did it without getting a big shock (trust me, I have some experience in this particular subject. It involved Sarah's Playstation - of course, that was totally worth the shock to get Sarah to actually pay some attention to me for once).

I figured this would get me at least a weekend of Sarah being forced to do fun things with me, but I wasn't counting on Amazon being able to ship a new one so that it would arrive on a Saturday. Turns out, Amazon employs a bunch of bastards who wish to facilitate Sarah's assholishness, and they have Saturday delivery. So, of course, Sarah got the Saturday delivery, and I got to spend my Saturday watching her play on the computer.

Next time, I chew up the cord on a Friday night after the deadline for Saturday delivery has passed, and ensure that Sarah has to play with me all weekend.

I Need My Morning Beauty Walk!

As I have mentioned before, I live across the street from a park.

Beautiful me in front of one of the signs for the park.

It's a pretty cool place to live across the street from, except for the squirrels. Plus, when Sarah (the asshole) and I go for walks, there's almost always something interesting going on that at least momentarily distracts me from how much my life usually sucks.

Now, normally, Sarah takes me for two walks a day. Despite the fact that these walks are entirely too short and require me to be on a leash, they are definitely the highlight of my otherwise shitastic life. One of the best parts of our morning walk is that we get to see the park's caretaker. Unlike Sarah, she appreciates my awesomeness, and gives me several treats every morning. Obviously, this makes her awesome.

Sadly for poor little me, the caretaker doesn't work in the park all winter, because there isn't enough work to keep her busy. This obviously sucks for me. But then today, guess who came back to the park? The caretaker!

This is pretty much going to be the highlight of my year, and I can hardly contain my excited pee while Sarah is getting ready this morning. Considering what happened shortly after she got ready, I should have let the excited pee flow freely.

You see, Sarah skipped our morning walk! The asshole!

Sarah excused this inexcusable behavior by claiming that we were in the middle of a downpour and she didn't want to go out in the rain and get her work clothes all wet. Newsflash, asshole: you could put on old clothes and carry an umbrella and not get wet! Did you ever stop to think about that solution? Actually, Sarah probably did think of this solution, but thought it would be fun to torture me by making me stay inside and watch the park's caretaker give away my treats to other, less-deserving dogs in the park. She's just that kind of asshole.

I Told You So

In case you had any doubt about squirrels being little bastards, I present this article for your reading displeasure. A little advance tidbit from the article in picture form:

Animals That Suck: Squirrels

There are a lot of cool things about spring. For example, the backyard becomes a muddy mess, which means that whenever I come in from outside, I track mud all over the light carpets. Sarah (the asshole) hates this. So, obviously, I do it as often as possible.

However, the return of spring also brings the return of one of my most bitter enemies: the squirrel.

Here's one of the little bastards on the bird feeder next door.

I live across the street from a park, which sounds pretty fucking cool, until you realize that I only get to go there twice a day when Sarah deigns to take me out for walks. The rest of the day, I'm forced to stare at the other dogs getting to walk and play in the park with their super cool owners, while I sit - abandoned by my own asshole owner - like a prisoner in my own home.

But the biggest problem with the park is that it is infested with squirrels. Like, hundreds of the little bastards. They run around and act like they own the place, with smug little squirrel smiles on their faces.

You know who could wipe those smug smiles off of their faces? Me. You know how? By chasing those bastards all over the place. But you know who won't let me do this? Sarah. You know why? Because she's an asshole.

So, instead of me getting to solve the park's squirrel problem, Sarah drags me around the park like a little bitch, forced to watch those smug bastards instead of chasing after them, like I should obviously be allowed to do. It sucks.

But you know what sucks more? The squirrels come over to my house, sit just out of reach on the backyard fence and fucking laugh at me. I'm telling you, they're just little bastards.

Dogs in the News: Jamaican Dogsled Edition

Dude, there's a Jamaican dogsled team! Well, I guess it's less of a team than a dude with some dogs. And a sled. But still, pretty fucking cool.

You know, even though it would be a really cold job, being a dog on the Jamaican dogsled team would definitely beat my life with Sarah (the asshole), even if the dude is sponsored by Jimmy Buffett and I would have to listen to that shit while we trained. He seriously cannot listen to as much Jimmy Buffett as she does. I swear, sometimes I think that if I hear Fins one more time, I'm going to go shark on Sarah, and not in a pleasant way for her.

Babies > Adults

Sarah (the asshole) sprang a new one on me this weekend: she brought friends over who have a baby. Yes, a real, live, potential future asshole (though, as it is not being raised by Sarah, the chances of that happening are far less than they would be if she was raising the kid).

A picture of me in my younger, baby days. Adorable, if I do say so myself.

Now, despite my hatred of Sarah, I'm actually pretty chill with most humans. After all, they may offer to take me away from Sarah, and give me the awesome life I fucking deserve. Of course, the chances of this happening are probably nil, as Sarah is under the fucking delusion that I actually like living with her. I don't know how she is still under this delusion, as just yesterday morning I left her a little present when she didn't wake up early enough for our morning walk (and by "present," I mean a stinking pile of dog shit).

I will, however, count my blessings on this front, as Sarah has not managed to breed yet (I can't even imagine the sort of assholery a child of hers would have to put up with. On the plus side, if she ever does find a mans who will put up with her shit (unlikely), I'll have someone to commiserate with). However, she does have cooler friends who do have kids, and two of them were over this weekend with their 1 year old.

Now, I have to tell you, there are a shitload of things to like about babies. First, they spill food all over themselves on a regular basis, which gives a dog like me ample opportunity to sample various sorts of human food (which, obviously, is far better than the hard kibble shit that Sarah forces me to eat).

Second, they have the whole "make adults do whatever you want them to" thing down. They cry, and adults come running. Even better, they're often offering food! I have to figure out how they do this shit. I mean, seriously, if I barked as much as a baby cries, I'm pretty sure I would be on a one-way train back to the animal shelter (and, as much as I fucking hate Sarah, I really would rather not take my chances somewhere like that. At least I'm pretty sure Sarah is not going to kill me. The emphasis being on "pretty sure"). But a baby cries, and here comes the parent brigade, with bottles and toys and all sorts of good shit. I need to figure that one out (though I'm pretty sure nothing I could do would cause Sarah to do anything this cool).

Third, they smell AWESOME. Obviously, there is the food mentioned above, but they also smell like poo, which is great! I swear, I roll in just a little bit of shit, and I am in the bathtub ten minutes later. A baby poos all over itself on like an hourly basis, and people just wipe that up, smack another diaper on the thing, and let it go back to whatever the hell it was doing before.

As you can tell, I am a fan of babies. Unfortunately, this one went back home after only like 10 minutes of me getting to play with it. Of course it went home quickly. Like Sarah would fucking let me enjoy something like a baby for any longer than that. Such an asshole.

You Don't Want to See This

I'm going to fucking kill Sarah. This isn't even asshole behavior. This is so far beyond asshole behavior, I'm going to have to come up with a new word for it.

Now, I'm a healthy young pup, and as such, I have what I will call "urges." Last year for Easter, Sarah bought me a pink stuffed bunny (of course it was pink. That woman likes pink far too fucking much). Now, this bunny is absolutely perfect for one thing, and that one thing has given the bunny its common name - "hump bunny."

Now, Sarah may be an asshole, but I thought she was a decent person. Turns out, she's not. You see, the other day, Sarah took my picture in flagrante delicto with the hump bunny:

Not. Fucking Cool. What kind of sick perv takes a picture of a dog humping a stuffed bunny? You know Sarah is probably selling this shit on the internet and funding her "Buy Choppy stupid fucking sweaters" fund.

I just fucking hope that she doesn't find her video camera, because you know she would video this shit. Asshole.

The Way Things Ought to Be

I have many, many recurring dreams about potential role reversals involving Sarah (the asshole). Like, instead of her driving, I drive the car. And she gets put in the kennel instead of me. And I get to sleep in bed instead of her. You get the point.

It turns out, some dogs are lucky bastards and actually get to live out this fantasy, by mushing humans:


Here's the article. And, as if this wasn't fucking cool enough already, it was sponsored by Snausages. Those things are fabulous. Almost as good as Beggin' Strips.

Pink Is the New A**hole

Dear PetSmart:

Please stop putting dog clothing on sale. I'm owned by an asshole named Sarah who is all over the PetSmart dog clothing clearance rack like pit bull on Mike Vick (yeah, it's a bad one. I'm not a fucking comedian here).

I look like the sort of tool who would show up on hipster puppies. Sarah even took this picture at an angle, which makes it even worse. Next thing you know, she's going to start refusing to capitalize my name and making me drink PBR (even though you know she's saving the good beer for herself).

At least could you keep the pink stuff away from the clearance rack? Pink is the new asshole. Any hipster knows that.

Licks and butt sniffs,

Choppy