They made me watch the Oscars

That was the worst Oscars show of my entire life. But every year, it's stupid. A bunch of idiots get all dressed up at noon and sit in traffic so they can go sit on their asses for ten thousand hours next to other idiots who are more famous than they are. Then, they all gas a lot about how great all the crumby movies are and give themselves statues and cry for the cameras. I think they do more crying and phony posing on that stage then they do in the actual movies. When they get on the stage, they take a really long time to thank a bunch of losers who didn't even get invited to the Oscars.

I've never seen any of them thank their dog.

Mom says that most of the people who were thanked will probably all be fired this week.

You know what I can't figure out? There are a lot of animals in movies and they don't get awards, ever. They don't get credited. They don't get paid either. There are a lot of dogs and monkeys who have to act like clowns for these stupid movies. Horses have it the worst. All those old Westerns that Dad likes? Those horses are tripping and breaking their legs in every single movie. They're horror movies.

A friend of Mom's was here for the weekend with her little boy and he sat on my couch in my spot and insisted on leaning his head on me like I am some kind of pillow there for his enjoyment. He kept crying, "I'm hungry! But I'm hungry!" During a commercial, Mom gave the kid a popsicle to shut him up. He didn't even let me lick it once.

I don't feel good about it but I kind of bit the little boy. I didn't bite down hard or anything but I just wanted to let him know I'm not that into him.

Manhood and Criminals

Mom is pissed about this picture of her, which is on every video shelf in America this week. She dragged us out in flash flood warning conditions to go to the video store, where we watched a bunch of losers hanging around Blockbuster fingering the boxes with her picture on it. They read the box and then put it back on the shelf, like they didn't want to see the movie.

Mom and Dad were yelling all morning about it. I saw the movie when it came out and I fell asleep.

Dad: "Get them to send you the art work at least. They're obviously using you to sell this piece of shit. At least he could give you credit; he gives Tom Arnold credit, that lummox. He gives Jeanine Garofalo credit and you're more talented than her and he didn't use HER picture on the cover."

Mom: "It's like he hired a model for the cover, except he didn't hire her. It's no use. I can't get anything going in this town. I've given him the funniest moments in his cheap, sag waiver movies and this is how he thanks me. Not even a cast credit on the fucking box. The distributors knew they needed something to sell the damned movie; they can't use John Ritter's face for god's sake, he's dead! So they use my ass! I've HAD it!

I think Mom is over reacting. Nobody cares about her or this movie and none of it matters. What matters is that the cops came up here after we got home and told us to be on the lookout for a black felon, 29 years old, 5'9 and wearing braces. He's somewhere around here and he might try to come into the house, so we're supposed to keep everything locked up. The cop told Mom to keep the phone handy to call 911 if we see the criminal.

I've got work to do. I'm patrolling the entire house and listening for any kind of noise. I'll kill him.

This cat likes to plant litter in the bed when we're not looking 

Going out Wide and Cunt Rocks

Last night we had people over again. Ach... I had some food from the table, but not enough. Whenever there are people here, we get less food, which makes no sense because there is so much more food on the table. It's like Mom and Dad are embarrassed to let me get up on the table in front of their Hollywood friends. When it's just us at the table, I hang out and eat right out of their plates. I drink Mom's tea and I sleep on the table too. I drink wine and beer out of the glass. And I always do the pre-rinse cycle on the dishes before they go in the dishwasher. But when people are over, it gets all phony. We get stuck on the floor while Dad gives out all kinds of bogus advice about writing and Mom tells people exactly how to date.

Finley's smart. She gives up and goes to nap on the couch in the Den, at the other end of the house.

What a bore they all were last night, gassing on and on about a script "going out wide" on Monday. All these people do is gripe about not getting recognition from other people who are whining about the same thing. Going out wide seems like a stupid idea. That's like if I made an original pile of poop and gave an agent or a tick 10% of what I've got to go out there and promote me to every single person in Hollywood. I can see it now: an obnoxious flea from CAA goes out wide and jumps on every studio exec about how talented I am and how I should get a big development deal. A giant mound of shit on Sunset Boulevard with my name on it. Produced by, Directed by... Jinky.

They went out wide, all right. They all ate so much, they could hardly get out the door.

After everybody left, we all got into bed and Mom was hitting the bedsheets with the pillow.

Mom: "What are all these little rocks in here? It's like there's sand in the bed!

Dad: "Those are cunt rocks. My mother told me about them. It's when you don't use your pussy for a long time and you get little crystalized cunt rocks that get in the bed, that's all."

Mom: "You're truly revolting, you know that?"

I know what it is; I've seen the cat go under the covers right after she gets out of the littler box.

Cancer, Starbucks and More Rain

There are mudslides going on all around us and it keeps on raining. Big rocks are all over the roads and the ceiling is leaking. Dad's TV show is off for a week and might get canceled because it's on at the same time as American Idol so Dad has been hanging around the house all day in a dirty bathrobe. He gets dressed to go down the hill to Starbucks and to get the New York Times but then he gets right back into the bathrobe because the jacuzzi is on.

Mom: "I don't know why you're going out, we have better, cheaper coffee here and the newspapers are all online. You're just running away from home."

Dad: "I'm the least successful writer on this street. They're all younger than me, they make more money than me and they actually do something I have no idea how to do-- they write."

Mom: "Well why don't you sit in your office and WRITE something? You can write, you just don't want to."

Dad: "I'll never write anything as long as I live. I'm never going to do anything except do chores and clean the kitchen over and over until I drop dead."

Mom: "Stop TALKING like that! You're not going to drop dead. I'M the one who's going to get cancer. I'm going to get breast cancer and lose my tits and then you'll be sorry."

Dad: "I've already got Diabetes. I'm going to lose a leg and then I'm going to get cancer and when I know I'm gonna die, I'm going to go and kill some people who have been bothering me. I've had it with people."

Mom: "Can you pick up some wet cat food and some salad stuff on your way back?"

I don't know what to do with these people. They need to go running in the canyons or something but it's hailing and there are 60 mile an hour winds out there. I try and cheer them up but that's the way they are.

People are Morons 

We took the bullet train out of Nice because of the Nato meeting. Every head of State was staying in Nice and it was a complete cluster-fuck. Mom and Dad came to France to get away from the idiots running America into the ground so they didn't want to deal with all the Rumsfeld motorcades screwing up the traffic on the Promenade des Anglais. We left town and went up to Paris.

Mom didn't want to go into the Eiffel Tower because she thinks some Islamic dopes are going to blow it up but I got close enough and peed on the Eiffel Tower anyway.

Finn got hit on by lots of horny French males. I guess they're celebrating Valentine's day.

There's the giant French fire hydrant. Oui, oui, I made it mine.

Menage-a-trois

I don't know what got into me; maybe it's because I'm in France but I think I had a menage-a-trois last night. We were all on the bed and Dad was humping Mom and I was humping Dad's leg. I was in rapid fire mode--at least five humps per second. I was all revved up. He ignored it but Mom was laughing at me. I couldn't help myself. It's like I was possessed or something because I couldn't stop licking Dad's arms from his hands up to his back and then running back down to his lower leg and humping him like a madman. Then the weirdest thing happened. I was just trying to get a little closer look at the action when I guess I got too close and I got my nose right between Dad's ass cheeks. He clenched up and for a second there, he grabbed my nose with his ass. That shocked all of us. Everything stopped. I think Dad might have been done anyway, he's pretty old. He was red as a beet.

Dad: "Jesus! Jinky! Jinky's nose got caught in my ass."

Mom: (laughing) "Stop! I can't do this while Jinky is staring at me through your legs! I can't do this! It's too crazy! Can't we wait until the dog goes to sleep?"

Dad: "Oh, come on. Stop giving me instructions, will you? He's not GOING to sleep.

Then Dad rolled over on his back, looking rejected. I tried to make him feel better by humping his arm, this time, nice and slow.

Mom: "I'm not having a three-way with Jinky!"

Then Dad started laughing so hard he was crying. I feel kind of weird about everything now. I feel strangely guilty and dirty. I know Dad's pretty creeped out about it too. This French lifestyle is getting to me. I'm confused. I might need therapy when I get back to Hollywood.

Dead Dog Walking

Sometimes I don't know who I am anymore. I was Dead Dog Walking in San Pedro's shelter and here I am on the French Riviera. It makes you wonder. Just when you think you're gonna die, it's not your time yet. A lot of people believe in all kinds of crazy stuff to make sense out of things but for me, it was the kindness of strangers. The world can be such a bad place and one tiny act of kindness can change everything. Right now, I could wag my tail so hard it would knock the whole world over.

Fat French Finn

Mom and Dad are worried that Finn is ballooning in France with all the buttery croissants she eats every morning on the beach. Finn is so fat that she is over the weight maximum for flying in the cabin. According to the stupid airline rules, we are only allowed to weigh ten pounds but Finley weighs at least twenty.

Finn had her endocrine system checked out by some French quack vet on Rue Berlioz who told us that she has a surplus of growth hormone in her brain and that she will be a fat slob her whole life. Diagnosis: Untreatable obesity. That's right, my wife is untreatably obese. I guess I'm no different than most guys. The Vet had the nerve to tell me I have to keep her interested. The question ought to be how the hell is she going to keep ME interested?

Dad has his own opinion about why she's fat.

Dad: "It's because we cut off her ginch. Ever since she had her cunt removed, she's gotten fatter. We never should have had her spayed. It's ridiculous. We weren't going to let her get laid. And I liked the way she looked in her pants. "

(Before she was spayed, Finn used to wear these sexy, jean hot pants with pads in them to protect the furniture from her ginch jam.)

Dad: " I never should have listened to that idiot Vet in the Valley. Cut her snatch out so she wouldn't get cancer? What a load. I should save him from cancer by cutting his penis off. See how he likes it."

Mom: "It's true. No wonder she has hormone problems! She's had a full hysterectomy and she's been thrown into early menopause."

I know we have a pet overpopulation problem but why can't bitches just go on the pill?

Mom thinks we can keep Finley's weight down by buying her new toys every day and keeping her excited (that must be how Mom stays in shape because she doesn't work out). The only thing that seems to get that lazy tub of lard to move is to buy crazy chittering squeeky toys. When she hears the toy screaming for its life, she runs over and does a lot of thrashing until the thing is dead.

Dad figures that because it takes her about a minute to kill a 10 Euro toy, we're going to have to bleed thousands of Euros just to be able to get Finney on a plane.

Getting fatter in France. She looks like a walrus out there on the rocks.

The Euro Pit 

The Euro pit

It was only our second night in France, we had just come back from a delicious mussel and frittes dinner and there was a note on the door from our neighbor, an old spinster who lives right under us. There was an "important leak" in her bathroom, which is right under our bathroom.

Mom ran into the bathroom to check it out and she flushed the toilet, which is older than the ancient lady downstairs. Then, brown goop bubbled up into the bathtub and two sinks. Dad was still in the entrance, trying to read the note in French.

Mom: Oh my God! There's shit in the bathtub!

Dad: What the hell is going on? What is this about?

Mom: There's shit in the sinks and in the bathtub! What are we going to do? It's a weekend! Oh my God!

Dad: God Damn it! Call a plumber.

Mom: You can't call a plumber on a weekend in France. They only work 35 hours! They have weekends off, it's not like the states; this is a Socialist country!

Then Mom started to cry.

Dad: Well that's what you get when you want TWO places to live. You get a bathtub full of shit. That's the way it's going to be. I'm going to work until I die and pay for a bathtub I don't need in FRANCE! A bathtub full of shit.

Mom: You hate it here, you hate France!

Then the neighbors all came over to see what was happening. They all smelled ok, no dangerous types, just weird. I didn't feel like biting any of them. They all told Mom and Dad in French not to worry. They knew a plumber who would come. Dad just stood there in the entrance surrounded by crazy people, all chattering in French. He looked like he does when Mom is shopping--shell-shocked and wobbling back and forth in one spot.

When the loud French neighbors finally left, we went to bed, Dad muttering about how he was going to start calling the apartment the Euro pit.

Finney and I like the Euro pit though. It's got really long hallways so you can run and slide from one end of the place to the other. Lots of good patrolling areas from the balconies. We can check out all activities outside and get a good look at all neighborhood dogs.

French dogs are small and walk funny, like they've got something up their asses. Pure-bred snobby types, most of them. A lot of puny, nervous little candy-ass Yorkies. At home, very few dogs ever walk right within biting range. I think I'll kick some little French Yorkie's ass in the morning. I am an American, after all. Dad'll take me. He can't wait to get out of his Euro pit.

Mom carrying a bag of shit on the French Riviera 

Me and Dad "Poodling" in the South of France 

Poodling in Nice

Finley, Mom, Dad and I have been hanging around in the south of France lately while Dad's show has been on hiatus.

Dad calls our hanging around "poodling," which means being useless and idle, like an old lady's French poodle, I guess.

As soon as we got to Nice, Dad dropped his new Mac on the marble floor by the fireplace in the apartment. The laptop was smashed up and Dad had his first south of France fit--a Riviera temper tantrum, where he smacked his own head and yelled at the top of his lungs.

Dad: God Damn it! HOW much do I have to spend to get my goddamned e-mails? A million dollars? Is that enough? It's all because of GREED! It's not enough to have a house in the Hollywood Hills. You have to risk getting on planes and having your HEAD cut off by Arabs! You have to go and spend a MILLION dollars so you can get an e-mail in FRANCE!

Then Dad started running around the apartment holding the computer high above his head, threatening to hurl it out of the window.

Mom: Shhhhh! The neighbors are going to hear you! Don't throw it out the window, maybe it can be fixed! Shhhhhh!

Dad: Let them get used to it! I don't give a goddamn who hears me. This computer can't be fixed. A brand new computer! This is what happens when you get greedy and have to get on line in FRANCE. We don't have a table, so I have to stand there at the marble fireplace and trip over wires. If we were at home, the thing would have been on a TABLE! It can't be fixed. I'm going to kill myself. Arg! HHHHHARHG! Why? WHY?!

While Dad stomped around the empty living room, which is like the size of the little dog park off Mulholland, Mom was able to fix the computer by gently bending it back and unbending the squashed plug so that it fit back into the computer port. It was like a miracle when she was able to turn it on.

The only thing that calmed Dad down was going out. We all got our coats on and walked to a store, where Dad bought some "poodle shoes." These shoes are made of exotic leather and are two-toned, with all kinds of crazy stitching on them. I don't know what the hell they are, but maybe they're made of special, extra virgin French snakes or unborn French mice or something, they're so soft. Mom says they look like pimp shoes but he looked so happy walking around the store in his "poodles" that she didn't discourage him by quoting the Euro/Dollar rate that day.

Then we all walked over to the Parc Massena. For a change, Finley wasn't dragging like a ball and chain. Finley was out in front, it was warm for a December day, Mom put her head on Dad's shoulder and we strolled down the Rue de France to watch the sun go down over the Bay of Angels.

On the way home, I peed on three different historical monuments.