Humping my GodDad

Humping the Godfather

Mom's godson is my godfather and I got carried away with him last night. Everybody thought I was "inappropriate." I couldn't help myself from humping him like a madman. He pretended to not like it but I know he does.

We talked about it and we both feel pretty creeped out.

It's weird. He could be at the hottest nightclubs in LA but he hangs around here and lets me hump him like a madman.

Check out the hairless perv in the T shirt. He likes to watch and sniff while his cousin parties. 

I did NOT have Sexual Relations with that Dog

This has got nothing to do with my book deal.

A couple of perverted Chinese hairless guys came over and I got sucked into a menage type of situation. I'm not proud of it and I swear, I didn't touch that guy, but Finn was pretty close to his winky--talking right into the microphone, you know what I mean? It was wrong. Maybe that's why I had to hump her.

I feel kind of weird. I think I might need therapy.

The other one (they're cousins) just likes to watch while he pees all over his T shirt.

The Chinese hairless guys wouldn't leave. They stayed for dinner and hogged all the people food.

Their mom is a famous TV actress and she talks to them like they're nuclear physicists.

Hairless Perv's Mom: "Stanley, please can you find a way to come back here because you've gone off a little too far...thank you, Stanley. I appreciate it. Thank you. I just prefer you stay in the vicinity. Thank you very much, Stanley.

Mom: "Do you take them to India when you go?"

Hairless Perv's Mom: "Of course. They go to the Ashram and meditate. Arnold is in an advanced state of meditation. He's a very old soul and he might even be the reincarnation of an important peaceful energy that is going to change the world as we know it."

Then Arnold, who was sitting on Dad's lap, slipped him the tongue! He slipped his long, slimy tongue right into Dad's mouth. I'm telling you, these guys are not in any advanced stage of meditation. They're in an advanced state of masturbation, maybe. They have completely fooled Dad. They are totally debauched. Dad just sat there making goo goo eyes at a Chinese pervert with pimples.

Dad: "Look how cute he is! He likes me!...is this a mole? What is this on his neck?"

Hairless Perv's Mom: "Oh that's just a zit. It's nothing. He has sensitive skin."

Mom: "Your dog has zits?"

Hairless Perv's Mom: "We have a great dermatologist in Beverly Hills. He's going next week."

Mom: "Your derm sees dogs?"

Hairless Perv's Mom: "No, no, no, no. He just sees this dog. As a favor to me. I've sent every actress in Hollywood to him."

Meanwhile, Stanley was bouncing off the walls, screaming, running around on his hind legs and ripping apart everything we own. He peed on Mom's Persian carpet. At one point, he go so out of control, Finley tried to kick his ass.

Scared off by Finn, the Chinese hairless perv ran downstairs to do dirty things to Stupid Kitty.

I hope he holds her down in the new Igloo litter box and really lets her have it.

Chinese Hairless Perv 

Bread Winner

I’m the bread winner of the pack now. I got a book deal.

I feel sorry for Mom and Dad because my career is taking off and both of their careers are buried like an old bone. Neither one of them is making any money so I’m going to have to take care of them.

I got a small advance and I’m going to get a publicist to maximize sales because we’ve got a lot of bills around here. Mom and Dad are going to have to cut down on their spending habits, like shopping for silly stuff they don’t need.

It’s kind of weird between me and Dad because he wanted to be the one who had a book out and here I am, a dog, and I’ve got a publisher.

I explained to Finn that I’m not going to do the Hollywood thing and dump her for a younger, hotter bitch.

A really close friend of mine, the guy who created “That 70’s Show” is bringing my project to Universal to see if they want to develop a series for me. This is killing Mom.

Mom: “I can’t believe it—Jinky’s going to get a series and I’ll have to audition to play his mom! And then they won’t give it to me. I won’t even be able to play myself! They’ll want to go younger!.”

Dad: “Maybe you can get a small part in it.”

Mom: "Well I hope at least you'd get to write on it."

Dad: "The best I could do is get hired to do punch up. And I bet if I thought up a line for my character, some pinhead network guy would tell me 'I don't think he'd say that.' But he's me. You telling me I don't know what I'd say? Then the network guy would say 'well, he is you, but younger.' So you're saying...I can't remember what I've said?"

Mom: “Oh, please. You know what? They’ll probably want a store bought, pure-bred dog to play Jinky.”

Dad: “Jinky can’t play himself. He’ll bite the network people. He’s the only honest guy in Hollywood.”

I don’t care if they get a real actor to play me because the important thing is that it gets made so I can help my old cell mates and get them out of the shelter.

Cooling off with Grandma's Vornado

I'm waiting to go and chase Manhattan squirrels.  

I LOVE NY

On our way back to Hollywood, we stopped in Mom’s home town, Manhattan, to see my Grandma.

Grandma’s apartment is right near Central Park, where we’re allowed to run off the leash until 9 AM. So in NY, we have to get up really early to go squirrel hunting. I would like to start at 1 AM, but Mom and Dad won’t go for it.

Manhattan squirrels are too smart to get caught. They know the time. They know that dogs have to be back on leash at 9 AM or their people get a ticket for $250. So the squirrels don’t come down from the trees until it’s ticket time.

They look at us right in the eye from up in the trees and laugh at us, those New York squirrels. They're kind of like the people in Manhattan. They're too smart, they live way up high, look down at us all and laugh.

NY Squirrel: “Hey you! Hey! You tink you can get a piece of me, huh? Fuggetaboudit. You tawkin’ to me? I dare you to come ova here an try it. I’ll give you duh rabies if you even tink aboudit. Come ova here—I’ll shit on you, you fuck.”

They’re kind of fun crude in New York.

Every time we go to Grandma’s in New York, there’s either a heat wave or a snow storm. Being at Grandma’s is like living inside an oven. She doesn’t have an air conditioner because she thinks they’re ugly.

Grandma: (Grandma’s French) “Zay are ugly! I’m not going to ruin my windows! Eeeets only two weeks a year zat eet is zees hot.”

Mom: “How can you stand it?”

Grandma: “Use zee Vornado!”

Grandma has a super powerful fan called a Vornado. It doesn’t vacilate and you have to be sitting right in front of it to get the full G force effect of it. Of course, Finley hogs the Vornado and the rest of us just sit there in the heat and complain. Every couple of hours, the Vornado gets so wound up, it explodes and BANG! Pieces of the fan fly around the room like a bomb.

Even in the winter, Grandma’s place is like an oven because they have some crazy kind of heating system, which hisses like a steam engine and makes a steam bath out of the whole apartment.

I love visiting Grandma in New York. The food there is amazing. It’s a very interesting place. The dogs all have nannies and flashy jewelled collars. They’re well dressed, well groomed and cultured. They’re almost all expensive pure-bred dogs that pick the right stocks and eat take out from Zabars.

It’s very different from Hollywood, where people are always fake smiling and telling other people to have a nice day. In New York, they look elegant but they say what they mean.

Dad got into the New York state of mind with a shriveled woman on West 86th Street. Finley was pooping in the gutter, Dad had her on the leash and he didn’t have the baggies to pick it up with. Mom had the baggies and she was talking to an old friend of hers in front of Grandma’s.

Shriveled New Yorker: (yelling at Dad) Pick it up!”

Dad: “I’m going to to. (to Mom, halfway up the block) Hey Honey! Do you have the baggies?”

Shriveled New Yorker: “I SAID, pick it UP! You heard me.”

Dad: “It’s in the gutter for god’s sake. It’s a walnut sized poop and my wife has the baggies over there, up the block. Do you think I should pick it up with my bare hands? I always pick up!”

Shriveled New Yorker: “I don’t care, pick it UP!”

Then Dad blew up. She didn't know who she was picking on.

Dad: (yelling loudly) “Listen you cunt, you won’t tell the Mike Tyson look-a-like over there, whose German shepheard just took a human sized dump ON the sidewalk to pick it up, will you? No! You think you can tell me, a white bald man to pick it up because you don’t think I’ll say anything, right? You think I’ll be nice and scurry away with my little bag of shit. Well you’re WRONG, you cunt! And if you’re so worried about how the neighborhood looks, why don’t you shed a few pounds off that ASS of yours? You don’t talk to ME like that!”

Dad was so funny. Mom was laughing because she grew up here and for her, yelling at people is a New York sport.

I really love New York. Everybody is very high energy here—lots of yelling and complaining all over the place.

I’m going to make much more noise tomorrow morning in Central park. I’ll be very menacing and have a really great time.

Life's a Bowl of Moules

July 12, 2005

Look at me. I’ve got the greatest pillows in Nice, France, Europe.

But enough about Mom’s pillows, I’m bored with them—and so is everybody else by now, I think. What I’m really into lately is “MOULES.”

Moules, or muscles in wine and butter sauce. Moules in tomato sauce. Moules with caramelized onions. Moules sautéed, baked or in soup—I’m crazy about moules! I will sit here and Mom will drop them into my mouth until I get sick.

Mom says they cost about the same a dog food in the states. I think that’s why Dad loves them so much, because they’re really cheap and you can order a bucket of them for the price of a bag of cat litter.

The great thing about moules, is that they have to be eaten right away. You can’t take them home and eat them the next day.

Mom: “How can something so good turn so bad the next day?”

Dad: “I guess you haven’t dated much.”

Drinky Jinky

July 9, 2005

I've been drinking.

Maybe it's the French influence--I don't know, but the water in the bowl on the floor just doesn't interest me anymore.

I think the drinkies started when we got to Nice, France, Europe. I was on the dinner table one night and drank some beer out of Mom's glass. Then I walked over to the other end of the table and dunked my snout into Dad's glass.

Dad and I prefer red wine. The local wines aren't bad at all and they cost little more than two bags of cat litter.

So now, every night during dinner, I go back and forth from one end of the table to the other, eating out of their plates and drinking out of their glasses.

Before dinner, if I sit up and beg a little, I get an aperitif. Mom's got some delicious new stuff called Pineau des Charentes. It's sweet and sticky and I love it more than any other drinky.

Being drunky from the drinkies makes me happy.

Mom: "Look! He's drinking! It's so adorable! Do you like the drinky, Jinky?"

Dad: (laughing) "We' can't let him become an alcoholic."

Mom: "Oh please. Growing up in France, they always put wine in my baby bottle with the water! I didn't become an alcoholic."

Dad: "He's Irish, just like his Daddy. He likes it."

Mom is half French and she's been drinking wine since she was born. But she won't let me drink as much as I'd like to. And Mom doesn't let Dad drink as much as he'd like to either. Everybody is always trying to control everybody around here and it never works.

Finley has simpler tastes. She just likes meat and mice.