Bandit here! So excited. I just got back from doing my bingos out in the yard (Daddy really needs to pick up those frozen piles of yesteryear's kibble). Afterward, I rushed right back in here to write to you all -- my new day on the job sort of speak. I'm so glad Daddy's giving me the opportunity to run the Blog, for a bit anyway. Yet knowing him, he'll back soon enough. He can't stay away very long and will be anxious to pick up on the life of one old drama queen. Speaking of dramas, I thought today I'd speak about my own drama. Seeing that I'm the son of the queen, I've become quite good at bandying about useless topics.
Just as a quick aside, even though I may have inherited some of Rick's dramatics, you do know I am straight? Yes, I like bitches. I hope that doesn't bother you. I doesn't matter to me that Rick's audience is predominately a bunch of fags. Oh wait. Seeing that I'm not one, it's not really appropriate for me to say that, right? I'm not good with etiquette, my Dad doesn't have any either so it's hard to learn from him. Sorry guys. I just hear Daddy saying such things all the time. Anyway, back to my dramatics...
"I think that's Dad in the middle somewhere."
I had a bit of an accident yesterday. Not a classic accident in the sense that I couldn't make it outside in time but more so in the realm of making a "mess". I don't want to disgust you, so if you're eating your breakfast or chomping on that peanut butter sandwich at lunch, you may want to put it down for a bit. Long and short, I need a haircut. My hair is getting a little too long in all the wrong places.
Last night after eating my dinner I suddenly got this wave of cramps. "Oh, no! I gotta head outside. Dad!!!" I said running to the back door.
He came downstairs and let me out. I ran down the stairs. He chained me up (like I'm gonna go anywhere). I waited for him to go back inside; I needed my privacy and then I began to do my thing. Well...it got stuck. This happens every now and again. Usually, as I mentioned, when my hair gets too long. In fact, Daddy wrote about such an incident once before. Remember, the time I had his $75 Ralph Lauren khakis looking like a skid marked runway in which a 747 could land? Well, this time it didn't get on Daddy. It was just stuck on me.
When I finished number two, I knew something was wrong. I could feel something dangling on my fur. I ran around the yard trying to shake its hold. Nothing. I shook my butt. Nothing. Jumped around. Nope. It wouldn't leave. "Damn it!" Finally, not quite knowing what to do, I began to do the drag. I don't know why I do this. It just seems to make matters worse yet it's not as if I can reach behind with my paw and wipe it off. I gave a yelp for help inside.
After sitting on it for a bit, finally, Daddy came out. He gets so mad when this happens. I hate to disappoint him. At first he didn't recognize the smugness on my face as a sign that something was amiss. I was just sitting quietly with a hunk of chocolate sauce stuck to my ass, no big deal. He couldn't tell...yet. He looked at me and gave me some sappy little love phrase like he always does. I'm usually cool with his little signs of affection but not at this time.
He unhitched me and I made a beeline for the door, my tail between my legs as I ran. I didn't want him to see. I was so ashamed. Yet when I do this silly little jaunt, with my tail between my legs, it becomes quite obvious to Dad that something is wrong.
"Bandit?" He said, his voice inflecting toward the end of my name. "What's the matter?" I couldn't look him in the eye. I just stared at the door waiting for him to open it.
We got in the house. I didn't go far. I couldn't. I hate the feeling of smeared poo and the stink! It was making me sick. I sat right down on the kitchen floor. Yet when this happens, I have to sit on my hip. The feeling of sitting regularly just sort of grosses me out. This hip-sitting posture is another tell-tale sign to Dad that all is not right. Finally, I looked up at him. "Get it off!"
Out came the Bounty paper towels. I hate this and although I know it needs to happen it instinctively makes me run. Him having to wipe, prod and pull at my behind is almost worse than having crap all over me. Yet after a couple of pulls at my tail as I was running forward to go hide in my crate, I succumbed to the 'quicker picker upper'.
During the cleaning process, it's at this point that Daddy gets mad. "Bandit! What in the hell? Oh no...look at it! Good Lord in heaven!" Then, out comes the cacophony of words whose meanings to me have yet to be defined. Something about a mother, a sucker and that damn F-word. I just don't get it.
Finally after much hemming and hawing on Dad's part and a couple of warm, soapy dish rags, I felt much better. I'm sure within the next few days I'll be going to see Kim my hairstylist. After an episode like this, "short around the anus" is what Daddy usually says.