Hook, line & stinker

I walked by Mommy yesterday, trying to nuzzle her ankles as she typed on the computer, and what thanks did I get? She told me I smelled like a sewer!

In fact, my ass was so offensive that she took a wet towel and scrubbed my butt with it. Turns out that some residual poop was still in my anus; she said it was like brown jelly, just clinging to the sides of my ass and refusing to be released. And, if you know her (non) gift for song, she started singing, "I don't think you're ready for this jelly!" (from "Bootylicious," if you've been blessed enough to forget that wretched song!). Leave my brown ass-jelly outta the conversation, mmmkay?

Oh, and if I overhear Mommy on the phone one more time telling this story, I'm gonna hurl. At Grandma's house recently, she had a plate with a pork chop and halushki sitting on the coffee table. (We don't ever have a "proper" dinner -- we watch TV while we eat, even though Grandma's cooking is sumptuous and truly deserves its own national holiday.) She had gone off in search of a beverage, and I was kind of parked by the plate, examining it. She wasn't worried because I've historically shown no interest in human food. But I'd never had pork, and it was smelling mighty tasty. So I gnawed on it a bit and really, really liked it! Mommy heard me crunching through the yummy breading, and she gave me all the pork chop from where my mouth had touched it. Apparently she figures I lick my ass with that tongue and she wanted no part of whatever I had touched. I'd say I was hurt, but fuck it -- I got more food!

When everyone was done with dinner, I cruised by the table, looking for leftovers on the plates. Seeing none, I took my big fat furry tail and bopped her plate onto the floor. Bitch.