Feast or Famine

Kind of like this blog – some weeks, no posts. Other weeks, several posts.

Today’s entry is about dinner; I haz it, the dogs want it.

In the sink sits a bag of thawing chicken.

FEAST

On the floor sit STARVING dogs. Starving TO DEATH if you please.

FAMINE
“I’m so fed up with her. There’s chicken in the sink, perfectly good chicken, and she’s sitting on the floor with the camera stuck to her face. I just. don’t. understand. her.”

FEAST


SO. MUCH. FAMINE.
“I’m too weak … to lift my head … I rest it in your leg … you loser-human-in-pajamas-at-7:00pm-on-a-Friday-night.* Your cruelty
is why you are single. You suck. I’m so hungry.”

FEAST. Chicken, chicken everywhere …


KITTEN
“No eatin’ the kitten. Move along. Nothing to see here.”

Oops, shit. I mean, FAMINE:
“Dear doG, who art in heaven, please make the Food Lady give me chicken.”

—————

Oh and it gets better.

Are you ready for it?

Mr. Woo died of hunger. He moaned, keeled over, and died, right there on the floor.
Of course he died staring at me, so I’d feel guilty. I totally don’t.

BYE BYE WOOTIE! MORE CHICKEN FOR TWEED!!

“Over my dead body. I’ll fight him for it. Bring it on, @$$hole.”
(more Meat Mad Teeth ™)

For the record, since I don’t want a “dog rescue” breaking into my house and liberating my dogs, they aren’t really starving! They go into famine mode about 1/2 hour – 45 minutes before their regularly scheduled feeding time. It takes Woo that long to create an effective build up to his nightly “demise.”

Besides, anyone who has seen Wootie in person knows he could live off his own fat for, like, three weeks at least.

“OMG. You starve me AND you mock me. I hate you.”

*in my own defense, I am wearing pajamas because I changed out of my wet dog beach jeans into the closest pants nearby, which *happened* to be my jammies! And I’m home on a Friday night because I have to work early Saturday morning. I’m not a loser! Don’t listen to Tweed, he’s a dick!