Monthly Archives: April 2014

Movie Night with Mack

Trying to watch a movie with Mack in our finished basement, aka Mack’s Bachelor Pad, is trying and is usually peppered with unnecessary interruptions in forms of certain smells and noises. The older he has gotten, the longer the list of unreasonable demands that pop up as we are watching a movie. Last night, I hid my empty cup of hot cocoa in a spot I thought would be safe from a nosy Mack Truck, but within 15 seconds, he had found the mug and was lapping up the remnants off the rim. Pausing the movie for the 3rd time was annoying, but it was only Grudge Match so it’s not like we were on the edge of our seats. Actually, having a visual break from watching a very saggy and shirtless Sylvester Stallone and an even saggier Robert Deniro box was a blessing in disguise.

Movie night has become an experience and although we better at dealing with it, sometimes company is not. I like to think that if there were ever an orientation video/audio to “Movie Night with Mack” and if Mack could talk, it would sound a little like this:

——————————————————————————————–

Welcome to movie night with your host, Mack Truck the bulldog! Make yourself at home in his downstairs apartment and help yourself to any of his toys in his toy box. Wait, no, you can’t have that one. Or that one. Or his Wubba. No, definitely not the Wubba. In fact, you know what? Scratch the whole toy box thing. Better yet, as far away from the toy box as you possibly can.

To maximize your Movie Night experience, Mack has come up with a few, simple guidelines. These easy to follow guidelines will be read by your overweight and ornery host, Mack. (Mack’s voice is similar to Billy Bob Thornton’s character in Sling Blade, only more angry than handicapped and with a heavy Texas drawl. The producer’s part will be italicized. Warning: Mack has a potty mouth.)

(tapping of the lavier microphone with a paw)

“Hello? HELLO? Are we live? Yes, Mack. It’s on now. What am I supposed to be doing again? Reading your rules about movie night. C-can I have a treat first? Only after you’re done. Fine, dick. ‘The rules of Movie Night by Mack Truck.'”

“Hello! Welcome to Movie night! I’m Mack Truck the Bulldog and I have prepared a few rules so that Movie Night can be an enjoyable experience for all involved. I’d be happy to answer any questions once I’m done but in the mean time, please shut the fuck up. Mack, remember. If you want people to follow your rules, you have to be nice. I AM being nice! I said “please”!

“Number 1: You can sit an any couch in my apartment except mine. How does that saying go? ‘I don’t swim in your toilet so don’t pee in my pool?’ Yeah. Always wanted to use that phrase. Heh! Mack, I don’t believe that’s the correct way to use that phrase. Oh. Ok….uhhh… how about ‘I don’t shit in your yard so don’t sit on my couch?’ Heh! Oh wait, I do shit in their yards, don’t I?….Let’s move onto number two…….

Heh! Number 2….Oh! You mean the 2nd rule! Ok, Number 2: Any movie that you bring will have to be inspected by me first. Expect random sniffdowns of the DVD case and/or your hands for possible treats. Movies with barking dog sounds are highly encouraged. 

Number 3: Unless you plan to feed me, stay the fuck away from my food bowl. Uhhh….Mack? Let’s keep it polite, remember?

Number 4: During the movie, I will most likely grab a toy and ask for you to play a game of keep away or tug-of-war. YOU MUST ACCEPTANCE MY INVITATION!!!!! Mack, forced play during a movie is not being an accommodating host. SHUT UP! *burp*. Scuse me.

Number 5: The odds of you being crop dusted are high. Accept this and have an evacuation route planned beforehand. I…don’t see that one on my script. Mack, are you making these rules up as you go?

Number 6: You can hide your snacks, but I will always find them. Be prepared to have all foodstuffs confiscated by Officer Mack. Officer Mack? Yeah! Officer Mack looks a lot like me, but he’s not like me, or anything. Officer Mack has a mustache and a badge and confiscates snacks n stuff. Mack, do you don a costume to steal snacks? Uhh.. no? Where did you get a fake mustache and badge anyways?

…………….uhhhhhh….the dumpster behind Party City?

Number 7! You are allowed to watch your movie at a reasonable volume from the hours of 8:00 PM to 9:00 PM and after which you must shut all of the lights and noises so I can go to sleep on my couch. And then get the fuck out. Mack? Most movies are at least 90 minutes long. An hour isn’t a lot of time to watch a movie. Maybe we should adjust that time window? Hell no! My bedtime is approximately 9 PM! It’s my apartment and I can do what I want! Actually, it’s funny you brought that up because it appears you are two months behind on your rent.

Moving on now! If the details of Rule Number 7 are not adhered to, the following will result:

7A: I will sit on my couch and commence mournful whining at 9:00 PM. The whining will increase in volume and pathetic tone for 15 minutes and if the room isn’t completely dark and quiet, Stage 2 will commence. Uhh, Mack?

7B: Stage 2: I will get off of my couch and sit in front of you and whine. This may or may not include barks and nudges with my face. Mack! Stick to the script!

7C: Stage 3: I will glare at you in silence. Stink Eye City! MACK! Are you ignoring me?

7D: Stage 4: Crop dust time! Mack! Ma- (sound of Mack eating microphone)

*burp*

Where was I? Ah, yes. Subsection 1 of 7D! If the distant crop dusting is ignored, I will climb up on the couch and fire toots off at close range!

Number 8: Well, at this point, I’m on the couch and probably on your lap. Yeah. That’s 80 lbs of hot farty blubber parked right on  your balls. Try breathing now, fucker. That’s right. Give up and shut her down. Turn off ALL of the lights please…..Ah…..sleep time.

Well, that about wraps it up here. Questions? Comments? Be sure to call 1-800-Mack-Don’t-Care. Heh heh! I’m so funny and awesome, I’m going to lick my paws.

(mlam mlam mlam, slurp, slurp)

Copyright 2014

 

 

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Categories: Bulldogs, Dogs, Farts, Funny, Pets, Potty Humor | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Hangovers and Bulldogs.

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Nowadays, there are two ways that I remember times in my life: before bulldogs and after bulldogs.

Before I had bulldogs, I could go out with friends and get rip roaring drunk, come home, fall into to bed and go to sleep without any issue. I could sleep in as long as I wanted the following the morning and be completely worthless the rest of the day without it impacting anyone else. Granted, before I had bulldogs, I was also a single woman so I also didn’t have a husband to feed and nurse morning after because his hangover was worse than mine.

Now that I have a husband, and two very clingy bulldogs, going out and drinking to excess has consequences I could have never imagined six years ago. The following post chronicles the costs of getting drunk and being hungover “After Bulldogs”:

Saturday night, Da Hubs and I attended a friend’s 30th birthday party in downtown Minneapolis at a piano bar. We consciously made the decision that we were both going to get blitzed and take a cab home because you know what? Let’s pretend we’re turning 30 all over again, too. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Six hours and $200 later, we stumbled into our driveway and tipped the cab driver. Laughing to ourselves in our stupid, drunken pride because we were totally “those drunk people” tonight, we opened the front door to be greeted by a very nervous Peterbilt.

The unfamiliar cab that had pulled up in our driveway had scared the crap out of him. Once he realized it was us, his nub was crazily wagging with an “I’m so glad it’s just you guys” expression on his face. His excitable movements and forced sniffing of our feet and legs (I call this Sniff Rape) made it all the more difficult to take off our shoes and coats without stumbling. It seemed he was telling us about every scary moment of our absence. Peter still can’t say his R’s:

“Oh, you guys it was so scawee while you were gones! At first der was dis noise, wight? And I was all like woofwoofwoof and I did dats at every window! Den der was dis squirrel..”

“OKOKOK!”, I said to Peterbilt. “Take it down a notch and why don’t go outside?”

We let Peterbilt out and checked on Mackie who was sleeping downstairs on his favorite couch. We shut the light off and closed the door.

We let Peterbilt in and we prepared to get ready for bed. I moved Peterbilt and his dog bed into the den and shut the doors. It was about that time that Max started shrieking downstairs.

“Great! Fatass is up”, I said to my husband, who when I turned around wasn’t there. He was already in bed fast asleep. Fucker.

Guess my drunkass will just DO EVERYTHING FROM NOW UNTIL THE END OF TIME!!!!!!

So I let Mack outside, me standing at the back door face palming while he took his sweetass time. I marched Mr. Mack downstairs to put him in the bed, but he just wasn’t having it.

Side note about Mack: you can physically put him in the dog bed, but in the end, Mack is going to tell YOU when HE goes to sleep. If you leave him downstairs before he decided he’s tired enough to go to sleep, the shrieking ensues. Mack tells you he’s tired by jumping up on his couch and by giving you one long and exaggerated yawn.

So Mack taking this opportunity to take out every single toy out of his box and chew on each of them, just to piss me off because I was gone for so long. “Go the fuck to sleep, dog”, I said to Mack.

After about 10 minutes of him stalling and me cradling my dizzy head in my hands, he heaved his hefty body up on his old, ratty couch, gave his trademark yawn and decided it was time.

I walked back upstairs, changed into my pajamas and was sinking into a nice bed-spinny slumber when Peterbilt started whining. And whining. And crying. After 10 minutes I finally said screw it and let him on our bed to go to sleep. Desperate times, desperate measures.

Again, I’m falling asleep and all of a sudden I feel a big thump on the bed and hear the sound of a bulldog chewing on a bone. “Oh HELL no!” I said and took the bone away and set it on my night stand. That was the last thing I remembered before going to sleep.

I woke up Sunday morning with my head pounding and a huge weight on my stomach. I groggily opened my eyes to find Peterbilt staring right back at me, his nub wagging so hard the bed is shaking. His head is on my stomach and his feet are on my husband, to create a sort of fucked up looking letter H. Which probably stands for Hell or Hangover or Holy Shit I Drank Too Much.

I sat up, head pounding more so and looked around which was just enough confirmation for Peterbilt the breakfast was near. He lept off the bed and tore ass across the house to his food bowl. I looked at our bed and somehow during the night, another bone and Peter’s stuffed rabbit had made it onto our bed.

I hadn’t even made it out of bed yet when my husband asked me, “Do you have any coffee made yet?”

“……..You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

And then Mack started shrieking.

Peterbilt is singing for his breakfast in the kitchen.

Husband is groaning and asking for Advil.

Did I mention that MY FUCKING HEAD IS POUNDING?!????

15 minutes later, everyone was taken care of. I sat down at the kitchen table and tried to settle my stomach with coffee. This is about the time that Peterbilt took it upon himself to voice his displeasure at our stagnation. Mack added to the effect by finding Peterbilt ‘s stuffed rabbit squeaky toy and proceeding to chew on it. Every squeak like a hammer in our heads.

I looked over at Hubs and asked, “Anything you want to add while we ‘re at it ?” He farted.

Indeed, times have changed. I guess from now on I should watch my alcohol consumption on Saturday because I’m going to have to go right back to being a bulldog mom and wife on Sunday morning. Funny how not too long ago, I wasn’t even a part of this bulldog family. Now, it would literally fall apart without me. But at least I would’ve been well rested.

Categories: Being Married, Bulldogs, Crappy Adulthood Problems, Dogs, Farts, Funny, Pets, Potty Humor | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The “Elvis Presley”

So much of my humor is lost on my coworkers that I wonder why I even keep trying. Any joke or smart-alekly comment usually results in deer-in-headlight looks and them walking away, leaving me to snicker quietly to myself at my desk and then blog about it.

So Minneapolis has gotten it’s first Which Wich. I’ve seen these sandwich chains while visiting other states but have not eaten at one. Apparently, the sandwiches there impressed my boss, which is aggravating because that means a sandwich is more impressive than my 10 years of service. So impressed, that he pretty much rattled off every ingredient and sandwich they carried there. He was especially excited about someday trying the “Elvis Presley” (he doesn’t get out much). Apparently, this sandwich includes Peanut Butter, Bacon, Banana and Honey.

I asked “Does it have Quaaludes in it, too? Heh Heh heh heh”.

(crickets)

Le sigh. Heh heh heh heh. Typy-Typy.

"You ain't nothing but a hot dog...."

“You ain’t nothing but a hot dog….”

Categories: Crappy Adulthood Problems, Funny | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

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