18 October 2005
MY LIFE IS BULLSHIT: A Blog from Vito
In honor of Vito’s 3rd (21st) birthday today
OOOOOOH. Lucky me. Some friggin' birthday - Thanks. How about throwing me that stick of pepperoni from Tutto Italiano instead of this lame appearance on your blog that nobody reads? First of all, look at this picture of me. I look friggin’ ridiculous. I’m already the laughing stock of the neighborhood because of this foolish collar. Now I'm the laughing stock of the blogosphere because I don't have opposable thumbs and can't upload a decent photo of myself.
Speaking of situations-no-win - Xena and Zeus, the pugs that live around the corner -- we used to hang out. You know, nothing serious, a little bum sniffing, a little frolicking around the rhododendrons. Last week, I heard them chugging around the corner like the tugboats they are, and I hid like some kind of girly poodle-chihuahua mix. If they saw me in this Mickey Mouse PetSafe collar, they’d laugh their fat, wrinkled asses off and I wouldn’t blame them. It’s humiliating. This collar has put a Golden Retriever-sized dent in the formidable street cred I’d carved out here on Brookwood Road. Everyone here knew I was from the mean streets of Eastie. There were pitbulls in my old neighborhood and FYI – they were all scared shitless of me.
Believe me, I’ve outwitted the PetFence system before and will again. First there was the “lightning strike” that disabled the fence back in August. HA! It was ME! But then Carl from PetSafe, who smells like a sex offender, came back and rebooted the system. Last month, I chewed the PetSafe collar in half, rendering it useless. But Jamie called and – lo and behold - Carl came running like a sycophantic Beagle in candy-apple trouser socks. I’d chomp that guy’s friggin’ kneecaps off if I could reach them. So here I am, on my 21st birthday, feeling like a complete buffoon. Meanwhile, I’m sleeping with one eye open because Jamie hurls king-sized pillows and shoes at me all night long, carrying on like a madman about how loud I'm snoring. FYI - I don’t snore, I snort. It's a pug thing. I'm bracycephalic.
In addition to being short-nosed and asthmatic, there is the day-to-day crap I have to endure: Caroline thinks I’m her own personal pack mule. I’m overweight for Chrissakes. I’m sucking wind after one lap around the kitchen island. I can't take it. All I want is to sit on the couch, eat a few baby carrots, and if that round kid Paulie throws me a few nugs of Pirate’s Booty, great. But not for nothing -- how about throwing me some parma proscuitto every now and then. My life is bullshit. All I want is all of the food in the house. I want to sleep in the big bed upstairs and be Lord of the Manor. I want Jamie to hand feed me bacon and pepperoni. It’s not too much to ask on one’s 21st birthday.