Monday, March 26, 2018

Look Who's NOT Coming to Dinner


Recently, I whipped up dinner for my folks.

What the hell was I thinking?

Now, I enjoy cooking. Not all the time, mind you I have a friggin job, but I’m no slouch in the kitchen. My cookbook- which no one has read- can attest to that. 

So I purchased all the items for a simple Sunday meal. There would be no frills or elegance. That’s not how my family rolls. Our tiaras were at the dry cleaners but we made certain we used the pretty paper plates. Got me?

My menu was a HO made salsa verde over chicken burritos with a side of Spanish rice, made my THIS HO. I researched many salsa verde recipes online searching for the best one I could make from the fresh tomatillos I bought. Now, I will admit, the rice was of the RONI variety but it was tasty none the less.  My folks were tasked with making local garden grown sweet corn using my mom’s favorite kitchen gadget, the microwave.  *sigh*

I SLAVED for over two hours making the sauce and prepping the chicken breasts which I despise making. Yeah, I hate the whole process of doing anything with chicken. Fuck chicken. But I was doing something special for my folks so I went through the trouble of making the chicken 'goddamn delicious' by cleaning it of all opaque ligaments and bloody bits, cooking the remains with spices until it was fork tender and finally shredding the poor bird to bits.  What more could one ask for?


Not the Salsa Verde I made that day but I'm certain they wouldn't eat my Shrimp n' Grits either. I needed a pix of food so...here.


I brought the food over and popped the tortillas in Mom’s handy-dandy microwave to warm them up. 

My dad, who isn’t a fan of Mexican food, quizzes me. What’s this green stuff?  How do I eat it? Why are you trying to poison me? You didn’t let the cats help you cook, did you? 

Lemme explain; my dad’s biggest fear is my cats and dogs assisting me in the kitchen.  Which they do not! I keep telling him they are sans thumbs so they can’t do much to help me….except lick the spoons and bowls clean. I don’t have a fancy machine that scrubs the dishes so I make-due with what I have. Which are cat and dog tongues.

As my dad’s bombarding me with questions, the sounds of gagging and giggling are ringing off the appliances from my mom.

She’s holding herself up in the doorway attempting to stop herself from laughing and gagging, but she yells, “It’s the smell of the cumin.”

Now, in my family, we all think the smell of cumin is reminiscent of body odor. Particularly, from the ‘jock strap region’. It doesn’t stop us from using it-but it always makes for entertainingly distasteful conversation.

That triggers my bitching, “What the hell mom? You haven’t even platted your food yet, let alone tasted it and you’re over there gagging like you’re Linda Lovelace’s stand-in.”
I can already tell this meal is going to be a winner.

As if I’m scolding the children I found out were mine on Maury, I tell my folks to grab their plates and sit at the damn table so we can eat like adults. Yeah, that didn’t quite work out as planned.

See, the older my folks have gotten, the more they have taken to eating like five year olds. Small, quick, heat em up meals that by rights should come with a juice box and a friggin toy are what they subsist on. So I try to bring something over one in a while to expand their palates and give them a healthier meal.

We sit down to eat and my mom, who years ago had a botched gastric-by-pass procedure, and to this day can only eat very small meals is picking at her food telling me that, 'it’s good,' which is code for, I’m eating it because I’m your mother and I love you,  not because I like it.

My DAD on the other hand is moving the food around on his plate. Taking little bird bites.  I’m watching him and I notice he has his napkin in his hand. I think it’s weird but my dad IS weird so I don’t think much of it. As the meal plods on and we make small talk my mom suddenly blurts out, “You’re father is hiding his food in his napkin!”

“Am not!” my Dad shouts.

Mom shoots back, “You are too!”

See? Five year olds.

Pounding my fist in mock rage I yell at him, “Dad! For fucks sake, what the hell?”


My "What the Hell" face.


I say, “what the hell” A LOT when it comes to my folks. ‘For fucks sake’ was off the cuff.
He's so BUSTED.
Mom is in hysterics, continuing to call my Dad out. His face blooms the ripe red color of a baboon’s ass. And mind you, he’s laughing his own ass off.
"I can't believe you squealed on me," he snickers pointing at my Mom with a not-so-menacing fork.
The rest of the meal, which didn't last long, consisted of us cracking up and making fun of my dad.
So, I repeat….FIVE YEAR OLDS. 

No dessert for you Dad!

No…dessert

for you.


Unless the cats make it. Yep, I'll have them 'hand mixing' whatever batter with their tiny litter encrusted paws. Ooooh yeah.  Delicious.


Do NOT eat with these miscreants unless you want a good laugh.

Sunday, February 18, 2018

Horror Tree interview with THE John Reinhart

Poet and Arsonist...check him out.

https://horrortree.com/horror-tree-presentsan-interview-john-reinhart/

Thursday, February 8, 2018

Igor's Resume

After a day of complaining to my critters that although I love them and they are sucking my wallet dry like some fetish vampire. So Igor decided to step up and attempt to get a job. I told him in this competitive market, he needed to create a resume.


So here's what he came up with. Would anyone like to hire my dog?  There might be a little pee on the resume, sorry.




Igor Moriarty Dillon
Address: Somewhere in the Ghetto
Phone number: On bus station's bathroom wall--go see for yourself!
I_enjoypeeing onthings@yahoo.com




Dear future Boss-in-Law,

How's it hanging? I am looking for a job with your company that pays the most money and gets me lots of expensive treats. Milk Bones suck. The have no nutritional value and give me the green apple splatters. That's a nice way of saying, "The Shitz."

I don't really care what I do, as long as it doesn't involve me doing anything that requires using my paws. You see, I'm a gifted pianist and I can't get them all calloused or lose them in a freak vending machine accident. So please just leave the juju bees out on counter in the break room so I don't have to shove my paw up in the machine to snag my favorite power food which I NEED to get me through my mid-afternoon siesta time.  You...DO offer mid-afternoon siesta time, don't you?


PREVIOUS EMPLOYMENT:
Oh, my mom says I need to mention other jobs I've had. Let's see...there was the time I chased the one cat because it was licking it's ass too close to me. So, I guess that qualifies me as detailed security. I...uhhh...love to squeak things. And if they don't squeak, I rip their stuffing out after I beat the shit out of em so I'd say...Mob Enforcer. I was a go-go boy for a short time before I came to live with my now parents but...I really don't want to mention that.


SCHOOLS:
That's a good one. I went to a school in Middleburg Virginia when I was a puppy. It was called, House in the Middle of the Woods. It was there I learned from a few big ass dogs the rules to being a dog.
Which are:
1. If someone else pissed on it, it's theirs not yours. You can piss on it right after them but it's still not yours.
2. Eat like it's your last meal because it might be....or one of us bigger dogs will steal it. You snooze you lose.
3. Asses are to be sniffed at all first meetings. Even if the dog you live with took a five minute walk down the street, when he returns you SNIFF HIS ASS UP GOOD.
4. Thou shall not commit adultery. Wait a minute...wrong rule. That's for the Jewish dogs.


I never learned all the usual things that people expect dogs to learn, like fetch, roll over, shake and file off the serial number from that handgun. I'm sorry but I'm a free thinking pup. I don't listen to bullshit from the MAN, but mom says that's something that shouldn't be said outright in a resume. She said that I should put a spin on it. Sooo how about, I'm creative and think outside the box. Sure that's what I'm going with.


 SKILLS:
* Let's see.....Well....I can do that leg thing....uhhhh.
* If there's a commercial with a dog in it, I can recognize it as soon as the catchy little tune starts playing and scare that rogue dog out of the house! I hate Box from the Progressive commercials too. Obnoxious bastard.
* I'm great at counting.
* I can suck down whipped cream and snort blow off a hookers ass at the same time. Yep, I got the pix to prove it.
* And what else...ehhh 12 skills is enough.


Even though I'm part Chihuahua, I am in this country LEGALLY. But, like most Chihuahua's I do like to burrow into things like couches and blankets but I don't like to pick fruit or mow lawns. I DO like to poop in fields though. I am a also part pug but since you're probably racist, don't hold that against me.


REFERRALS:
Justin Timberlake
Mindy the Poodle next door
Box from the Progressive Commercial (I'm gonna make sure that bastard is good for something)



Damn I'm Handsome. HIRE ME!!









Saturday, December 23, 2017

The 2017 Dillon Critter Christmas Letter

The 2017 Dillon Critter Christmas Letter
Narrated by: Khali the new kitten
Written by: Moby because he's the eldest and would beat my ass if I didn't let him. 
Stupid ideas and smart ass remarks by: inferior cats;
Poe, Fathead, Lily, Splave, Shocky, Mama, Petunia & Beepers
& Mutts (Mom made me include them)
Quincy, Igor & Yeti

Hi everybody! I'm Khali, the newest member of the Dillon clan. The dogs aren't happy that I have the honor of writing this years letter. But once they see what a good job I do, they'll forget all about being mad at me. If they don't...oh well, they can suck my balls. If I had balls. Oh that wasn't very nice of me was it? I'll burn in Hell later.
Ain't I friggin cute?

A little about myself first, Mom took me in the first day I was to start cooking at a Chinese restaurant. I'm a Cancer...I like to grab feet while hiding under the coffee table.  I enjoy helping mom and dad wash dishes aaaand....I'm addicted to discovering the effect of negative ions while they replicate invarious dark matter in relationship to universal quarks. It's a hobby.


For this years letter, we wanted to do something a little different. We wanted to tell you a little bit about our Christmas traditions or a certain Christmas memory we had before being sold into slavery. Moby will go first.


Moby: I'll never forget that one Christmas....we didn't have a lot of money to buy every cat and kitten in our household a gift, so we took the time to stuff different colored yarn inside the crevices of the old lady that took care of us. We did this AFTER she croaked so don't get all bent out of shape snowflake. After we said our sacred feline prayer of, "Yub yub, thanks for the grub," we munched the shit out of her, which, contrary to popular belief, people do NOT taste like chicken. We each ingested a bit of string and waited. After a few days we started pooping out the string and that's when the excitement began. We'd rush to figure out who pooped out the same color! Well...after we washed it off. And we'd exchange gifts with the kitten who had the same color string....errr...wait...or was that the year we had to fight to the death and then eat the kitten that pooped out the same colored string?  Dammit, there were some bad winters when we were growing up.

This is good to know....

Khali: Ah...okay. Ummmm...Poe, it's your turn.

Poe: When I was a wee kitten, we knew and sang only one Christmas song, it was I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas. It was a family favorite.

Khali: I love that song too!

Poe: Unfortunately, you aren't pure enough to sing that song with me. You're a filthy spotted half breed.

Khali: What???

Poe:  It's a known fact, white it right! Heil Hitler's cat, Commandant Pretzel Bunz!

Follows the preaching of Commandant Pretzel Buns

Khali: Jesus strawberry eating Christ, what the hell???  I didn't know you were a racist bastard!

Quincy: Ummm...what do you think his costume was for Halloween? He wore a sheet and carried a torch?

Khali: I thought he was a ghost and he didn't have a flashlight!

Igor: O...M...G. You are one stupid pussy.
Igor's not impressed with 'stupid pussies'

Khali: AM NOT!

Igor: Are too.

Yeti: It's okay if you're stupid. They call me names too. Kinda like when the other reindeer  bullied Rudolph. Wanna eat some chalk?

Khali: Ah... HELL NO!  Will someone else please tell us about your non racist tradition!!!

Fathead: At the first big snow, my family would all go outside and frolic. It was magical. But...one year, I took my special Christmas present outside. It was a Red Rider BB gun....

Khali: Oh no! Did you shoot your eye out?  Is that how you fucked up your eye?
Tragic diabeetus accident

Fathead: What the hell are you talking about?  I didn't shoot my eye out. For your information I lost my eye in a freak two-car diabeetus accident. No, I took my Red Rider BB gun out and took out a gang of bikers that tried to take over our territory. That sent out the message far and wide that you never mess with the Cats of Anarchy! We feasted on their carcasses for weeks. We took their old ladies as new breeders for the club too. Hell, you could be one of my great-great-great-great-great grand kittens. Wanna join the club? I gotta shank you first.

Khali: MOMMMM!! "Screams and runs under the couch."





Quincy: Okay, back to the dogs running the show. Lily, you're up next. Tell em about your old traditions.

Lily: I lost my only kitten around this time a year ago....

Quincy: Ah shit here we go...

Lily: I told him to hold my paw when he crossed the street but he thought he was a big boy and refused...
Lily's Severed Head

Quincy: That's quite enough Lily...

Lily: I didn't even know what happened...

Quincy: Stop doing this to yourself...

Lily: And then....and then...."sniffle, sniffle"...I never saw it coming. And just like that, it hit him!

Quincy: Ah fuck.
Quincy's 'Ah fuck' face


Lily: Exactly! What hit him was the fucking notion that he would become a Trump supporter!

Quincy: Look, it's over. Ya just gotta move on...

Lily: He's found a crunchy Cheeto under the couch cushions. He knitted suits out of scraps of fabric and belly button lint. He calls it Donald!

Quincy:  Do any of you damn cats have some nip for this bitch????

Lily: He dead to me. DEAD!




Quincy: This idea you had for the Christmas letter really sucks Khali! Hey, you...Oreo brothers. Do you have a happy holiday story.

SPLAVEAGE

Splave: Why yes we do. Thank  for asking. Since we are Spanish....

Quincy: ...you are not Spanish.

Splave: Really? Okay...then since we're Jewish....

Quincy: ...you're not Jewish either.

Shocky: But...we wear yarmulkes on our heads.
Shocky sans alien communication hat

Quincy: Those are tin foil pie pans from when you were trying to contact aliens.

Shocky: Soooo we're not Jewish?

Quincy: *sigh* No.

Splave: Well, then we got nothin.
THEY GOT NOTHIN

Quincy: Of course not....Mama, Beepers, Petunia--you're next.

Petunia: Our mama here taught us how to make special cakes made with almond paste, milk and shrapnel. We called them...bombs.

Petunia & Mama exhausted from making cake bombs

Beepers refused a photo. This was the best we could do.

Quincy: Err...you mean they ARE the bomb?

Petunia: Uhhhh...sure.

Beepers: Mama taught us how to sneak into homes by greasing our fur with chunky Vaseline and Cool Whip setting us up for easy access down the chimney to stuff the stockings of the bad little infidels with cakes... and turds.

Mama: FALALALALALALALALALALALAHOLLAAAAAAA!!!!
Mama hates infidels...but loves ham
Quincy: What the hell is she doing? She sounds like a turkey drag queen in heat.

Beepers: She is singing the song of our people. And she's cheering the fact that we blew up the neighbor's garbage can.

Quincy: And what did that prove?
Fathead disapproves
Petunia: It proves....stuff.  Oh by the way...I hope you're not attached to what's in your underwear drawer.

Khali: I don't think I wanna live here anymore.
Khali, wishing she didn't live here

Quincy: Sorry about your shitty luck kitten. You're screwed like the rest of us. Yeti, please share something less....murdery

Yeti: Oh yeah! Well, last year Mom and Dad got us the Roomba. It was the bestest present ever. I would ride on it and play bumper cars into walls and furniture. That one time we fell down the steps wasn't that fun but... I loved it.

Igor: Yeah, you loved it until...tell everyone what happened.

Yeti: Do I have to?
A clean shaven Poe here for no reason
Igor: Most definitely!

Yeti: *sigh* I loved it, until one day while I was riding the Roomba; pretending it was my mighty steed and I was a fierce knight going into battle, and I charged my Roomba into a boulder filled swamp.

Quincy: Aaaaand...

Yeti: They weren't boulders.
Floating Yeti Sketti head

Quincy: And what were they?

Yeti: *mumbling*

Igor: SPEAK UP!

Yeti: They were gobs... of... creamy...warm poop.

Quincy: And what happened to that creamy, warm poop.

Yeti:  It got squished under the wheels....

Igor:  Aaaaand...

Yeti: It smeared poop all over the living room floor.

Quincy:  And why was Dad pissed?

Yeti: The Roomba stopped working.

Igor: And why did the Roomba stop working??

Yeti:  It died.
Petunia wanting to take responsibility for Roomba death

Quincy:  Mmmm hummm...explain.

Yeti: It... hung itself.

Igor: Yes, it hung itself. And what did the note say?

Yeti: *pulling out the note*  This isn't the first time. The little bastard is a shit loving freak. Please bury me next to the toaster. If you only knew what he jammed in there..."


Poop fiend
Khali: Ewwwww....

Quincy: Sick fucker, ain't he? Igor, ya have a tradition ya wanna share or a memory you need to confess to the police?

Igor: Not with my parole officer present.

His parole officer is not present
Quincy: Good, because I no longer care.

Khali: What about yours Quincy? Tell us your Christmas tradition.

Quincy: Well, there's the tradition where we haze the brand new family member.

Khali: You do??

Quincy: Yep, we hang the poor fuck from the chandelier and toss regurgitated hairballs and litter encrusted turds at them after a vigorous dousing of canned cheese whiz. (See Xmas Letter 2013)
Moby donated the litter encrusted turds
Igor: It's all good. You don't have balls so we'll just aim at your head.

Khali: MOOOOOOM!!!
Mama: FALALALALAALALALALAAAAAAA!!!!


                                          MERRY WHATEVER BITCHES!!

Beepers has been photographed. Holy shit! It's a Christmas miracle!























































Look Who's NOT Coming to Dinner

Recently, I whipped up dinner for my folks. What the hell was I thinking? Now, I enjoy cooking. Not all the time, mind you I have a ...