2008 Xmas Letter
from the Pugs
Ozzy, Tazzy and
Quincy (the wanna-be pug)
Narrated by Ozzypug
Typed by the Katz
Sass, Bunson, Moby, Poe, Little Bitch, Church, Fat Head, Spot,
Petunia, Beepers and Sidney Vicious
January: The whole family has got worms. Yup, even
Mom and Dad. It was an ugly sight: every critter in the house dragging their
butts on the floor, trying to rid their sphincters of ass pirates. Tazzy wanted
to keep his for a pet, but I told him; “Pets don’t live in ones anus. That’s
just rude.” So after a few doses of butt medicine and a stimulating rectal
douching, we all quickly regained that “fresh feeling”. We decided to ride
horses and pick flowers since we no longer worried of anal stank and itchies.
Tazzy snapped a picture of his ass-worm friend, Johnny, before he was
euthanized. He was a pleasant looking fellow…for an ass-worm. (See enclosed
photo).
February: Quincy decided he wanted to be the next
fresh, up-&-coming indie movie director, so he wrote a ten page script
called, “Don’t Punch the Corpse.” Tazzy manned the camera while Quincy directed
and starred in the film. The film featured a dimly lit room, a corpse (see
July) and a clown. Basically, every time Quincy punched the corpse, this creepy
clown stepped into the shot holding a hand scrawled sign that read,
“Don’t.” That goes on for 10 minutes.
It’s disturbing. I hate clowns! Quincy thinks it’s avant-garde. I told him it was avant-suck. For the full 10
minutes of pain, check out Younztube. Mom tried out some new dog food. We got
diarrhea. Way to go Mom. We needed soothing ass butter 2 months in a row.
March: Mom took us to church to be blessed. Tazzy
decided it would be funny to attempt spinning his head all the way around, (ala
Linda Blair), when the priest sprinkled him with holy water. He got his head
halfway around, pulled a neck muscle, and began writhing around in pain. The
priest freaked and began praying harder. Quincy decided he wanted in on the
fun. He shoved his paw down his throat and puked up some cat food he shouldn’t
have been eating in the first place, howled some obscenities about the priest’s
mother and attacked the anal beads dangling from his dress. I mean, rosary
beads (they were really big). I felt a poop come on with all the excitement so
I decided to top off the ill-fated event by squeezing out an inverted
cross-shaped turd and eating it as an encore.
That sent the priest running. When we got home, Mom punished us. But
damn… it was worth it.
April: Dad turned 40 this year. I told him he’d be dead
in dog years. He tried to swat me for that saucy comment, but his knee gave out
and he fell in some regurgitated cat puke that Tazzy was hoarding for
sustenance in case of a nuclear attack. I think it proved my point: Dad’s as
old and stiff as a petrified cat turd. Mom found three bastard kittens living
in the garage. She brought them in, took care of them and quickly sold them on
the black market in exchange for a new liver. Now Mom & Dad are fighting over
who gets the liver. Friggin’ drunks.
May: Mom and Dad took in another cat. His name is
Fat Head. More like Fat ASS. He was bragging to all of us “Neuters” that
he still had his nuggets and knew how to use them. He’d strut around the house
with his paws on his junk howling, “See who da man? I be da man”, and then he’d fling his balls
around like a bolo and SLAP whoever happened to be licking their ass next to
him. I must admit… the twirling balls were very impressive. Unfortunately, Mom
was struck in the face with a wild left nut that left her unnerved and partially
blind for an hour. Coincidently, Fat Head is the newest lead soprano of The
Neuters! (Songs now available on itunes.) We made up a new game called “Hide
the Turds in the Couch Cushions”. It never gets old.
June: This month
Quincy turned 3 years old. Finally, he became a man. So we all chipped in and
bought him a stripper. It wasn’t one of our better decisions. She was a Great
Dane with 6 saggy tits, a case of mange and no talent. All she did was shove
her huge ass in our faces and say, in this deep booming voice, “You Like?” Hell
No we didn’t “like”! The problem
was, Quincy got into the cats’ “stash”. He got real messed up and tried to get
all “up in dat.” When he attempted his “signature move”, a cross between Tae Bo
and The Backstreet Boy, the Dane’s G-string snapped and out shot the RED
ROCKET! The bitch was a tranny! (Note to self: never answer ads in the back of
Dog Fancy). And in case you’re wondering, the answer is yes; we made he/she
finish his/her routine. We made him/her tuck and tape. Good money was paid for
that tranny!
July: Buried bones in the yard. Okay, fine, a full
skeleton. That neighbor was a creep anyway. If it makes all you bleeding heart
liberals feel any better, he tasted like shit.
Mom decided to give us a bath, so while she was taking a shower, she
decided to scrub us too. It was horrible! I don’t need to see Mom all “hanging
out” and shit. Quincy kept screaming, “My eyes. Tear out my eyes!” I had to
stop Tazzy from actually doing it between gagging myself. If Mom would just go
to the gym, or have the fat sucked out her ass, we wouldn’t have these
self-destructive outbreaks.
August: CSI visited the house. Fucking Karma. They
sprayed glow-in-the-dark shit all over the house, looking for traces of blood.
But the joke was on them. All they found were oceans of day-glow urine and
miles of impressive skid marks all over everything. The CSI guys left crying. Quincy was so proud
of himself. I think my bodily fluids left more impressionistic stains on
the rugs. I’m not one to brag, but I did draw that queer little turtle in the
newspaper. Only I did it with fecal matter. Some artists use
watercolors, I use poop. The art institute never did respond.
September: The house
is being overrun by kittens. Mom & Dad took in five stray bitches and their
slut of a mom, Spot. She’s the SAME mom who had the first batch of kitten
interlopers earlier in the year. Mom traded two kittens for a bottle of Jim
Beam and a pack of smokes but kept the rest in case there is another Great
Depression and we run out of food to eat. Mom doesn’t like it when Tazzy and
Quincy grab the kittens and “whap” them against the wall. She just doesn’t understand
that “wall-whapping” is the proper technique to tenderize a kitten. She’ll
appreciate it when she bites into its tender little head.
October: Inspired by
Miri and Zack make a porno, the cats decided to feature Spot, the kitten’s
dirty whore mother, in their own ho-made porno. When Dad noticed the video
camera set up in the basement and over a hundred tomcats lined up around the
block, Dad did what any concerned father would do. He got in line too. I
wondered why this last litter had long dark fur, chain smoked, and quoted the
Axis Y. Just kidding! Dad beat all the horny bastards with a water hose. I told
him to just soak the Viagra cats but he said the beatings made him feel better.
Dad needs a Valium.
November: We all voted for the president this year.
Tazzy voted for Obama just because he was black. Tazzy thinks just because
his mom had a little black pug in her once, it makes him a brother. I told him
that just makes her a ho. Quincy voted for Spiderman. He’s an idiot. Me? I don’t discuss politics
in Xmas letters. The cats are still bitter because they haven’t won the right
to vote. Hey, if you’re a stupid pussy, you’re not allowed to vote. It’s the 4th
law of the jungle, baby. It’s followed by the 5th law, which clearly
states, “Don’t poop where you eat unless there’s no where else to poop.” Not a
very clear law, I might add.
December: It’s that time again. On December 25th, the
gerbil crawls out a baby’s ass, rolls away the stone and sees His shadow and we
get good shit or… just shit. It’s such a beautiful holiday. We hope you and
yours enjoy the holidays and don’t bludgeon each other over who gets to suck
the lint off the last candy cane on the Christmas tree. No one is worth having
their ass sold in prison to the man with the most cigarettes.
“Silver balls. Neutered balls. It’s Christmas time and it’s shitty…”
holy shiite batman . . .
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