Sunday, March 23, 2008

Brief Convalescent Interruption

Hey folks. Hazel here.

Look, I'm not sure what that bastard who runs this site told you, but I'm given to understand that a few of you people actually offered him money last week so that some other asshole could cut me open and tack a metal plate to my knee. Can that possibly be true? Are humans really so deranged?

Seriously. What gives?

Take a look at my leg. You might notice that it's been shaved. Do you know why my leg is shaved?

Oh, jeez, I don't know. Maybe it's because my people . . . wanted . . . to hobble me. Just because I'm always in their faces looking for some juicy love, or because I topple the high chair while chasing the mounds of food their illiterate jabbering goblin-child flings around the living room, or because I bark at those idiot cats in the middle of the night. Whatever. They apparently can't handle The Hazel, and so they cut me up like a Christmas goose.

And now a few of you have blood on your hands, too. Way to go. Way to get sucked into the vortex. You know they shaved my stomach, too. Maybe that owner of mine would let you have a gander at that for a couple of quarters. God, I hate him. If I weren't on so many drugs right now, I'd eat his face off.

Did he mention that he's been calling me "Tripod" for the past few days? Oh, he didn't? Yeah. Real classy. At least he's stopped calling me "Dumbo."

But what else would you expect from a guy who spends most of his life in sweatpants? It's pathetic. He looks like a total shut-in, but he actually leaves the house sometimes and -- wonder of wonders -- seems to hold down a regular job. Really, I'm embarrassed to be seen with the guy. Can I run a donation drive as well? Maybe I can raise enough to buy that bag of lard a decent set of clothes, or maybe get him a haircut more than two or three times a year. And he's got the nerve to come at me with the grooming tools? I'm like, "Take care of your damn self!"

As soon as I can walk again, I'm going to teach myself how to take a dump in his shoes. Oh, what's the point? He probably won't even notice.

Anyhow, I hope you're all happy. You're a couple of dollars poorer, and I've got this gigantic wound on my leg. It's win-win!