Saturday, August 25, 2012

August 25th, 2012

Dear Diary,

It is a dark dark day. The internet has always been my happy haven for on-line poker, ordering Omaha Steaks, and laughing at cat videos (cats are so dumb!!!). But now, there is a black hole of misery and injustice that is ruining the internet AS WE KNOW IT. Hateful speech and discrimination!!!! WHAT IS THIS!??!!? People finding fault in dogs?!?!! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!  What is even WORSE is that people are asking Mother-Person to put ME on there. ME. Beans Aloysius Wienerdog. INJUSTICE.

I won't have it. So I am fighting back the only way I know how: to act first.

Take that internet. Take that people. You can't shame me!! I SHAME YOU FIRST. Neener neener.  (And yes, that is my nose moisture on the paper. It's hard getting things out of a printer when you don't have thumbs.)

Beans A. Wienerdog

Friday, May 4, 2012

May 4th, 2012

Dear Diary,

There is no sun now.
What great misery I feel.
Cold sorrow soaks in.

See that, Diary? I'm forced to speak in haikus now. THAT'S HOW BAD IT IS. The hallway monsters were bowling last night and making me VERY nervous. Mother person explained it as thunder. I looked at her perplexed. I thought thunder was a derogatory way to explain thighs. I don't even know what goes through her head anymore.

She bought another vacuum cleaner. Why. Why must she do this!??! Why doesn't she just get rid of the thing that makes the mess that requires said vacuum cleaning?! Don't you say it, Diary. I do not shed. Stop judging me.

Misery is sad.
I have no justice anymore.
Vacuum you suck bad.

Oh, that one even rhymed. Nice touch if I do say so myself. And a pun? Wow, I think I've really hit my stride on these.

I am so pretty.
Long ears and snout are so grand.
Please give me bacon.

Must rest. All this creativity wears me out.

Beans A. Wienerdog

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

April 11th, 2012

Dear Diary,

Now I've done it. Boy howdy. Why am I so bad? Why is what I do considered to be "bad"? Why isn't it applauded as free thinking? Why is opening a closet door, ripping open a plastic bag, and then eating 5 oz of 72% pure dark chocolate considered a "bad" thing. On the contrary I think is shows: initiative, cunning, understanding of physics, and an advanced palate. Believe me, other canines can't figure out these things. I was with Squeak the Chihuahua. (I forget her real name, but it doesn't matter. She's a divot with hair who squeaks ALL THE BLOODY FLIPPIN' TIME. She will not pull it together and for that, I have no patience.) Squeak was all, "Hey! Whatcha doing?! What's going on? IS THAT A SHADOW?! I AM AFRAID OF SHADOWS! IS THAT A REFLECTION?!? HEAD FOR THE HILLS!!" I'm all, "Chillax. If you put your knobby head right there and push, we can get this door open and help ourselves to the chocolate buffet." She was on board, as she listens to everything I say. Bless her. So, knobby head went in, the door moved! Huzzah! Then she fell right into my plan, "Is that a plastic bag? Oh I do so love to play with the plastic bag! May I play with the plastic bag with the swishy swishy swishy noise and the pulling and the ripping? Oh please may I?" Well, who was I to dash her dreams!! Rip away, fuzzball! And so she did, and then the chocolate presented itself and we dug in. I admit, she moved on to the chocolate faster that I thought she would. I thought I'd have a good head start, what with her bag obsession and all... But we both chowed down pretty good. I was quite pleased!!! Then, the people came home. The crying. The waving of hands. The panic and hysteria! The flapping to get us to the... VET.  Why? To find out how I'm so incredibly brilliant so it can be documented for medical history? To get Squeak's vocal chords snipped? Oh diary, you'll never guess what they did... They... They... Sorry. I am a bevy of emotion!! Where is my embroidered hanky?!?!... they made me throw up... INTO A BUCKET. Like a common frat boy on a Friday night!! MISERY. They didn't even hold my ears back. Injustice.

Apparently, they're all "concerned" about "heart failure" when "dogs" "eat" "too much" of the "dark chocolate." What do I have to say about that? Poppycock!!!! That's right. When's the last time you heard that phrase? Well, I'm bringing it back as I feel it's appropriate. You make me throw up glorious deliciousness and then make me sleep overnight with IV fluids, I will yell poppycock at you.

This is me the next day. Like Tiny Tim! Why would a genius like me be reduced to a pathetic Tiny Tim! INJUSTICE.

Terrible. Just terrible. Yellow isn't my color. I'm hopping. Dachshunds are good with the hopping. We just look silly, and THAT is VERY UPSETTING. My image team is very disappointed with this. So please, diary, don't share this with anyone.


For the record, I got no treats to make up for all the food I was forced to upturn. Injustice.

Beans A. Wienerdog

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

March 28th, 2012

Dear Diary,

Oh my stars, Diary. You know how I hate to be catty. I find that very unbecoming a proper Wienerdog as myself. BUT, that little trollop of Bogart, has sunk to levels I never thought a Wiener could sink. And coming from animals with less than one inch ground clearance, this is REALLY saying something. Trollop's name is Dolly. Ridiculous. Dolly wrote me a letter via Mother Person's Bookface page. Facebook? Whatever. On the internet super high way her words come careening towards my already broken heart. Here is the attached photo and her text:

Dear Beans-- whose soft terry cloth "Oprah's favorite thing" robe am I sitting, you may stop licking your lack of balls to ask yourself? That's right. Sam's. And what's that in the background? No, it's not a 4x3 ft linai you can barely fit a pee pad on. It's a yard. And who pray tell is sniffing my gorgeous arese? The BUBS and he loves it-- jealous?? In respond to your delightful literature in which you so sadly pretend you are some sort of Ariana Woofington, may I just say this: no one cares what you have to say. Despite your clever phrasing and alliteration. Save it for your memoir. Which I'm sure will be titled: Diary of a Mad Black Weenie. To that-- I give you this coy side glance. Interpret how you will. And stay away from my man. Signed, Dolly

SACRED BLEU! It's worse than I thought. She must be holding our Bogart, aka "The Bubs" hostage. It's like the Hunger Games *SPOILER ALERT UNLESS YOU HAVE READ PAST PAGE 148 IN BOOK 3* when Peeta goes all goofy. Bogart, my simple little mutt, you just don't know what's happened to you. Forcing you into early marriage. Silly clothes. No devil pigs. I can't help but think of this Dolly as our Yoko. Oh misery. Terrible misery. Like a sock just out of reach... Or a chicken bone on the street that I'm forbidden to eat. (Why do people eat bone in chicken on the street, btw?!?) It's all unfair. And those words... oh how they cut me... But come on, of COURSE people want to know what I have to say. That's just ridiculous to think otherwise. Clearly, she is delusional. With a very long snout.

I do admit, I miss her Man Person, Sam, and his exceptionally soft robe. That Oprah knows a thing or two about comfort... and I don't think a chicken bone has ever been out of HER reach, know what i'm saying? That's right, a fat joke. That Dolly has shaken me to the core and I'm reduced to making FAT JOKES. About OPRAH. Where is my fainting couch?? I must rest. I need a lime seltzer and a nap. Maybe then, this will all stop.

Beans A. Wienerdog

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

March 27th, 2012

Dear Diary,

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? Um, no. Whoever coined this trite phrase never met a wienerdog. Especially THIS wienerdog. My heart is broken in a million little pieces. I haven't gone to pilates in a week, and I can't bare to even look at my French homework. WHY you ask? Look at this filth.

See that fetching character on the right in the bow tie? THAT is my former best friend forever, or BFF as the kids say. Bogart. Look at his luscious ears!! There may not be much between said floppy ears, but that Bogle (part dog, part Beagle) was my dear friend. We would vacation together while my people were out of town (ie they deserted me with nice people who loved me, but "deserted" I certainly was, none the less.) I would sleep in Bogart's bed, he'd get the floor.  I'd play with his squeaky devil pig, he'd watch. He'd find me socks to munch on, I'd let him.  It was a good relationship. He moved to Louisiana a little while ago and apparently, fell in with a bad crowd. And replaced me. With that. Another wienerdog. Injustice.

Not only is this wiener not of my superior coloring. She's a GIRL. ICKY! BLEH!!! And she makes him wear funny clothing!!!!! What is this, role playing?!?! It's not right, I tell you. Not right at all!!! He should only be taking orders from ME!!! That is how this friendship worked out so perfectly!!!! MISERY!!! I would never make him wear a bow tie. That's not edible at all. What a waste! And it doesn't even keep your little hound body warm. This is only worn to delight the humans. Terrible. What's next, Bogart? Fetching their balls and herding their sheep? You'll be a slave to them!!! It's bad enough we have to work CONSTANTLY to ward off the hallway monsters and the vacuum cleaner gnomes. You've turned into a puppet... And I blame that lady friend! She's not properly advising you on how to be a hound. She may not really be a real wienerdog at all. Maybe some Swedish knock off or something. I don't see "stern German" coming from her...  I shudder to think about it.

Now who's my best friend? The whiney Beagle across the hall? The Chihuahua that barks at shadows?! The hapless labrador? Who can I boss around?!?! WHO WHO WHO?! Misery.

I will lie on the couch, taking up more room than one thought possible, while my heart aches like no other heart has ached before. A lamb chop would really hit the spot about now.

Beans A. Wienerdog

Friday, March 9, 2012

March 9th, 2012

Dear Diary, 

Diary. Look at this. 

Is this wiener dog prettier than me?!?!??! Wait. Don't tell me. I don't want to know... From this angle you can't see his/her bum swirls... I have divine bum swirls. If my front paws weren't so short, I could take a photo for you, but alas. That's right, laugh it up, Diary!! I can't find my ass with both paws. Injustice. Sigh. Those spots are terribly pretty. I could have been in that Cartier commercial. Why didn't they think of me?! Misery.

I haven't diary-ed in a while... just, so sad. I went on a sock binge. The mini person moved his sock drawer, and the dumb human people have all his stuff in bins that slide out, with no lids. What do they think I am, a retriever?! A trainable and affable dog that isn't ruled by a small evil German brain?! Have they even met me? So, yes, of course, I got into said sock drawer and munched through them like Mother Person when see gets a whiff of tater tots. (Which she DOES NOT share. Who has the evil brain now, hmmmm?) But, yes, I threw up 6 socks one day, and 2 the next. The 2 even surprised me! There we were having our Daily Show cuddle and I felt a gurgle. Next thing you know, there are 2 dead socks on the couch. Mother Person was visibly disturbed. Soft Touch even gave a little yelp. Who knew I had 2 more in me?! Where do I store them!? It's a mystery. I am a marvel, that's all I can say.

I have stopped counting the amount of treats and cuddles I recieve. My therapist said I should concentrate on the positive. I think that was her way of saying, "These jerky treats are mine and I'm not sharing." That session definitely wasn't worth the co-pay. Misery continues.

Beans A. Wienerdog

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

February 15, 2012

Dear Diary,


Ok. Deep breaths. Maybe that's a bad angle...

Nope. Not the angle. It looks like that stupid vacuum robot covered in hair!!!! That's not a dog!!!! And that vacuum is evil and demented and must be smashed. I don't trust it. And don't cover it in hair and think that I can be fooled! I digress...

This is a dog....

She's me on stilts! She's German!! (Ok, her name is Fifi, but she's German at heart...) THAT is a dog. It's not as great as this Dachshund....

But. Whatever. Injustice. Why should I be so surprised at life being so horrible to me?? Did I get a consolation steak last night??? No. Did I get snuggled all night? Oh, yeah, I did... BAH. I don't even get to complain about lack of snuggles!!!!!! MISERY. 

I need to eat some socks. 

Beans A. Wienerdog

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

February 14, 2012

Dear Diary,

Valentine's Day. Or, the memorial of the day I lost those 2 little dangly bits. That's right, I was neutered on Valentine's Day. While my Mother Person went to the Westminster Dog show and whored herself out with other dogs. I think that pretty much sums up my life. Misery. Oh sure, she coddled and snuggled me after I came home and I got "special" treats for awhile... but that was just her GUILT. Her GUILT for fraternizing with other dogs who still have dangly bits. She told me I was prettier than them.... and she's right. So, at least she's not blind. There's a win.

I have to admit, I am VERY excited as this year the wire-haired Dachshund won the hound group!!!! OH THE EXCITEMENT!!! Sure, they're inferior to the smooth coated, but heck. A Wiener recognition is a Wiener recognition and I'll take it. I mean, basically, the dog looks like me, only as an old man.

Good luck, Raydachs Playing With Fire V Glesihorbach. (That's a mouthful.) It should be noted that her   sister's name is Wire Wire Pants on Fire, which is fairly awesome. Anywho.... Make us proud, you little bitch! (Rarely does one get to say that and not get yelled at for salty language.) 

I better get treats tonight... Ugh. Probably won't. Misery. And apparently I can't see in 2-dimensions so I can't watch the finals on TV? INJUSTICE!!!!! Don't tell me what I can do or not do!!! And if I have to hear Mother Person squeal over the big dumb Labradors, I may need to break out the Scotch. 

Beans A. Wienerdog

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

January 25th, 2012

Dear Diary,

Socks consumed: 3
Underwear consumed: 1 (but it was a thong, so really, .5)
Treats consumed: Why do I bother counting?? It's so depressing.
Injustices: Lost count, but an educated guess would be 637
Stupid shirts forced to wear: 1

DO YOU SEE THIS??! My Mother Person forced me (and the whole bloomin' household) to wear goofy shirts to support "her team." I would like to note that I don't force her to wear "LET'S GO BACON!!" shirts, or "SOCKS ARE YUMMY!" Ok, she may actually have the bacon shirt... But I don't force her to wear it. I have several issues with this forced clothing. 1, not my coloring. Grey?? Honestly. 2, the cut. This is a v-neck. A V-NECK. I look like a common mall-goer in Northern Jersey! It was terrible!!! My hairy chest bulging out. Embarrassing. I never ever wished in my life that I had a dickie until then. A nice mock turtle neck? Something. Terrible. Misery.

As if that wasn't enough, Mother Person starts rolling out a feast for all the sports show watchers. This lady hasn't make anything more exotic than a Hot Pocket since Mini Person came along but that day? She made a lasagna, from SCRATCH and what did I get??? Hmm? Nothing? Did you guess nothing?! That would be correct. INJUSTICE!!!!!!

Ok, well, I did get this....

That would be one of those condescending toys that have this "treat" in a ball that's impossible to eat and is suppose to keep me "occupied" so I don't cause "problems." (Note Mini Person's shirt... He didn't even know the propaganda machine that she turned him into for an evening. Sad.) Can you see the plate in the foreground? That dish holds delicious chips and dips, but I'm relegated to the FLOOR to eat this meat lick ridiculousness. Say it with me now... Injustice.

So, that night, I threw up a 3:34am. Neener neener neener.

But alas, not only did I interrupt the people's sleep, but it wore me out.

Gosh, I'm cute when I'm cozy. I wish I had a Queen bed all to my own all the time. Someday... Someday.... On my wienerdog farm where meat licks are outlawed and lasagna is served every hour on the hour.


Beans A. Wienerdog

Monday, January 9, 2012

January 9th, 2012

Dear Diary,

Injustices: 3905
Periods of Misery: 85
Treats: 2 (Ok, maybe more, but I can barely tell I ate them)

Another year shot in the ass. And here I am, still without any real estate holdings. The sun still moves. Vacuums still exist. I expected more for 2012. Thankfully, I can always count on Mother Person and Soft Touch to provide entertainment while the mini person runs circles around them. (That circle usually ends up with me getting my nose honked or a gooey baby kiss. Either way, misery.)

This morning was no exception. Soft Touch was "fixing" a toy with none other than a sock and super glue. Sure. Sure. I eat socks and I'm told I'm a "bad dog." He afixes it to the drive train of a toy car and he's "clever." UGH. You guessed it, injustice. So, all was going well in this sudden case of Johnny Fix-it, but then the mini-Human-tornado finished his yogurt and got out of his giant chair. What did that monkey do? You guessed it, made a beeline for the sock/superglue haven of sticky terribleness. NEVER have I heard Mother Person be so alarmed. HE'S GOING TO GLUE HIS HANDS TOGETHER!!!! Followed by a great deal of flapping and high pitched squeals about nail polish remover. (This lady hasn't worn nail polish since 2009, you know, when she got married and let herself go. Pathetic.) She picked up Tornado like a football and separated his hands-- not an easy thing. This kid likes to clap like nobody's business... But alas, she made it to the acetone (probably had to dust it off, next to the pile of mascaras and neglected beauty products)  before the munchkin became set in a permanent clap. Crisis averted!!! And while that happened, I got to hop on the giant chair and clean up some Cheerio remains. It was a win-win. Apparently, after your kid almost glues their hand together, seeing the dog in the high chair doesn't seem like as big a deal as it usually is. FINALLY, win 1 for the Wiener Dog.

I don't know why they took Martha Stewart off the air. I feel like she understood me. First Ricki, now this. Wherever will I find my classic tea towels?!?! Misery. I missed French class today. Merd. I can't miss pilates, though. My core is suffering.

Beans A Wienerdog