Day 2

Last night, before I went to bed, I said my prayers, and made the same wish I make every night: that Chuck and Laura go to Italy for two weeks, and the dog just disappears.

So, you will not believe this: I got my wish. I made my family disappear!

I woke up this morning to a completely empty house. No Chuck. No Laura. No dog. I was so excited, I fell asleep and napped until it was dark again.

Then I got up, took a shower, and washed every body part with actual soap. All major crevices, in between my toes, and my belly button. Can't find a toothbrush, but other than that, I'm in good shape.

Next, I tried on a pair of Laura's strappier sandals, threw on one of Jonesy's collars, and brewed a batch of Stoli Stout from the recipe I've been piecing together. To do this, I had to polish off what was already stewing in the carboy. I'm no longer feeling like my usual cheery self. Apparently I'm one of those catatonic drunks, who just sits there, all drunk and stuff. I would not have guessed this.

I probably should not drive home. I just made myself a cocktail--the way the dog showed me, using all the major liquors in the house--and I don't feel any better. In fact, I'm getting a little weepy. I am so freakin' glad the dog isn't here to see this.

I wish the dog were here. He's such a good listener. His breath smells like the ass of an orangatang [not really --ed.], but he listens like a fox on a . . . on when a fox listens. I miss the dog, awwww Jonesssssyyyyy . . .


Stoli
8/11/08

Day 1

I've been babysitting Porter for a full day now. Still no sign of Chuck. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be getting out of this. Except, maybe, overtime. Yeah, definitely getting some overtime.

To pass the hours, I've decided to make up stories about Porter. You know, like you do when you go to the mall or whatever--guy and a girl walk by, and she is definitely a Puerto Rican transvestite searching for a tiny chihuahua-sized boa that will match her own, and he is obviously a recent lottery winner who is not yet aware of his new "girlfriend's" status.

For Porter, I've decided to pretend that he's a . . . are you ready for this? That he's a ninja. I know, I know, it just came to me. Mostly because he's part chow (allegedly), which makes him Chinese, and that's where they make ninjas. Right? They make everything else there. Pretty sure ninjas are Chinese.

Anyway, Porter can do all the usual ninja stuff--walk up walls, disappear into shadows, look totally badass instead of totally dorky with a bowstaff--but he has one weakness, one heroic flaw: an unhealthy obsession with ankles. I swear, he goes after mine like they're covered in peanut butter and hamburgers.

Haven't seen Stoli in a while. Figuring he must have finally gone after that lion tamer job he's always going on about. Should be a good fit.


-Jonesy
8/10/08