Hey there Buttercup! (I just farted I'm laughing so hard at that name)You tell me that you live with two old biddies! Well, so do I!! The difference is that your biddies are sisters and so don't have sex (probably) while mine did have sex once, I think, though I don't like to let the images occupy too much space in my head.
Strangest thing, though: I was curled up snoozing next to Skeeter, the other day, as he ticked about on his iPad while watching TV (he's got the attention span of a fucking fruitfly in heat). Anyhoo...I woke up a little and noticed that he was on Craigslist. He was surfing about on the erotic services section and it looked like he was shopping. I said, "What's your price range?" He looked guilty but covered remarkably well with: "Craigslist says it closed down its sex trade services but it looks like that was just in the States." There's something here and you can be sure I'll be following up.
But enough about all these things which you can read in the blog anytime. I am just glad to hear from you and to hear about you? Are you "fixed" too? Do you have a boyfriend? Do the two old ladies let you run? I'm not allowed to run, not even in the dog park 'cause Skeeter says I'm too psycho, fucking dipshit. I yank-run...going to the end of my extendible leash and pulling for all I'm worth. This usually only serves to get me yanked back but on really good days I can yank at just the right moment and Skeeter ('cause it's always Skeeter) slips on the ice and falls flat on his face or ass. I'm hoping to do it in such a way, this winter, that he will either break his nose or, at the very least, burst that fucking bag he has strapped on.
I know this sounds mean, but you have to understand that the dynamic here are different from your place. I'm not with two old aunties who love me to pieces as I love them. I am with two homo halfwits who insist, despite all evidence, that they are smarter than I am and that they are in power. You see, your old ladies know you are the Queen of the House and you get all the respect and adoration you deserve. Here we have two queens who refuse to acknowledge their fealty to their king; it's a constant struggle with food, urine and violence—physical and verbal—used in the fray. For instance we "play-fight" but I use my teeth; they call it nipping but when they're scratched and bleeding and my mouth germs are working their way into their bloodstream toward a massive antibiotic-resistant infection, we'll see what they think of "nipping." They offer me a chip but I have to sing for it and if I don't then they shriek in me ear 'til I do. I pee on the bed, they have to do a washing anyway, but I end up snubbed and unloved for hours more than seems necessary. And on and on it goes.
What's worse is that Boo-Boo is such a stress case that he's not even nice to me. Yesterday he was "working" (I use the quotation marks because I know that he can take a job others would do in ten minutes and for which they're paid royally, and spin it into a labour of Hercules and is paid, finally, less than a Chinaman making iPads). He was "working" and the other one was still asleep and I was bored. So I started to jump on him, which he usually loves, but this time he just pushed me away. Well, no one pushes me away, dammit! So I started barking and running about and jabbing him and chewing his shoes and damned if he didn't yell at me to stop it, pick me up and throw me onto my bed! Do you believe it! I bet your Sisters would have bent over, played with you and given you a cracker as good housemates are supposed to.
Anyhoo, dearheart. Stay well, take care and keep writing. I haven't made any decisions about talking to Boo yet, but if he keeps cruelly mistreating me like this, I'm clamming up forever.
As you know I'm not a sentimental type so I'll just say take care and...well, take care.
Leo
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