Wednesday, March 07, 2007


Obviously, I've become a little obsessed with this motherfucker. I've been in and out of the city, staying at Erica's trying to help out with the development of this tiny child she's adopted.

So far Bundar seems to be progressing as well as any puppy would. He's starting to show signs of his personality and if he's cops an attitude it's certainly borrowed from his Mum or myself. In other words, Bundar has the budding disposition of a snarky fuckin' theater hag.

Any creature who was left in the care of we bitches would surely mutate into some state of abnormality. Imagine being raised amongst a clan of eccentric lady homo-philes. Now I understand how Wilhem DeKooning turned out as he did.

Is this cruel?

Honestly, I don't fuckin' care.

Furthermore, I'll argue that the little fucker likes it. I think he enjoys dressing up in doggy dolly clothes. He's such a little ponce. When relinquinshed from his pen, he struts around like goddamed 'Juno and the Paycock'. When in drag, he'd trade in his looks for treats, quicker than a SAG extra hands in a time card. He works for his food... and I mean he motherufckin' works it!

And let me not forget to mention Bundar's amazing sense of humor.

Goddamned slapstick afficianado.

As part of his housebreaking, everytime Bundar lays one out on a 'wee pad' (which we bitches affectionately refer to as 'Granny Panties') we all have to applaud and praise him for getting his shit on the fold out diaper. We're fucking grown women and we practically lay roses at his feet everytime this hairy little mongrel takes a dump. (I feel this method of training is similar to the working relationship between Martin Scorcese and Leonardo DiCaprio- but that's neither here nor there.)

Anyway, on one occassion, Kavi and I were left to watch Bundar while he rummaged about. He made his way down the end of the hall in Erica's foyer to the wee pad and crapped a hefty one square in the center of the pad. Exhaultations abound, we clapped as though Pavarotti befell his final curtain call and galumped off with silent bravado. Bundar, trotted back down the hallway to receive the love from us he so well deserved. Before he reached us though, he turned halfway and ran back to the crap square.

Ah-Ha! It's a motherfuckin' encore! Terrif! I thought...

But lo and behold, Bundar returned to his own crap pile and began to sniff it. Then he gently tried to take it in his mouth. (*I hope people who blog search for gay porn end up here because of that last sentence*). Kavi and I immediately began to shreik in fear- a peircing chorus of reverberated "No's!" rung out like the mournful Halals of Afgahni women. Contrary to what most would assume, I don't think Bundar was trying to eat his own crap. He was very proud of this most magnanimous accomplishment, and I think he was actually trying to fetch his own shit and dump it on us. (Just like some of my favorite theater hags tend to do).

Bundar managed to take his crap in his mouth and with projectile forced Fah-LUNG that shit at Kavi. Kavi was actually the first to drop association to Bundar's name which means 'monkey' in hindi. How approproate that we bitches are collectively trying to help our friend raise a furry little shit slinger.

Given we're all sort of Jane Goodalls at heart I think he'll turn out okay.

Holy shit I love him.


Blogger Brett said...

I think I love him too. Cute/rad dogs are the best. Especially when they may or may not be of Wookiee lineage.

4:20 PM  

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