R E S P E C T Find out what it means to me

I'm very perturb with my Hu-Man folks. They have been locking all the doors and making sure everything is secure, because a robbery happened at a house up the street in the middle of the day. Some girl got her iPod stolen. Oh no! What is she going to do without? Maybe she could at least pay attention to where she's walking so she can pet me instead of singing along to Paris Hilton's new single. Did my folks just figure out that we live in the bad section of town, because they are cheap. (I want a doggy door. I'm not asking for much) Our street’s nickname is Crack Hill. For clarification, I live in a very small town, so the definition of "bad" is a stolen iPod.
Where was I ... Oh yes I'm perturbed.
My folks do not need to take all these precautions, because I'm here. GUARD DOG. What about those words do you not understand? I'm a big furious black dog with a thundering bark & a venomous bite. Who will mess with me? I don't think so.
Anyways I've written a letter to my folks:

Dear Ma & Dad,

You guys do not respect me.
I know my plate is full with taking over the world, groundhogs, plumbers, my blog, patrolling /regulating my hood, sleeping, eating, & barking at Poles.
My main duty is to protect & guard the house.
Y'll are assuming I can't do that.
Y'll are dissing me.
Y'll just can't comprehend my skills.

I'm out of here. I mean it this time. I'm going to Grandmas’.

Sincerely,
Cash

P.S.
I took all the Peanut Butter.

LONG LIVE THE REVOLUTION!

I Need to Adpot New Parents...Here I Come Grandma

For those of you who don't know how freakin' business I'm, I'll mention just a few things that have been on my agenda:

1. Taking over the world
1. Do you how much paper work is involved? Hell how did Hitler do it so quickly. It must have been the mustache.
2. Guarding the house from invaders.
3. Sleeping
1. Dictators & potential dictators need their sleep, look at Castro.
4. Eating
1. I need all the peanut butter to keep my strengths up.
5. Belly Scratches
1. It gets my back right leg moving.
6. Freeing the World of Groundhogs
1. Particularly Bogie, the Groundhog who lives next door.

I was resting in front of the door when I hear something. This something is an unpleasant noise. Groundhog! I jump up and look out the front screen door. I see him coming out of the house next door. He dug a hole in the front of the house so he would avoid me in the back. I can’t control my excitement. I rush to the back door assuming my parents who are sitting on the futon watching Lou Dobbs will let me out back. I wait & I wait. Nothing. Meanwhile that Groundhog could be killing everything in its path.

I return to the front door glancing at parents who didn’t even notice. I lay back down. Then I hear him again. I run to the front door. I see him there by the next door neighbor’s sidewalk eating grass.

Again, I rush to the back door making sure I stare at my parents on the way. Nothing.

I hear my Mommy get up, but she goes to the front door. I hear her say to my Daddy, “Hon’ come look. Bogie is out.” I still can’t believe they named that rodent!

I’m packing up & heading for Grandma’s.

LONG LIVE THE REVOLUTION!

South Korea You Are Next...

Read at your own risk. This may make you throw up.

The following is a title from a Boston Herald article, Dog meat soup popular as ever in South Korea.

South Korea you are died to me.
You are sick. You are insane. You are disgusting.
You do not deserve to have the companionship of canines.
You do not deserve to live.
Bull to the saying, "Oh it's just their culture."
This is genocide.
This makes me want to tear all you up.
One by one you will feel the wrath.
One by one you will know how Rover feels.
One by one you will die a slow miserable death.

"Oh Cash where is your heart?"
I'll take a dump in anyone's shoes who asks me this question.
Where are these people's hearts?

When there's a Revolution you don't have heart.

South Korea Your Heads are on Poles!

LONG LIVE THE REVOLUTION!

China (Not my Aunt) Your Commie Head on a Pole

I've had it with the Chinese New Year, Fortune Cookies, Pork Fired Rice, Trade Deficits, Lou Dobbs going on & on about Red China, dogs as appetizers, and now the Mass Slaughter of Dogs .
For those of you don't believe in my revolution this should repulse you to the degree of rage. This rage should compel you overrun China. Take this country over. Smash Fortune Cookies. Throw out all those little white rice boxes form Chinese restaurants. Stop buying crap from WalMart.

The Revolution has begun, & China you are number one.


LONG LIVE THE REVOLUTION!

Plumbers Fear Me!

I'm just minding my own bid-nez sleeping & dreaming of Hu-Man’s downfall, when I hear someone coming up the steps. I know my Daddy’s footsteps, because he has strong assertive footsteps. I know my Mommy’s footsteps, because she’s a klutz who trips or falls all the time. I know my Grandma’s footsteps, because it is light and slow. She has trouble with stairs. Damn you Arthritis! I will bite and tear Arthritis all up!

I do not recognize these footsteps. It is foreign. I don’t like the smell that’s approaching. It smells like Daddy when he leaves the bathroom after eating Mexican. I’m on guard. All my senses are alert. I bark, not a pussy bark common among pussy dogs. My bark is deep and low warning the intruder, “Put your hands in the air; and leave my property, or you will face my wrath.”

The intruder sticks the key in the keyhole. I think to myself, “How does this intruder have a key? Unless he has harmed Daddy or Mommy or even Grandma!” Rage is building up inside me. I pity the fool who harms my peeps or trespasses on my prop.

The door opens… I lunge towards it teeth snarling. A short man with a mustache jumps back and yanks the door shut. I hear him crying. Serves him right. He could be bleeding to death now.

Moments later my Mommy comes home. She puts me out in the backyard explaining something about leaks. She should be more concern about the intruder. She then lets the intruder in. Idiot!!! I know she’s not that bright. GOSH!!!

I remain by the screen door, barking and growling a low guttural growl. Mommy finally lets me in, and I run over to the intruder who Mommy calls “Plumber”. I’ll plumber him, if he’s not careful. I lunge at his boots, because they smell so good. I lick his boots, and determine he's okay. He better never try to come in again, stinky boots or no stinky boots.
LONG LIVE THE REVOLUTION!