She-Genius

Warning: Serious and commonly fatal side effects of this blog include unjustified outrage, actual invincibility, passive extremism and boop.

Thursday

21

February 2013

In Loving Memory of Faux Coco

Written by , Posted in MOTHER FLUFFIN' DOG BLOG

You know how it goes —

You slave for hours under the Miami sun, stapling hundreds of rectangular cotton pads and a cardboard cutout of your parent’s dog’s face to the sides of your LAST tissue box because you don’t want your dog to be alone on Valentine’s Day.

jimi and coco 5

The only reason this is at issue to begin with is that you and Glenn have plans to spend three hours on Valentine’s Evening at Cirque du Solei and two hours wishing a PLAGUE on the houses of EVERYONE else in the Sun Life Stadium parking lot.  Your dog cannot join you for this night of romance and passive aggressive extremism because he has plans to claw at the apartment door and weep hysterical doggie sobs while you wait guiltily in the hallway for the world’s slowest elevator to arrive.

BUT WAIT —

You anticipated the entire last paragraph and had the brilliant foresight to distract your dog with a paper mache bitch and to arrive at Cirque du Solei via TARDIS.

Your dog will, you predict, be very grateful.  Glenn will be, yet again, profoundly impressed by your crafting skills. He’ll be like, ‘Hey, maybe we should get a second dog, after all.  Clearly, I overestimated the additional time, energy and income necessary to maintain a two-dog household, and, anyway, who could put a price on Jimi’s happiness and psycho-social fulfillment? Not I!

There will be much rejoicing.

Stay thirsty, my friends.

Stay thirsty, my friends.

BUT THEN —

When you launch into your flawless plan, Clark at Alamo Rental snittishly informs you that they do not have any TARDISes (TARDeese?) available for the evening, or ever, for that matter, which would have been GREAT to know BEFORE you spent the last 37 minutes explaining, in painstaking detail, what the fuck a TARDIS is (seriously, Clark?) and how one would recognize a TARDIS were one to be searching for one in a rental car parking lot (I don’t know, Clark! I can’t tell a 1960’s British police-box-time-machine from a KIA Rio, either!)

It'll be the one without windshield wipers, Clark, you simpleton.

It’ll be the one without windshield wipers, Clark, you simpleton.

So what if Clark is a complete dingbat with less multicultural competency than your smaller boob?  At least you can still make your beloved pet so very, very happy.

OR CAN YOU?

(Nope. It turns out you suck at that, too.)

jimi and coco 2

Jimi: *sigh* Why is it touching my bed?
Faux-Coco: Hi Jimi! It’s me, Coco! I’ve come to visit you for Valentine’s Day!
Jimi: *glares at me resentfully* It is an abomination, and it reeks of hot glue.
Me: IT is Coco, your girlfriend! Don’t you recognize her?

 

ERMAGER ADORABLE

Jimi: Are you actually under the impression that I can’t distinguish dogs from bedazzled Kleenex boxes?
Me: *dimming the lights* You two probably want to share a bowl of spaghetti or something. I’ll give you some privacy.
Jimi: Actually, it just told me to “Surrender Dorothy.”
Me: See, Glenn!? I told you he would like her!
Faux-Coco: Don’t worry, Jimi. I’ll be right here, all night long, watching you sleep.

 

 —

IT'S A DOGGIE!

Jimi: It won’t stop staring at me.
Glenn: It’s a Kleenex box.
Jimi: All night, all morning, just, staring. I don’t even think it blinks.
Glenn: It’s a Kleenex box.
Jimi: It’s clearly working with that asshole dog who lives in the mirror.
Glenn: We’ve been over this before…

 

OHJESUSCHRIST

Faux-Coco: Hey, guys! What’s up? Are you napping? Can I watch?
Glenn: Corielle, get that thing out of here. It’s scaring Jimi.
Me: Are you kidding me? He LOVES her!
Glenn: ….are those the wheels from my desk chair?
Me: She got dem rims with the fur! (With the fur).
Glenn: You glued shredded maxi pad onto the wheels of my desk chair?
Faux-Coco: Shawty got roll, roll, roll, roll, roll, roll, roll, roll…

 

It's a dog. Get over it.

Me: Faux-Coco says she needs to go potty!
Jimi: Fluff you, Mom. Seriously, go fluff yourself.

 

R.I.P. Faux Coco.  Your feet will roll on.

R.I.P. Faux Coco. Your feet will roll on.

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