The Hundred and Twenty Fourth FaLaLaLaLa

Deck the halls with boughts of…

Whoops, didn’t see you there, Dear Reader!! So busy preparing for the festive season that I’ve barely had time to breathe between catching up on my favorite holiday serials and chuckling at the whole “Gay Apparel” part, forget UPDATING my BLOG.

I mean, it seems like such a crazy idea nowadays. BLOGGING. Why?? Apart from it being completely pointless and a never-ending process, WHY would I go out of my way to impress a bunch of strangers with what I know are my superior literary skills?? It just doesn’t FIGURE.

Like, I could have watched an entire episode of The Desperate Reindeer Of The North Pole in the time it took for me to type this up, which either means that a) I am a technologically-backward Labrador or that b) An episode of TDROTNP is scandalously short due to how they have NO MATERIAL WHATSOEVER. Either way, it definitely means that c) I have WAAY more important things to be doing right now [do you know how many more YouTube videos of cats playing “Away In A Manger” on banjos I still have to watch?? Buckets lists, PEOPLE!!]

On that MERRY note,


P.S: Please disregard anything offensive or barmy I might have said in the duration of this post, due to how I’m severely drunk on eggnog [who knew??] and probably don’t make sense even to myself. Felicitations.

The Hundred and Twenty Third Thought

I declare this Christmas to be a non-gift-giving Christmas.

That does not mean that I don’t want to receive presents.

It just means that I won’t be on the giving end this time.

I will, instead, spend the money on further enriching my taste buds by mass ordering beef jerky from the superstore two blocks away.



The Hundred and Twenty Second Love Letter

Something CRAZY happened this weekend [CRAZY is a little too tame a word for what happened. More like COMPREHENSIVELY KOOKY!!]. Something that TOTALLY made me forget all about my little dog-sitting incident until right this moment [honest to Pedigree].

I FOUND something.

A letter, to be more specific.

A LOVE letter, to be even more detailed.


Can you COMPREHEND such a thing?? Imagine just CHANCING upon a steamy, passionate letter while on your way to -ahem- empty your bladder [WHAT?! That was the most elegant way I could think of to put it. I couldn’t downright say I went to PEE right?? -Oops, just did- This is a blog of HIGH STANDARDS, OK?!]. And a letter from your PARENTS, at that.

Talk about insufferably gross and marvelously interesting [or simply “incredibly grinteresting”] at the same time!!

I almost didn’t know what to do. A tiny part of me whispered in a silvery voice, “Put it back, Feni. You know it’s the right thing to do.” But another, much larger, part of me yelled, “GOSSIP!! GOSSIP!! OPEN IT, DORKUS!! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!” And so I did.

And you will not BELIEVE the number of times my pulse SURGED due to certain… parts.

Of course, although I DID rip the thing open and read it as fast as I possibly could, I am NOT privacy-exploiting enough to actually POST the whole thing up here for millions to read. I AM their foster-daughter and all.

But… But Oh MY MY.

I will never again, not even for a moment, doubt if my Dad has a single romantic fiber in his being. Even when he refuses to massage Mom’s throbbing temple after she’s stormed through office and then made dinner for five ravenous mouths.

Not even then.

The Hundred and Twenty-First Breakaway

It’s time to put my past behind me and forget about the dog-sitter. Erase every single memory of that fateful weekend. Wipe out all traces of that brilliant party she threw in MY place.

It’s important for me to do this because I need to rekindle my trust in the human species and having a backstabbing [well, kind of], so-called friend at the back of my mind is not doing much to help things.

So from this moment on, I have moved on.

I am mature, sensible and know better than to accuse an angelic…

>This post has been cut short due to the fact that the author has gone TOTALLY BALLISTIC and is chanting the name of her dog-sitter while shredding every cushion in the house. Apologies<

The Hundred and Nineteenth Depression

The family’s back home. Things SHOULD be the way they were BEFORE they went but… I don’t know. Somehow, I feel like all my contents have been ripped out and all I have left is an empty, lifeless shell. I feel like I’m incomplete. And utterly lonely.

Everyone’s trying to cheer me up. They think something’s medically wrong and maybe I need to be taken for an early check-up.

But it isn’t that I ate a little bit too much ice cream this time [although I probably did]. It’s that my trust and sacred confidence were played with, and sorry, but I did not like it ONE bit.

I have half a mind to call up the Secret Service and report a case of animal abuse. I’m sure wrecking havoc with an innocent creature’s emotions is a sin SOMEWHERE. I don’t care if I have to ring up seventy-nine countries to get myself some justice.

Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Everyone’s snoozing at this very moment, so it would be the ideal time to call up international agencies without making them all suspicious [Humans!! They are SO jittery. All it takes to make them think that something is up is to see a Labrador standing up on twos with a mobile phone cradled in her paw].

Hmm… Maybe I have some time before my calls for a chocolate-chip banana split. Gawd knows I deserve it.

The Hundred and Eighteenth Cool-Off

OK, I probably was a bit harsh on her a few posts ago. I mean, all she did was throw a party.

And invite a bunch of HER friends instead of MINE, which was the deal.

But, whatever. It’s not like the deal actually EXISTED. And she was totally sweet to me BEFORE [in fact, she was bordering on FREAKING AMAZING] so maybe a slight error on her part is quite forgivable.


It was MY idea in the first place [well, practically].  I am the one who really needs the socializing, not her [if the number of kids who showed up at “her” party was any indication of her popularity. I mean, I couldn’t get more than four people to attend MY bash even if I BEGGED]. I was the one whose house it was, not her. I was the one who wanted friends more than anything in the whole dang universe [except unlimited Pedigree Deluxe Kibble] , NOT HER.


P.S: I’ve gone back to hating her, which shouldn’t be surprising. I mean, some enmity is meant to stand the test of time [or at least seven days, in our case].