Tag Archives: joss whedon

The Tail of the Bald Puppy

This is a story of how a puppy ruined my life. And not just any puppy. An ugly, wrinkled, bald puppy. An ugly, wrinkled, bald puppy who doesn’t even know proper butt sniffing etiquette.

But I get ahead of myself. First allow me to introduce myself. Or re-introduce, as the case may be. You may remember me from the last time I took over Aprill’s blog. I’m Buffy, her long-suffering male dog.

Oh yes, you read that right…MALE dog. Apparently being a Joss Whedon fan means you no longer have to acknowledge gender when coming up with a pet name to impress your stupid, geeky friends. Never mind the psychological damage you inflict on said poor animal when the Duke’s and Princess’s of the world get wind of the name. Dogs may be man’s best friend but they can be complete assholes to their own kind (butt sniffing is not nearly as innocent an act as you guys assume). You’d think taking my manhood when I was a puppy (a PUPPY, for canine’s sake!) would be enough emasculation for any creature but oh, oh no. Let’s also add a frilly name from an obsolete 90’s show that only people with extensive knowledge of their parent’s basement watched.

Not that I’m bitter or anything.

But back to the bigger issue.

Now, when they first brought the bald puppy home, I thought it was great. My very own interactive chew toy! Complete with neverending battery! And super gross smells!

Unfortunately, within the first 30 seconds of our initial meeting, it was made clear to me, in no uncertain terms, that this was not the case. I swear, that stupid crying lump’s first words are going to be “Buffy” followed by “No” followed by “I said ‘no,’ dammit!”

Buffy 1

And things only went downhill from there. For instance, every time the bald puppy cried (which was A LOT, by the way), I would growl and bark. In my mind, the only reason for any creature to make that much noise is when there is an imminent threat to all of our very lives, such as the neighbor from three houses down had closed a door or the wind blew through a tree in Delaware. So I was simply trying to help the bald puppy alert our owners that there was obviously an emergency on hand, such as the mailman was on our porch and was probably going to pee on all the spots in the yard I had peed on.

Incredibly courteous of me, right?

Alas, Loud One and Spiky Head (my not-so-affectionate nicknames for my owners) didn’t see it this way. I was told, rather rudely, to shut the hell up and then threatened with not just a rolled up magazine but a rolled up September Vogue magazine (the leading cause of concussions in dogs).

Meanwhile, the bald puppy, who was making just as much noise as I was (if not more) was cuddled and actually rewarded for his whiny bark with food!


My very favorite thing in the entire world besides BALL and ROLLING AROUND IN DEAD THINGS!

Can you believe it?

And as if all that wasn’t bad enough, when I wasn’t getting yelled at, I was being completely ignored. Judging by the smell, the bald puppy was going potty every hour or something insane like that. Inside the freaking house! Which is something I’ve never been allowed to do if I don’t want to see the business end of the Sunday Times. They even put a wonderful poo catcher on his butt so he could do it whenever he wanted. And I’m all just over here, like, hey, I haven’t gone outside in 14 hours. But don’t mind me. I’ll just slunk off to the corner and eat my dog food…oh wait, my bowl is empty.


Buffy 2

It was getting ridiculous.

So then, deciding to make nice with the bald puppy, who was obviously here to stay, I began licking his face (mainly aiming for directly into the mouth, of course) whenever he happened to be within tongue’s reach. And I tell you what, I would get no more than six licks in when Loud One would suddenly push me away.

Knock it off, she said.

Buff, that’s gross, she said.

Well, let me tell you something, lady. You’re gross. Not to mention a hypocrite. I’ve seen you stick your tongue down Spiky Head’s throat many a time so you can just get off your high horse.

But before you go thinking that my owners are just absolutely horrible people, I should mention that they are trying to make it up to me. I get extra treats all the time now and during those brief moments when the bald puppy is asleep in his giant crate, they shower me with love.

And in their defense, they do look horrible these days.

Buffy 3

I’m starting to think they’re being punished by the bald puppy just as much as I am. Apparently he is the new Alpha and we all exist merely to satisfy his every whim (even if that whim is to walk him in a giant counterclockwise circle for three hours while singing “Close To You” by the Carpenters at 3 a.m.).

But let this be a lesson to all you other dogs out there. If your female owner starts to look like she has a giant ball hidden underneath her shirt, RUN.

Run away as fast as you can.

And hide out in the neighbor’s yard until the bald puppy is old enough to start dropping food on the floor.

Bad humans! Very bad humans!

By Aprill Brandon Buffy A. Summers Huddle Brandon

Greetings, worthless humans. In case you haven’t figured it out yet (which of course you haven’t because you’re worthless humans), this is not Aprill. The quote, unquote “Alpha” is busy doing stupid human stuff, like actually voluntarily taking a bath and going poo-poo in my giant water bowl.

So I, Buffy, her quote, unquote “pet,” took this opportunity to take over her blog. Now mind you, I could have done this at any time during the past eight years (the woman is about as observant as Helen Keller). But honestly, I don’t feel the same need as you nose-breathers to share every little detail of my life:

“Just scooted my butt on the floor. Now it’s time for a nap.”

Why do you people enjoy reading crap like that?

However, thanks to certain grave injustices that have recently taken place, I have had no choice but to use this rather pathetic excuse for a public forum (with all nine of her readers) to air out some grievances I have with your kind. Specifically, grievances I have with my…ugh…”owners,” but it applies to all of you vile creatures that sweat out of your…(shudder)…pores.

Now, when I first moved in with my humans, who I not-so-affectionately nicknamed Loud One and Spiky Head, it was mainly because I took pity on them. They were completely clueless. I mean, these are creatures that greet their own species by shaking hands. The same hands they use to clean up after themselves when they go potty! Which they do INSIDE THE HOUSE! Like low-life CATS! Utterly disgusting. Not to mention the food they eat. I may have eaten my fair share of sidewalk vomit but I know what they put in that fast food you all love so much thanks to the fact Loud One and Spiky Head leave talk radio on when they leave (as if THAT will trick me into thinking you didn’t just abandon me for anywhere from five minutes to five days…I’m…uh…not really that good at telling time).

Newsflash: That dead bird you just yelled at me for eating? It’s healthier than that cheeseburger you just scarfed down.

But when they kept insisting on calling me by the ridiculous moniker of Buffy, even though I told them repeatedly my name is Steve, I decided to stay simply because I knew I couldn’t live with myself if I inflicted these two idiots on any other innocent dog.

And so, things went fine for awhile besides the occassional degrading newspaper swat, which I tolerated because, well,…heh…I did, in fact, know those were her favorite shoes. But THEN, three weeks ago, they did something so unforgiveable, something so completely horrible, I had no choice but to finally speak up.

I should have known something was up when they took me to the weird-smelling place again with the mean human female who always sticks things in me. Nothing good ever happens in that place. Seriously, one time when we went there, I woke up the next day missing some VERY vital body parts.

And this time was almost as bad. Apparently obsessively chewing on your tail is now illegal in this country because I left that place wearing…I…I don’t even know if I can say it…they put…the…CONE OF SHAME on me!

Exhibit A:

The cone of shame! In the words of our biggest celebrity, Dug, I do not like the cone of shame.

And they made me wear it for no less than three weeks. Do you know how hard it is to climb stairs or eat food from the floor or not propel yourself backward at 60 miles per hour after running into the door at full speed because your haven’t quite grasped the concept that you have a contraption three times the size of your normal head around you?

And you DARE to call us the lesser species.

That kind of thing should be downright illegal. It’s just inhumane. No! Worse! It’s incanine! How would you feel if someone made you wear an embarrassing piece of plastic that made all the other dogs laugh, not to even mention the insufferable taunting from cats and squirrels.

You humans just think you’re so great. Ooooh, I have opposable thumbs! I’m so awesome! I can turn doorknobs and grab things from high shelves! But you know what? You’re not that great. In fact, you are all just glorified mailmen and we dogs could easily take over “your” world with one simple…oh, hang on. Loud One is trying to talk to me. What is it, woman? I’m busy writ…oh, what’s that? Wait. You’re spelling something. OH, OH, OH, YOU’RE SPELLING SOMETHING! I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SPELLING BUT SPELLING ALWAYS MEANS SOMETHING GOOD! ARE WE GOING FOR A WALK!? OH MY GOD, IT’S A WALK, ISN’T IT? OR A TREAT!?! IT’S A TREAT, ISN’T IT!!! AHHHH! THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!!!

Meat, Muppets and other things to be thankful for

Well, stuff my arse and call me a turkey. Thanksgiving has finally rolled around again. It seems like only a year ago we were celebrating this holiday and BOOM! Here it is all over again.

Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays, mainly because it is based around my No. 1 favorite activity of eating and drinking way too much and then napping (and then waking up to eat pie and drink some more). There is none of that pressure to buy gifts, or hand out candy to miniature beggars dressed as Dora the Explorer, or search for eggs hidden by a giant rabbit.

Plus, I’ve always been the kind of person who thinks we don’t give enough thanks in our daily lives, especially for the little things. I mean, have you guys ever had bacon? That little product alone deserves epic poems of praise dedicated to it with every single bite.

And as such, I’ve created a list this year of the little things in my life that I am thankful for this year.


The Muppets are making a comeback.

Leggings are still in style, making fat days for chicks everywhere a little less horrible.

Thanks to her 72-day sham marriage, there is finally a backlash against Kim Kardashian.

Eggnog is socially acceptable to drink for breakfast again.

I am wicked close to convincing my friend who is hosting Thanksgiving dinner this year to serve turducken (chicken stuffed into a duck stuffed into a turkey).

Angry Birds.

People who use proper grammar and spelling on their Facebook posts and limit their exclamatory statements to only one exclamation point!!!

There exists a product called the Forever Lazy, which is essentially footie pajamas for adults (complete with butt flap).

Discovering the short-lived TV show “Kitchen Confidential” starring Bradley Cooper is on DVD (with nine unaired episodes!).

Speaking of which, Bradley Cooper…just in general.

The fact that my parole is finally up (just kidding…I have three more months).

I live in a world where my dog can have his own Twitter account (@BuffytheMaleDog).

Pauly Shore has stopped making movies.

Hats with ears designed to make you look like a kitty or a bear.

The fact that even though I’m 30, I have no shame and will wear hats with ears designed to make me look like a kitty or a bear.

Reading books that make you laugh out loud in public.


Oxygen (the element, not the channel).

Pumpkin-based beer.

My brother still bear hugs me and calls me Sissy even though he’s now 13 and like, kind of totally too cool for that.

People who realize Wikipedia is not a reliable source of information.

This blog has 46 subscribers, three of which I am not immediately related to.

Knowing a person like Joss Whedon exists in the world.

Thanks to the prolific amount of recently released zombie movies and books, the American people are more prepared than ever for the eventual zombie apocalypse.

The fact that when my husband was surfing movies on Zune last night and asked me “What was that one movie with Sean Penn we couldn’t rent but we could buy and it was about grave robbers?” I instantly knew he meant Simon Pegg in “Burke and Hare.”

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!