DOGGY THOUGHTS FROM BO, THE PRESIDENTIAL POOCH.

Wow, it’s been quite a while since I made my first entry into my diary. Himself is out of the house at the moment, Bigfoot is taking a nap (I can hear her snoring – Yikes!) and the kids are playing video games, so here goes.

Quite a bit has changed around here since my last entry. Back then, Himself and Bigfoot were all cheery and shit all the time. Now, not so much. I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but Himself is always blabbing about healthcare. Hell, one night I thought he was going to completely lose it. He went on, non-stop, for at least two hours talking with no one else in the room but me about all the “ignorant assholes, rednecks, terrorists and capitalist pigs who just don’t get it” and how he was going to “fix their asses.” I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head.

Finally, Bigfoot stomped (and I mean it was some serious Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum stomping) out of the bedroom and screamed, “Hey chump! Can’t you see we’re trying to sleep here? Give it a f**king rest!” Well, then the shit really hit the fan. There was lots of screaming and once they starting throwing things around, I hid behind the couch, but I could see shoes and other stuff bouncing off the walls. After much screaming, Himself gave her the stink eye and said, cold as ice, “Shut your f**king mouth bitch, or I’ll slap the shit out of you!”

Bigfoot responded, “Oh, really? Howzabout I hang my size 12 in your café au lait-colored ass?”

Fortunately, at that moment Chris Matthews came on the television, which immediately calmed Himself down. He loves to watch Chris Matthews, he does.

Speaking of television, who is “Glenn Beck?” All I know is one day Himself wandered down to the kitchen for some arugula and pine nuts (I followed, hoping for a biscuit or something) and one of the cooks had this guy Glenn Beck on the television. Himself went totally batshit crazy. “What’s that mother**ker doing on this television? I ought to shove this arugula up your ass!” He smashed the TV with a frying pan and stomped (lots of stomping around here) out of the kitchen without his arugula, and I didn’t get a biscuit either. I guess there’s something about that Beck guy Himself really doesn’t like. Oh, I heard someone say that the cook now works at a nearby McDonalds.

Then there is the guy they call “Rahm.” I believe he scares the shit out of everyone, including Bigfoot and Himself. Nobody hollers at Rahm, but Rahm seems to be hollering at somebody all the time. You know how they say that dogs can sense when someone is a bad guy? Well, I’m here to tell you it’s true, and I’m also here to tell you that this guy Rahm is one really bad apple – a real shithook. I can’t stand his sorry ass.

In fact, the first time I saw him, I did everything I could to take an industrial-size piece out of his leg. I admit it; I did my best growling, barking and lunging for the sonofabitch but the Secret Service guy holding the leash pulled me away. Rahm, the pussy, whined, “Get that motherf**king dog away from me, or I’ll have the motherf**ker killed!” Bitch.

Anyway, after Rahm left and I was alone with the Secret Service guys, they all laughed, patted me on the head and gave me a shitload of bacon. Cool guys, those Secret Service Guys. I think they have even a tougher gig than I do.

Well, that’s about all for now. I’m off to take a nap while it’s still quiet around this nuthouse.