Showing posts with label Jet. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jet. Show all posts

Last Time on The Cheshire Cat's Out of the Bag...


…we left our heroine battling a giant sea-panther with only a conk-spear and her natural charisma. 

Okay, not really, but here are some updates that I meant to give earlier.  I’m sorry I didn’t let you know about them sooner, but I either got busy, wrote a different post, or just plain forgot.

First, with regards to Jet, I have joyous news.  In case you don’t remember Jet, he is the psychotic dog who declared war on me and my clothes.

After a long a tedious battle —with many casualties—Jet finally made a fatal mistake that cost him the war. 

When I first arrived at this apartment, the living room area was devoid of all signs of life.  No posters.  No paintings.  No wall art.  No photographs.  No throw pillows.  No curtains.  Absolutely nothing.

Well, I convinced Jet’s owner, Jasmine, that it would be best if our apartment had some personality; so, we went 50/50 on decorations for the apartment.  One of those decorations happened to be floor length hanging curtains.

As the window, and thus the curtains, are near my room door, Jet mistaked the curtains for one of my possessions and peed on them.  This happened to be the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Jasmine, tired of Jet’s pee escapades, sent him back home.



Viva la Tiffany.  Suck it Jet.

The second and final update that I have pertains to Skittles Vodka.

After making the Skittles Vodka, I decided that I was going to taste the rainbow.  I got five different shot glasses and filled each with a different color.  I then began.

I downed them in order red, orange, yellow, green, and then purple. 

After shooting red, I had to continue with the rest quickly, or I wouldn’t have had the strength to continue.  They were AWFUL.



Red = Robitussin
Orange = Ipecac with an Orangy-Zest
Yellow = Lemon Dish Soap (Yes, I’ve had my mouth washed out before)
Green = Pine-Sol
Purple = Grape Cough Syrup

So even though they predominately tasted like medicine and/or cleaning products, the only effects they had were upsetting my stomach and then making me feel disgusted and dirty.

Them's Fightin' Words

As you know by now, I’m a graduate student at USC.  I’m currently living in an apartment with three other roommates, my dog, and my roommate’s dog.

And now we come to the problem—my roommate’s dog.  The beast has currently dragged me into a psychological warzone.

It all started a couple weeks ago when my roommate decided that because my pet is so well behaved her dog, Jet, could come live with us as well.  With no complains (as I’ve grown up with all sorts of dogs) Jet came to live with us.

It is only now that I’ve determined that Jet is smarter than he looks.  Sure he drools incessantly and barks at dust bunnies, but behind those vacant eyes lies the mind of a master strategist.



Recently, I’ve discovered that Jet responds to the statement, “Do you wanna go for a ride?”  Every time I said this, he would run over to me and begin jumping up and down, while howling in pleasure. 

I thought it was cute, but now I think Jet really expected to go on a ride.  So when I didn’t actually take him anywhere, he began his personal vendetta against me and my clothes.

All of my life, I’ve been told that I shouldn’t leave my clothes on the floor, and now I know why—Jet.  He has begun to sneak into my room when no one is looking, just so that he can pee on my clothes.

He isn’t doing this in anyone else’s room—just mine.  Which is how I know he is trying to make me suffer.

The first casualty in the war was my jeans.  At the time, I didn’t realize that I was being targeted so I continued in blissful ignorance while the evil genius plotted my demise.

The second and third casualties were my backpack and a t-shirt.  They died a joint death, but served the purpose of alerting me to my foe. 

The fourth victim of this war died today and confirmed my fears that Jet is out to get me.

Oh, I am so on to you mister.

After asking Jet “do you wanna go for a ride?” he immediately went into my room and made his move. 

But unbeknownst to Jet, we were actually going to go somewhere.  So when the time came to leave, I went into my room to change clothes.  Seeing an only-worn-once bra on the floor, I decided to put that on. 

Big mistake. 

As soon as I had it half on, the damp urinated truth hit me.  Jet had peed on my bra.



Sure, when I confronted him he looked at me with his stupid drooling face, but I know the truth. 

I know what you are even if your master believes that you’re a big sweetie pie.  You’re evil.  And now that I know the truth—I’m going to get you.

You may have won some battles, but I’m going to win this war.  Even if it means having to pee on your favorite stuffed animal. 

I.  Will.  Win.