Tats and Gang Symbols

Last night I was watching MSNBC, trying to get the latest information on the upcoming inauguration when I saw a show that changed my thinking in how I should deal with the man. During an episode of "Lockup" a prisoner kept saying that "the man" was keeping him down. Despite his lack of social skills, crossed eyes, and slight yet disturbing twitch, I empathized with him due to the fact that I suffer the same plight - THE MAN.

Additionally, we both belong to a gang; I, along with the lion, am of course a member of "Zoey's BFF Spirit Squad", and the jailbird had purchased membership in one of a less serious nature - something about a Latin monarchy of some sort. I wonder if they wear those fun Burger King crowns to identify themselves. Hmmm... The lion and I will have to look into something cute like that for the "Squad."

Whatever the case, the hoodlum seemed true to his word that he wanted to get "the man", and I was on board with that sentiment. He had tattoos all over his body, including his face, and he either was trying to look intimidating or was advertising for some local business - I couldn't tell. The tattoos got me thinking; maybe I have been using improper tactics with the man. Maybe instead of using my superior mind and powers of deception, I should simply reveal my true bad-ass nature.

I consulted the lion, and he stared me in the face blankly with a look that said, "Zoey, you need to announce your authority with a killer tattoo." I was unsure at first, but as he continued to peer into my eyes, unwavering, I knew he was right. Getting a tattoo was definitely necessary.

Don't ask me how I did it, but I went through with the body art. I had a few ideas, including a skull, a machete, the word "Ouch!", and profile of Papa Smurf wearing his red hat. I decided on a big "Z" on my lower back, large enough so the man knows I'm not to be messed with and that I belong to an organization that can cause some real mayhem. It is also, however, located where I can cover it up with my "Socialite" t-shirt or my hoodie so that I can blend in with the crowd and be one of the people. The "Z" can also be used to identify me if I wander off and get lost.

Since we are in the same gang, I am waiting for the lion to get one as well. So far he hasn't, and I don't know what to think about that. Could it be the lion is a snitch working against me? Uh oh.

Trust no one.
Z.

The Man's Impending Mauling

Does it smell like updog in here, or is it just me?

Did you say, "What's up, dog?"

I bet you did, fool. Ha!

That's just a little humor from me to you. Anyway, you have probably realized by now that I am extremely clever (and quite stunning as well). I think this time, however, I have really done some of my best work, so let me give you the skinny on what's happening.

The saga of the bone wars continues to bring me stress, but I think I have found a way to keep the sharpherd from taking my bones. If you read my previous blog, you were privy to the information about the feline and her physical dominance over the sharpherd, whose aggressive and slobbery friendship techniques were met with sinister hisses and clawed swats across his rubbery lips. I have tried practicing hissing myself, but whenever I attempt it I pee myself and get a terrible itch behind my left ear. In any case, I decided to capitalize on the sharpherd's obvious fear of the feline, not by befriending her but by recruiting some heavy muscle of my own to watch my back.

While exploring a bedroom in the house looking for my Ace of Base cd, I came face to face with the most ferocious beast I have ever seen. It stared me directly in the eyes with a dead stare that made me shiver and an intimidating mane that reminded me of the scary picture on the cover of Michael Jackson's "Off the Wall" album. I heard the girl who lives here refer to the beast as a "stuffed lion", which caught my attention because a lion is the king of the jungle, and if it is "stuffed", it must have a healthy appetite. The lion really doesn't move all that much, so my powers of deduction tell me this information is factual; when I eat too much, I sometimes don't move for days until I finally drop my heavy burden somewhere on the carpet.

In order to gain the lion's trust and respect, I offered him one of my bones. I shook with nervousness at this moment, for I did not know if the lion would accept my offering or make me his next meal. Then again, I'm a chihuahua, so I shake all the time for no particular reason. I also just kept thinking, "What's up with that hair?"

Because the lion decided not to eat me, I took it as a sign that he would agree to be my ally and would help me protect my bones from the sharpherd. If that dope is scared of the feline, nothing more than a mere "house cat", the sharpherd will surely stay away from the bones if they are being guarded by the lion.

The best part about this new alliance is that Wikipedia told me the lion can indeed be a "man" eater! How perfect! Now I can protect my bones and get rid of that stupid man at the same time. Since he took so much joy in dismantling the tree, we'll see how he likes being mauled and dismembered by a freakin' lion. Once he is gone, I have first dibs on his side of the bed. Sweet.

Anyway, check out the pics of me and my lion.
We make quite a team; in fact we have been thinking of some cool team nicknames:

"Here Comes Tremble"
"Milli Vanilli"
"The Mane Burrito"
"The Boston Pee Party"
And my personal favorite..."Zoey's BFF Spirit Squad"


Eat your vegetables.
Z.