July 26th 2011 7:31 pm
[ Leave A Comment | 8 people already have ]
You know how I heroically led the mission to kill Osama bin Laden? Well, apparently it irked some of his fellow terrorists. They poisoned and imprisoned me. They got their revenge.
But I got mine, too!
Last Sunday, I woke Finkmom up at 4 a.m. throwing up. I barfed and barfed, then drank water several times, then barfed some more. Then, about 6 a.m., the bloody diarrhea started.
This scared the crap out of Finkmom, who is inexperienced with these sorts of covert international underground wars. What was making me sick? Did I eat something I shouldn't have? Did she give me too much cheese?
Ha! As though a creature as mighty as myself could get sick from cheese? Bah! I knew the terrorists were behind this!
She got really scared and whisked my bucket off to the "emergency vet clinic."
Ha! Some clinic! While my mudder was anxiously waiting for the vet for about three hours, naively thinking she'd taken me to a place where I would be cared for, I KNEW -- yes, KNEW -- that this was really the terrorists own version of Guantanamo Bay. My poor, stupid, uninformed mudder was playing right into the evildoers' hands!
Then, the worst happened. They STOLE me from my Finkmom! The "vets" told her they were taking X-rays (they were radiating me -- nay, microwaving me -- trying to give me a dread disease!), taking blood samples (they tried to suck my precious bodily fluids dry!), and, of course, collecting a STOOL SAMPLE! (arse-violating me!).
And this is the really disturbing part (like the assault on my bucket wasn't disturbing enough!): They persuaded Finkmom to abandon me (sob!!! er ... I mean "GRRR!") The vet gave her some absurd story about how I had hemorragic gastroenteritis and that they didn't know what caused it but that I needed to spend the night and get IV fluids and antibiotics. And then my mudder burst into tears and kept telling the vet how I get cold and need extra blankets (Gah! As if!!! I laugh at the cold! I drop ice cubes down the drawers of frigidity! But I digress ...).
She didn't want to leave me with strangers. I didn't want her to leave me, either, but I knew that the evil trap she unwittingly landed me in was too rough for her to deal with.
This situation, my friends, called for some SERIOUS Finknottling.
And that's when I knew I'd have to fight terrorism with terrierism. So I did!!!
After sticking needles into my arms they hooked me up to their truth serum. They wanted to know where I would next unleash an arse-bite of freedom.
I had to fight back. So I chewed through my IV line. Three times.
Then they put a Medieval torture collar on me -- OK, a Renaissance torture collar on me. And I chewed that up, too!
They sat me on a rubber mat and some piddle pads. And I gnawed on them, too, all in an effort to tunnel my way out of their torture cage!
They wanted to hook me up to some evil electrical device, no doubt to torture me with until I revealed the secrets of my next covert mission.
I chewed through the cable.
By the next day, they gave up and told Finkmom she could have me back. By then, the poison al-Qaida had ingeniously injected into my kibble had worn off.
And as I was making my final escape from my captors into the arms of my mudder, I got my revenge on Finkmom for getting me into this mess.
I messed. On my mudder. I got poop all over her arms and shirt and purse. Haha! She didn't even care! She was so happy to have me back, she didn't mind a bit.
Well, maybe a little bit, but she was glad she hadn't been bit -- in the arse! She really deserved it for taking me there in the first place, but I think I got my point across by crapping on her without shedding her butt blood.
I am all better now, and Finkmom is being very careful about what she feeds me. The vet's office charged her $20 for all the stuff I chewed up. (Plus more than $1,000 more!) Can you believe the nerve? I was shocked. Last time I looked on my way out the door, they were curled up in the floor crying because of how I'd terrierized them the night before.
They won't soon forget Gussie Finknottle. That is for sure!
Leave A Comment | 8 people already have
Gussie ~ you are my next escort to the EVIL VET visit. Even if I run blocker and take all the poking and prodding, the destruction you could wreck would be worth it all.
I'd even take your rabies shot for you if need be.
You got it, Scooter! :)
BOL- I think your mother and the evil vets have learned their lesson- Do NOT Mess With Finknottle!
With the utmost admiration,
(Glad you're home.)
I must make arrangements with you for my next vet visit. Do you have a terrorist training camp? Sign me up please!
Banners, you stick with me and you will be fine! Chew everything in your path. And didn't you crap in the lobby floor at the vet's office? That's awesome work!
I had that a few years ago.
Man, I was sicker than a dog!
I ended up at the ER over the
weekend. Seems like we get sick
on the weekends to which my mom
always asks us, "Why, oh why,
can't you guys ever get sick on
the week days when it doesn't
cost me an arm and a leg and a
torso and a head, etc?!"
So glad you're feeling better,
We are all SO GLAD you escaped that horrible place!
Oh, Miss Gussie! I'm no stranger to the indignities at the evil vets. It breaks my heart to think of you in that hellhole. Glad you're back at home. I've never pooped on my mudder. Maybe the next time she tries to haul me to the vet I'll remember to try that.