skills

the owners were watching 'napoleon dynamite' the other day. napoleon talked about how girls only like a guy with skills - bow staff skills, nunchunk skills, computer hacking skills. that got me thinking, do i have any skills? let's see.

i can fart through my nose.
i can snore while awake.
i can fall asleep in under two seconds.
i can sleep sitting up.
i can bark and burp simultaneously.
i do a great pig impression.
i can projectile vomit up to six feet.
i have been compared to a beached seal.

yes, i have skills.

ridiculous

the owners are lawyers. i'm not sure what the guy really does, but evaluating legal arguments seems to be a part of it. this argument is ridiculous, that argument is ridiculous, he says. one day, while watching me lick his foot after yoga practice, the guy said, "you're ridiculous, chunker." the woman looked on. "yeah chunker, you're ridiculous." the guy continued. "like a poorly-reasoned argument, chunker." "yeah, chunker. you're a poorly reasoned argument." this from the woman. ridiculous.

unrelatedly, i like to sleep with underwear on my head.

"pig in the snow!"

the guy yelled as i began to tramp through a sea of white stuff. at first i was confused. it's falling from the sky, but it's not rain, and it looks like i would be able to walk on it, but instead i sink in. i continued my waddle.

"pig in the snow!" the woman yelled.

"pig in the snow!" the guy repeated, and kicked some snow in my face.

i ate it. mmmm, tastes like cold water.

i like cold water. the guy kicked more snow in my face. i ate that too.

my realization deepened. i could eat it all! i was standing in a white sea of edible stuff.

i continued to eat. and eat. and eat. and eat. then i crapped on my leg and the woman cleaned it up.

i am an ottoman and an old south korean man.

i am an ottoman and an old south korean man.

i waddled into a 99 cent store with the woman. the guy behind the counter was south korean. apparently the woman loves south koreans.

"do you know park young seok?" she asked him.
"park young seok VERY famous! he korean hero. how you know park young seok?" he asked her.
"i am friends with park young seok. my husband and i met him on mt. everest," she replied, clearly very impressed with herself.

his eyes came to rest on me.

"whoa!" he exclaimed. "you're dog have face just like mine." [editor's note: i swear he said those exact words.]

so i have a face like an old south korean man.

we went for a walk around a lake. (the owners and i, that is, not the old south korean man). a round man approached us.

"whoa! that looks like an ottoman on a leash!!" he snorted. "do you know what an ottoman looks like?" he asked the owners.

"yes, do you?" the guy retorted, graciously rising to my defense. nice work, owner.

watchpig

a pig and a seal.

apparently, i am not a pig. i am a seal. no, that's not right. i am a pig and i am a seal. or i'm a pig that looks like a seal. it's all very confusing. the owners call me new names everyday, and i can hardly keep track.

the other day, the owners came back from the store with a stuffed seal. "a seal for our pig." the woman said. as it turns out, the seal is quite comfortable, and i promptly fell asleep on it. as i dozed off, the woman's ecstatic words flittered through my fading consciousness, "pig on a seal! the pig fell asleep on the seal!"

they photograph me incessantly when i sleep. from every angle. each of these pictures was lit by a flash. and each flash disrupted my sleep. woe is me.

i sleep. the woman watches.


a completely unnecessary second photo of me doing the exact same thing:


i attempt to hide from the guy, who will not stop photographing me.


more proof, in the eyes of my owners, that i am a pig and a seal.


this is trick photography. i am not that fat.


"a blob on a seal," she says


i awaken, and resume staring at the wall.


this is my life. my ridiculous ridiculous life.

"you're a pig, chunker. a ridiculous pig," said the woman.

what is it about my ass?

why does it always seem to require cleaning?

i can swim.

the owners doubted me. "look at those stubby little legs," the guy said, "she can barely use them to walk, let alone swim." "pigs can't swim!" trumpeted the woman. "you can't swim, can you little pig?"

last week we were at the beach. a foul seagull was tormenting me. i took off after it. the vile beast floated into the air, mocking me. i pretended to give up. i buried my face in the sand to see how many grains i could get to cling to the strings of drool hanging from both sides of my mouth. all the while, i kept a wary on the eye on that feathered fiend.

sure enough, it drifted down down down until it rested comfortably on the bobbing waves several feet from the shore. i made my move and bolted for the water. soon, my paws were no longer on terra firma. i was swimming! "holy shit! the pig is swimming!" the guy exclaimed. "i can't believe it! our pig is swimming!" this from the woman. of course, the bird took flight, and i was left pathetically herking and jerking my little stumps through the water.

i didn't get the bird, but i sure impressed my owners.

"i guess pigs really can swim," said the woman as we waddled off into the sunset.

here is a picture of me and the guy at a different beach:

wrestling

i do not wrestle. but the guy wrestles with me.

it begins innocently. the other day, the owners wouldn't let me up on the couch while they were watching a movie. this bothered me, because i had plans to cover the remaining 35% of their new couch in drool. so i farted. a silent bomb. the guy blamed the woman. the woman blamed the guy. but for once, i wanted the blame. i farted again. this time, loudly. "it was the pig!" the woman trumpeted. "chunker, i'll flip you like a coin on gameday." the guy said. i did not back down. i wanted to finish my opus of slobber. i farted a third time. it was lengthy.

the wrestling began. first, he went with the full nelson:

to add insult to injury, while i was in the full nelson, the woman used a wetnap to clean the flap of skin above my nose. "you're filthy, chunker," she said.

next, he moved into some strange hold and farted on my head. i guess i deserved that.


i don't even have words to describe this move:


afterwards, i fell asleep.

i oppose the war.

vehemently.



but apparently, that's not enough.

recently, the owners were watching an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm where Funkhauser explains that his father has alzheimer's, which causes him to do strange things like get angry at his cat for not voting.

my owners, who do not have alzheimer's, started to act as though they did. "vote, chunker!!" the guy yelled, "why the hell didn't you vote? you think that you think you can just lie on the floor all day, farting and drooling, and not contribute to the very democracy that makes it all possible? you served on a jury. you voted to convict! yet you won't vote in an election?! you're a pig, chunker. a lazy lazy pig."

the woman chimed in. "yeah, chunker. you're a pig."

shopping

we went shopping the other day. the woman seemed to think i would be hopelessly distraught to be left alone, so they brought me. they loaded me into the shopping cart like a bale of toilet paper. people seemed to think this was funny. "whut aisle d'ya get that on?" someone asked, nodding at me. "aisle 6, only $2.99." the guy answered, believing himself to hilarious.

here i am in the wagon, ecstatic as ever:


things went from bad to worse when we passed the leftover doggie halloween costume aisle. "ooohhh, look at the pumpkin?" the woman exclaimed. "we should get a pumpkin costume for our fat little pumpkin." apparently, i am a fat little pumpkin. but they were not content just to buy the stupid costume. they had to try it on me, and leave it on me for the remainder of this hellish trip. i was not pleased.

exhibit a:


"chunk-o-lantern!" the woman squealed. great. just great.

so that's what they meant by the chunker getting the chop

i went to the vet, things got fuzzy, and i woke up with my business sewn up. "the chunker got the chop, the chunker got the chop, high ho the derry o, the chunker got the chop." the guy sang.
"you're all sewns up, and you're all sewns up and you're all sewns up," he went on, apparently bastardizing a scene from Swingers.

i felt woozy all of last night. i sleep most of the time anyway, so the addition of anesthesia to my bloodstream put me over the edge. all i remember is the damn owners snapping pictures of me as i tried to sleep. that flash shot through my dreams like bolts of lightning.

some of their handiwork:

the guy: "the pigs with her pigs!"


the guy: "a portrait of two pigs!"


the woman: "the pig fell asleep on the pig! a pig on a pig!"


the woman: "awwww, the pig fell asleep in your hand"

the chop for the chunker

the owners kept going on last night about how "the chunker's gettin' the chop." what can this mean? i heard them say that if i ever wanted to get knocked up, last night would be my last time. anyway, off to the vet . . .

unrelatedly, here's a pic with me and the woman. she looks amused. i, as usual, do not.

tree

this weekend, i ran into a tree. i was chasing a squirrel, and it ran up the tree. i decided to follow. unfortunately, i am fat and round and slow, and the squirrel was thin and quick. it went up the tree and i smacked into the tree and fell on my back. my owners seemed to find this funny. "pigs can't run up trees!" they laughed. vengeance was mine. i crapped on my leg and the woman cleaned it up. whose laughing now?

unrelatedly, here is another picture of me, looking dubious.

projection

i project, don't get me wrong. but i project vomit, and onto the floor. the woman projects too, but onto me. emotions, that is. for example, she thinks i suffer from separation anxiety. hardly. i look forward to the few moments when i can snort and fart in peace. but every time the woman has to go out, she looks like she's contemplating leaving a new born at an orphanage. "oh god, will she be okay?" she asks the guy. "you mean will she be okay for the ten minutes we're at the store buying tofurkey and gum?" he answers. "i think she'll be fine." the woman does not look convinced.

today we were at a photo shoot for some kind of holiday card they plan to send. the woman got me like a foot long, two inch thick candy cane, and let me eat practically the whole thing while the guy photographed me. pure heaven. later in the car, i heard the woman tell the guy, "i think she's upset with us. i think she feels used." "used? why?" he asked. "because she knows we only gave her the candy cane so she would pose in the picture." "that's ridiculous," he replied, "imagine if you were a pet and your owners gave you a massive cake and told you you could eat the whole thing. would you be upset?"

sucka.

here i am at the photo shoot during a moment of down time.

watching t.v.

after dinner, i was relaxing in front of the t.v. licking the remote. the guy seemed to think this was funny. he flipped me on my side and started yelling, "eat the remote, pig! eat the remote!" it didn't seem like a bad idea at first. ultimately, i decided against it. my stomach tends to react poorly to plastic and aa batteries.

lies.

sometimes the guy farts and tells the woman it was me.

sometimes the woman farts and tells the guy it was me.

sometimes, when the guy's at work, the woman sleeps all day. when the guy comes home, she tells him she's done nothing but work and clean since he left.

welcome to my mind

my name is chunk. i am a bulldog. i look like a pig. i like to fart. a lot. i drool. always. i live in an apartment with my two owners. they laugh at me often. but i usually have the last laugh. for example, i've covered about 65% of their new couch in slobber. they torment me. the man likes to put me into various wresting holds and yell into my ear, "you can't escape, chunker! this is your life!" i puked on the back seat of his car yesterday. the woman cleaned it up. i knew she would. she always does. i'm about 4 years old. middle-aged. i get lonely sometimes, lying face down on their shag carpet. so i thought i'd start a blog. welcome to my mind.