My turf....my turf!

That's it - everybody get out of my room! It's my turf! Get OUT!

A few nights ago I was casually sleeping in my new room. The humans call it a bathroom. I call it mine. I recently discovered the soft, fluffy bathmat and have claimed ownership. Anyway, so there I am, sleeping away when all of the sudden Mom waddles in, turns on the lights and starts doing her thing. I mean what the hell, Mom? It's the middle of the night! What the F? Eventually she looks over at me like she's surprised to see me there. Hello? It's my room! So I give her the squintiest basset look I can muster at 3:00 am. Then I make sure she has to bend around me to use the sink, since clearly my space is directly in front of the sink. And I'm not moving. It's too early for this crap.

A few days after that Dad gets up to that incessant, nagging ringing. (And they wonder why I eat phone batteries?) Naturally, I was in my room. So, Dad meanders towards my room, and not wanting to deal with him keeping me up, I saunter out of my room to that inferior "dog bed" they keep for me. Hrmph! Don't they know I need my sleep? Can't they find somewhere else to do this? I only have one room! (Well, at a time, anyway).

And then there was this morning. Mass chaos and doom occurred last night in the form of rain, so naturally I decided I'd be safest in my room (since my jerky parents don't let me sleep on "their" bed). Again, Dad barges in like he owns the place and I saunter out. Luckily for me, Dad wasn't fully with it and forgot to latch the door. So I plowed my way in. Well, sort of. Until Dad started closing the door in my face. Apparently he needed his "privacy." Again, what the F? What is this "privacy?" Don't they know that these things should be done out in the woods and with an audience?

So, Mom, Dad - if you're reading this. Get you're own room - this ones mine. I put my paw down!

Finally!

Dad broke my laptop and it took him months to fix it. I'm sorry I haven't updated people, my parents are idiots. They just had to click a button on "network connections" and the problem was fixed. And just think, they both went to college! What a waste of money that was. I mean, all I do is lick my butt and I could have fixed the computer. Heck I would have, but I don't have any thumbs (just a dew claw), and my paws are to big to use a normal keyboard. I need my special basset keyboard to accommodate "my lovely basset stumps, check'em out." God Fergie, you are a lyrical genius. Well, I'm going to go wake up mom because she is tired and smells like there are humans are in her stomach. Peace.

PS - Grandma, I need a bath.....and a foot massage.