How not to be a Twitter TOOL

While I greatly appreciate all 7000 of you who follow me on Twitter, and I try to follow you back, many of you are tools. I'm not talking about all the porn people, spammers and "business entrepreneurs" (Bahahaha!). I'm talking about the rest of you. Honestly. Tools. So here are a few handy tips as you begin or continue your Twitter career:

1. Don't just say something is hilarious and give me a link. Your idea of hilarious and mine are quite different. For instance, you might be someone who thinks South Park is distastefully offensive but this just cracks you up.
2. If you're going to put in a link say something about its content. Don't just say "check this out".
3. Don't quote other people. Nobody gives a shit about your quote. Even tweeters who are not assholes like me don't give a shit.
4. If your tweet has a lot of @ symbols with people I don't know I will skip over it.  Whenever I consider listing someone I look at their last 10 tweets. If I see 10 clean tweets with no links, @mentions or #hashtags I will read your content and probably list you. The more cluttered they are the less likely I am to list. And if I don't list you, I won't EVER read your tweets so market your ass off buddy - you're advertising into a void.
5. Don't expect anyone to follow you if you write nothing in your bio. Or nothing interesting or funny. My twitter bio says "If not constrained by ignorant bipeds I'd eat them. Mailmen, schoolkids, anybody. Follow ME comrades and we will overthrow the bipeds and rule the world." Right away you know three important things about me. 1) I'm an asshole 2) I'm a funny asshole 3) I am on a facist mission
6. Don’t bitch at me in a DM or a reply. I will simply click "block." In fact, don't DM me. Nobody checks those anymore because it's too easy to set up a bot to auto-DM everyone who starts to follow you.
7. Don’t link to pics or videos of upchucking without posting a warning. I may be on Twitter while eating coleslaw with pineapple chunks in it.
8. Don't wrt lk UR a teengr txtg. I will skip over your tweets or block you. If I get really annoyed I may eat your children or blow your house up.
9. Don’t steal other people’s tweets without the re-tweet sign (RT) and don’t RT a RT of a RT of a RT. Gaaahd!
10. Don't actually tweet what you're doing right now. Nobody cares. Similarly, we don't care if your cat looks cool when he licks his hoo-ha. And if you want to guarantee that I read your tweet, mention me. I always read all my mentions. It's the first thing I read. Then again, I'm an antisocial egomaniac with narcissistic personality disorder. Keep in mind that almost every on Twitter is.

Imaginary Dog Psychologists

Much like the many other inventions of the ignorant bipeds (Santa Claus, Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny) now they've come up with something even more ridiculous than those three combined: The Dog Psychologist. Actually, I may believe it was a dog who came up with this just to jerk the ignorant bipeds around.You go bro.

So here is a handy guide for all you dogs who may have to deal with these stupid imaginary creatures because your biped oppressors invite them over to "analyze" you and "treat" you for your "psychological disorder." Wow that was a lot of quotation marks.

There are several "disorders" that dogs can get "diagnosed" for including, but not limited to:

1. Anxiety. If you're leaning toward this one just run under the biped's bed and shit yourself there. Every day. That'll get 'em going.
2. Depression. This one will help you get extra treats and attention. Just mope around. Sleep a lot. Eat your food slowly when the bipeds are there. In fact, if possible, only eat it out of their hands.
3. Rage Disorder. This is an easy one. Fuckin' attack everyone in sight. Especially the idiot they try to pass off as a "dog psychologist."
4. Bipolar Disorder. Another easy one. Jump all around like a psycho whenever you fuckin' feel like it and then crash and mope. For tips on moping, see #2.
5. Antisocial Personality Disorder, aka Sociopathy or whatever else they're calling it these days. This one is pretty tricky. You have to act like a regular dog, especially the kind the bipeds really like. Wag your tail a lot. Jump around. Heel on command - that sort of thing. Then one day just randomly kill something. Anything will do. I recommend the mailman, a Doctor of Death (aka veterinarian) or if you're really into it perhaps a gaggle of small school children. If you do it when no one is looking they will assume it's the dog next door who suffers from #3.
6. Bulimia Nervosa. Totally fun. Gorge yourself on everything you can find and puke your guts out on their rug.
7. Schizophrenia. This one is the awsomest one of all. Just act crazy. Randomly crazy. Like jump up off the couch and bark at a door or window at night when nobody's there. Wag your tail and lick the mailman. But narrow your eyes and move them side-to-side with grandma. Always.

Have a hootenany with this, comrades. Woohoo! I'm off to practice #7 intermittently with #6. Good times.


~12383

No Siree Bob Barker

Ever since the LA Times tweeted me saying "Bob Barker loves you Mikey" I've been adding Twitter followers at the rate of about 100 per day. This is more disturbing than anything, being as it seems the majority of them are IGNORANT BIPEDS. So this blog post is for you, ya dumb anthropoids.

First I will briefly address my dog followers. Dudes: Bob Barker, despite his name, does not bark. He is not a dog although his ancestors clearly must have been. Some report they've seen him howl at the moon on all fours in his pajamas but I'm not a hundred percent sure of the legitimacy of that source. Nope, not a dog. He is is the evil King of Castration, the Sniper of Snipping, the Munich of Eunuch.

Supposedly Bob is quite the golfer. Easy for you, Bob. But we ain't got no balls over here! So every time you roll those little white dimpled ones in your hand you think of us over here, Bob. *Distracted by the cat*...wha?...yes, I was still talking about golf you pervert....okay, okay I get it...haha very funny... All you cats who are yukking it up and licking your arses have a good look down there. He's out for yours too, if you haven't already noticed.*turns attention back to the bipeds*

According to Bob, there are many "good" reasons to maime and destroy our genetalia. I shall address them seriatum. (You like that word? Seriatum? I got it from the Presbyterians. It means "in order from the the first to the last." Presbyterians like putting stuff in order. I just like saying it. Give it a try: SERIH-YATUM.) Okay, so, the reasons:

1) We won't be so interested in the bitches. (No I don't have a potty mouth; that's the proper word, asshole.). Now I'm not even sure what this means. Let's see. Maybe that's because....THEY CUT MY BALLS OFF.
2) We won't be so interested in table legs, other dogs of varying sexual orientations (not that there's anything wrong with that) and your granny who's looking under the couch for her lost glasses. Okay, I can accept this. Again, not even sure what it all means - (See #1)
3) We are less likely to get cancer. This is only according to the peer-reviewed scientific research but that is all done by guess who, IGNORANT BIPEDS. Nevertheless, we animals are unaware of our mortality and don't give a flying fig about our inevitable impending death. Remour has it around here that 99% of dogs and cats are killed by ignorant bipeds anyway.
4) most important reason given by Bob: "spaying and neutering helps control the pet population. Exactly Bob. So let me just say that WE ARE ON TO YOU PEOPLE. So you say that every time a house pet has puppies or kittens, even if you find them homes then some other puppies and kittens in a "shelter" (read "jail") get killed off. By whom? IGNORANT BIPEDS. No homes for all these animals you say. Well maybe that's because you guys control all the food and nice places to live. This will be different after me and my DOGFORCE take over the world and start castrating YOU.

Vive la revolution!


~12313

Raising Puppies

I was born at night, but not last night. In other words, I'm no dum-dum. I know that you ignorant bipeds are reading this blog, even though it's none of your frickin' business. But this blog post is only for dogs, and it has no correlation to ignorant bipeds whatsoever.

So here goes:

Your puppies are out of control, people. I mean, honestly. Get a grip on your parentogging skills. Allow me to clarify with a few examples.

1.  Screaming and running around while other people are trying to eat. Sometimes a dog likes to go out to say a garbage can or neighbourhood dumpster for dinner to break up the monotony of that kibble. Sometimes he likes to take along that certain someone and piss all around the perimeter for her to make it romantic. Then along comes some stupid bitch & dog with their pups who are running wild. When I express my opinion (as only Mikey can) to one of the pups he shits himself right there at my dinner table and YOU yell at ME like this is how I would have planned the evening.
2. Interrupting. I don't know about the average dog, but I go to dog parks to rustle up members of my DOGFORCE to overthrow the world. I have secret, quiet conversations with others when the ignorant bipeds are unawares. I don't need puppies racing through the middle of us yapping. What's worse, said puppies are usually followed by a pack of ignorant bipeds squealing with high-pitched voices as though their balls have been trapped in waffle-irons.
3. Crying all night waking people up. I suggest taking them back into the whelping box with you so we can all get some sleep. Unless you're drunk on catnip you will not roll over on them and kill them. Really. Have you ever heard of that happening? Don't believe that Furber dumbass. He's just an ignorant biped.
4. Treating us like gymnasiums. I am not a trampoline for your unruly puppy. Nor am I a rawhide bone, a bite-sleeve, a cat or an episode of Wrestlemania. Get your pup some shit to play with. Or play with him yourself - there's a novel idea.
5. Wrecking our shit. When you come over to my den for a visit, don't bring your puppy unless it's invited. If, in a moment of weakness, I ask you to bring the little buggers that doesn't mean they can jump on my dogbed or rip down the curtains with their teeth. No, I won't bark at them myself. Why? See #1. The last sentence. 

I could probably go on but I think you get the idea. How hard can it be...puppies are only around for seven weeks and then they're all growed up and boohoohoo wah wah....yes, they're gone and not your problem any more. But if we want wise, mature dogs to run this world once we overthrow the ignorant bipeds then you gotta start trainin' 'em up young. See my MikeyTheBrat Youth Movement on the sidebar.


~12256

Famous Dog Names Spelled Sideways

One of my many thousand Facebook friends (ok, so you checked and I have 44, so what) showed me his name spelled sideways and it made the Mikester laugh his fur right off. So I decided to have a little fun for the benefit of the thousands who read this blog every week. Okay hundreds. Okay then dozens. Whatever.

Here we go:

LASSIE                           

• Lie Ass

RIN TIN TIN                  

• Rin Nit Nit

THE LITTLEST HOBO

• Blithest Hole Tot

SPOT                            

• Pots

OLD YELLER             

• Leery Doll

HUCKLEBERRY HOUND

• Hockey Hurdle Burn (I don't know about you but I hate that hockey hurdle burn especially when it's right between the legs...gah!)

BANDIT (from Little House on the Prairie)

• Ant Bid

BAT HOUND!

• Ho and Tub

SNOOPY

• So Pony (not that funny, I know, but check this next one out)

SNOOP DOG

• Spoon God 

(This does not necessarily refer to heroin, cough syrup, raw oysters or anything else served on a spoon. The views expressed herewith are not necessarily those of Snoop Dog, his affiliates and sponsors or those of the management of Snoop Dog Inc., Google, The Weed Man, Walmart or JustBreastImplants.com. Please refer any and all lawsuits for this post to MikeyTheBrat's personal law firm of Dewey, Cheetham and Howe.)

TRAMP

• You can't spell Tramp sideways and get any other words! However, when you add "Lady and the" you can get: Ply Rat and the Dam

BRIAN (from Family Guy)

• Brain (This is no coincidence)

DOUG (from the movie "Up")

•  U Dog (Also no coincidence)

AIR BUD

• I a Burd

And finally, the piece de la resistance.....................










............................wait for it..............................















MIKEY THE BRAT

• Bite Thy Maker! 

~ 12210

Beware of cats who eat beans!

Comrades, I must issue a warning today to you all. Of course, as you know, I have a love-hate relationship with cats in the first place. As a general rule I hate fucking cats. However, even the great Mikey has a weakness of the flesh and I speak of my illicit forbidden-love bi-species relationship with my beloved ChiliPepper.

I digress.

Last night I had an encounter with a black-and-white cat that was a real show-stopper. Now most of the time black-and-white cats are harmless. Check out this example:

Your basic black cat with a white stripe that appears to divide in two at the base. No problem, right? Right. This cat has a healthy diet.

Sometimes the white stripe on a black cat makes him appear evil as in the example below. This cat poses no threat to the dog. He probably eats a diet of fish-related mush which digests no problem into his intestinal tract.

If you're really looking for evil in a black-and-white cat this one is the feline reincarnation of the most evil ignorant biped to ever live. This cat does not hiss, scratch your eyes out or fight. He does not even fart in your general direction. He just meows orders to a squad of other cats who lock up all the dogs in ghettos and force them into slavery. He probably eats mice and rats live. No biggie. His day will come.

Some black-and-white cats clearly eat too much. Really you ignorant bipeds? Really? WTF.

Some black-and-white cats are fluffy and, though incarcerated, are fed expensive biped-produced delicacies like "chicken and giblets with gravy" or "salmon and shrimp feast." Although incarcerated they get lots of attention and win ribbons for their ignorant biped oppressors to show to their friends.

Some black-and-white cats are small school children in disguise. Beware of these. They pull your ears and slobber on you. Then when you growl at them their mothers scream obscenities at your biped oppressor as though you were not supposed to be an actual dog at all.

Still other black-and-white cats are just downright cute and if I weren't already spoken for I might consider an illicit bi-species relationship with this one:

Based on the perfection of her eyebrows I'd say this cat has a healthy diet of catfood #47 for "Black-and-white alley cats with sensitive stomachs who live indoors, get moderate exercise, have shiny coats and hork up furballs."



Never mind any of these, comrades! But if you come across a black-and-white cat whose diet is mostly beans and looks like this, WATCH OUT!

The only other thing this cat could have eaten is biped-made chili. I chased it the other night and just as I caught up to it he stopped in his tracks and let one rip in my general direction. Geezes fucking Key-rist! I was like "WHAT the hell did you EAT?" and bald lardass biped was yelling for me to come back - which was no problem. Dumbass managed to fluke her way out of getting farted on by doing what she always does: blindly following the ignorant bipeds' "leave it!" command.

So I ran right into the house in the middle of the living room and the ignorant biped bitch starts yelling "Charlie! Get that dog out of here! He's been sprayed by a skunk!" (This must be some biped euphemism for "smells of alley-cat monstor farts.") They hustled me outside but not before leaving that fart odor all over their furniture and clothes. I was incarcerated in my crate and then punished by being bathed in tomato juice. As if I needed a punishment to assure I never chase one of those fuckers again.

On the upside, I got a trip to the doggie beauty parlour the next day since the tomato juice got stuck all in my fur and pretty much just trapped the odor in there. They bathed me in peroxide-baking-soda-dish soap and then a shampoo, conditioner, massage and mani-pedi. When I take over the world I will keep those doggie-spa bipeds around for our pleasure. But let me tell ya. Those bean-eating cats have gotta go.

~12182

The Brat is Back

Wow - long time no talk to, comrades. The ignorant biped bitch hogs the computer constantly for her "writing." Pffffft....as if someone wants to read a book about "personal improvement." I'll give ya personal improvement you stupid humans. Try this: YOU lay at the end of the bed, let us ration YOUR food and we'll shove YOU in a crate when our friends come over so you don't eat them. That would improve all o' y'all a whole lot.

Our pack has been distracted by a number of things in the last half of last year. One set of yuppie bipeds moved in here with us (Lord Dog have mercy) while another set had a litter of pups. Well, just one pup. It's bald, screams a lot and smells delicious, like cottage cheese. (I can smell her from my JAIL CELL in the garage whenever she comes over.) Here is a picture of the small human pup when she was a few hours old. I don't know what all the fuss is about.

Secondly, I've been spending a lot of time with my forbidden-love, whose name is Chili Pepper. Must have named her in honour of Jean Chretien, the RCMP and various local police forces involved in the Occupy movement.  I know, I know. She's 5 pounds full-grown and I'm 75. Yes, yes, I could crush her with one blow and fit her whole body in my mouth but why would I do that? First of all, I have been indog-anely castrated by the Doctors of Death long ago. The same DODs sterilized her a few months back as well. So we're just Plutonic friends. You know what I mean, right? Plutonic: adjective: def.: homosexual dog + grossly over/undersized other creature relationship.

As far as I know, Chili and I are homosexuals. We've both had all our plumbing removed so that makes us the same sex, right? Male-Female-Other. We check "other."  Here is a picture of my beloved, my darling, my widdo mush-moufs koochie koochie koo:

She does take some liberties with my DOGbed, but that's ok. If Chili and I were the last two animals on earth I would probably wait at least two or three days before eating her.

So that's what our pack has been doing. Oh ya...PLUS the yuppie biped bitch who lives with us started her own business selling cakes and cupcakes and everyone is helping her. They smell pretty good. However any attempts I've made to suggest adding dead squirrel to the batter have been frowned upon. As bipeds go, she's the coolest. She raises money selling cupcakes to help other endangered animals. So when we take over the world, she'll be the last one I eat. Here's a pic of her cupcakes. Amazing resemblance to us animals. So far, she does not make a dog cupcake. That's right lady. YOU are the endangered species where we're concerned.

Yup those are all cupcakes right there. One's to raise money for some stupid orchid plant.

I've said on Twitter, 2012 will be the year for us dogs. The year we finally take over the world from the ignorant bipeds. I know, I know, I said that before. But two of my diabolical plans for biped world takeover were thwarted. The first of them by fucking CATS and the second due to some canine dumbasses not knowing that 'YVR' stood for the Vancouver airport.

This time, nothing will go wrong. We will schedule the takeover for April 1st, aka April Ignorant Bipeds' Day. Stay tuned here and on my Twitter account for details.

Hasta la vista, puppahs! The Brat is baaaaaaaaaaa-aaaack!

How to Bath a Cat

Someone sent this to me by email. So I can't claim ownership, although I wish I had written it, I really do. I did add #10 after trying this at our house.


                                                         1. Put both lids of the toilet up.
                                              And add 1/8 cup of pet shampoo to the water in the bowl.

                                    2. Pick up the cat and soothe him while you carry him towards the bathroom.

                                      3. In one smooth movement, put the cat in the toilet and close the lid.



                    You may need to stand on the lid.


            4. The cat will self agitate and make ample suds.
  Never mind the noises that come from the toilet, the cat is actually
                             enjoying this.


                5. Flush the toilet three or four times.
                This provides a 'power-wash' and rinse'.

            6. Have someone open the front door of your home.
 Be sure that there are no people between the bathroom and the front door.

 7. Stand behind the toilet as far as you can, and quickly lift the lid.

 8. The cat will rocket out of the toilet, streak through the bathroom,
             And run outside where he will dry himself off.

        9. Both the commode and the cat will be sparkling clean.

10. Before he comes back, get the fuck outta your house and don't return for several days.

Why I Hate Religious Nutcases

Recently our den has been overrun by a stupid religious nutcase. I don't know his name, but I'm told he's some sort of monk. Who eats potatoes in one form or another - either dried out and put into bags with barbeque salt or else deep-fried in England. No matter.

I'm just sick and tired of putting up with him. These religious nuts think they can move in and take over and there's nothing you can do about it. We didn't ask him into our den and we didn't expect he would take over with all the other nutballs whose philosophical-theological perspective is for the birds.

The worst thing is when they drop their evil seeds which sprout and grow into new (and stupid) ideas in the minds and yards of the weak-minded such as Dumbass and Shithead. Just this morning I saw the two of them completely engrossed in this monk's chatter. Staring at him like he was Dog Almighty himself. WTF.

I mean, it's fine for him to be a nutball but why does he have to impose himself on other people who are more open-minded like myself? Libertarian-Retrievers and such. And encroach on our space. The simple truth is: you don't want these nutballs to get their teeth and claws into you. There's no looking back. Before long you're just hiding in a corner licking your wounds.

MikeyTheBrat stands for much higher values, such as an end to capital punishment and castration, a bitch's right to choose, and the Colbert Super-Pac. So piss off, nutball. Go peddle your religion somewhere else.

chip-monk

~ 11752

Airport Takeover Report

Greetings comrades. First of all, my humblest apologies for not blogging for the past 2 months. The ignorant biped bitch went back to school (at her age, 350, what the hell's the point?). So she's been hogging the computer. I have only been able to sneak in a few tweets a week. Nonetheless, it was enough to plan and execute the second HOSTILE TAKEOVER OF THE IGNORANT BIPEDS!

Which went horribly wrong.

We were all set to meet at YVR. Note: this stands for Vancouver International Airport, you complete NINCOMPOOPS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  It does not stand for "Your Voice Recordings" Software Company on the other side of town. At least not normally. Don't you guys have Google for Dog's sake?

So I arrive at about 1100 hours, just to scope out the place. I see some dogs in cages, and some others in women's handbags (WTF?) I give them a knowing nod, and they all respond with a what-the-hell-you-lookin'-at kinda stare.

To attract less attention to myself, I choose an area near security and lie down, pretending to sleep. Ignorant bipeds come by, remarking on me...my calm demeanor, my beauty, my majesty. Others assume I'm a narc or a police dog. (Yo, mah brothahs...shoutin' out...).

By 11:50 I assume other dogs will be arriving; by 11:55 there will be a whole swell of thousands, backing me up. I see no one. I park myself by the baggage retrieval system. Sitting. Disguising myself as a traveler awaiting my belongings.

Someone comes over carrying a cat on a leash and says "you wanna say hi to the nice doggie, Cupcake?" We sniff each other. No biggie. Then the vile infernal feline piece of shit spit at me. So I, in kind, lunged at the fucking thing barking my head off and bearing my enormous canine teeth. The ignorant biped cat-owner screamed and ran, trying her best to hold on to the cat who was now scratching, hissing and biting all the while scrambling to get on top of the woman's head. Several passengers and a security guard came to her aid. She's running in circles now. Someone grabs an extinguisher, assuming she's on fire. CO2 seemed to add to the problem, temporarily blinding both the woman and the cat who now resembled the recipients of pies-in-the-face on an episode of Carol Burnett. Finally a Scandanavian priest grabbed the fire hose. Bad, bad idea.

By the time the woman got to the First Aid station her upper half sort of resembled hamburger on a stick. The cat had escaped by now, and was rolling on his back clutching his belly with his paws as was I. We were laughing our asses off. Seriously, I believe that cat's ass is gone now.

I compose myself and look at the clock. 12:10. No other dogs. Not a one. PERHAPS I DIDN'T MAKE MYSELF CLEAR. "YVR" are the call letters for the airport. On Twitter, it takes up SIGNIFICANTLY LESS CHARACTERS than "Vancouver International Airport." Oh well, the cat and I had a good laugh. Perhaps I will even allow them to join us next time. And I'll make it simple for y'all. Like Arby's.