Talking to My Wienna'

Sorry if you’ve missed my articles for a little bit, but I don’t know if you’ve noticed, I’m a very busy man. I was training for a fight, working on Bully Beatdown season three, and creating havoc across eight time zones. As of now, I’m sitting at home, quite calm, with my hotdog dog, Gator, watching over my every move. He watches my back closer than any of my “handlers”and although he cannot hold hand pads, he coaches me just the same. Yes, you read correctly. My dachshund talks to me, and he has some damn interesting opinions. Now, normally he just talks about the things that you would think a hotdog dog would talk about—what my bushes smell like, who’s leg is more fun to hump, how he doesn’t like the term “Wiener dog” (apparently it’s quite offensive). Ever since his attempted kidnapping by some crazy chick I was dating, he’s gotten more and more robust in his suggestions, complaints, and overall conversations with me, even amassing an army of housewives on twitter (com/gatorhotdogdog). He’s an opinionated little ball of cuteness, and since he tweets from his Iphone, I had him learn how to use a keyboard because he has a primitive vocal chord system.


Sup Gator?


Sup Loud?


Kicking it, I have to write this article, and I thought I’d interview you on your opinions on MMA, and things in general. You cool with that?


You’re really gonna write an article like this? And turn it in to Jim Casey? What exactly is wrong with you? No one is going to read your drivel if you are talking to your dog. It’s too extreme and perverse. I mean,suspending your disbelief is one thing, but talking to a dog is something that only a man of many psychosis is capable of accomplishing. Besides, everyone always skips over the funny article to read workout tips with some bald goatee dude.


Actually man, I have one of the more popular articles in the mag.


Yes, primarily because your popularity amongst 12- to 24-year-olds, whom all either steal this magazine or beg their mom for it at the checkout stand. I can’t even believe that Donovan Craig still allows you to write these articles, I’ve let loose stools on USA Today articles more engaging than this stuff that you print.


What? Now you’re just being mean. Remember who has the treats and the opposable thumbs to open the bag.


Yeah, okay, just leave them on a lower shelf and we’ll see what happens. Are we going to start this interview, or are you just going to argue with me about lamb jerky this whole 1,500 words?


Okay, hotdog dog, what are your current thoughts on the state of MMA?


When I think about how exciting and changing the landscape of MMA is, I usually have to hide under the bed because my lipstick starts to show, and I don’t know if you know how annoying that is, but imagine if you, um, showed your lipstick in public. I’m a hotdog dog, but I’m not a complete miscreant.


Oh, you aren’t? What about your recent rash of leg humping? Every date that comes to the house, you grind on, until I yell at you!


Hey, that’s part of the business! You should know, didn’t you lose a title fight like that? Actually, I’ve seen you eek out a victory that way before—don’t act like you are above a little bit of the “hug on the rug!”


I broke my hand in the first round of the fight you are talking about. I had to take the guy down. I tried to finish with a submission the whole time—don’t say that to me W…


Don’t say that to me, WHAT?


What do you mean?


What were you going to say? Wienerdog?


No. Relax. Drinking makes you so touchy.I’m not a dog-ist. You know that. Anyway, what do you think about this season of TUF?


It’s great, it’s fantastic, it has such substance, for me to poop on. TUF was an awesome show, and so compelling, but recently the formula has become as stale as one of my dried out white turds. I understand why the show is still on after all these years. I know people like the show, but it has had the same formula since my pappy was pooping on puppy pads. Switch it up, unoriginal producers! I know that there’s always a plethora of meat heads willing to make a fool out of themselves on national television, as evidenced by Loud having money to buy me a constant stream of lamb treats, but there’s only so many times that I can watch bored dudes break up a Vegas McMansion before I’m bored. Let’s change the formula, take it a different direction. Maybe I can get a meeting with that bald guy that’s always beeping. I like that guy for some reason. I bet he smells good. I mean, this is the show that greats like Koscheck, Rashad, and the one guy that does porn now came from. Nowadays the fighters don’t even look that good. I’ve seen a chihuahua with better BJJ.


Who, Odie?


Yeah, he’s actually half chihuahua, halfdachsund, which makes him taller than me and retard strong. A real good training partner. He’s so heavy, sometimes I have to use my guard, which kind of sucks because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, I have stubby ass legs and a long body, which is totally open for his ground-and-pound attacks, plus you know since he’s half chihuahua, he definitely has decent boxing. It’s genetic. Which reminds me of another beef I have with MMA—we watch boxing whenever someone with the last name Perez, Juarez, or Sanchez is fighting, but the only thing I notice is the ring card girls! You should see these bitches! They have sex appeal, they have T&A, and they have giant hoop earrings! Is it a little too much to ask for some sexy bitches walking around the ring? Arfarf! Aren’t we suppose to adopt the best parts of every culture—and not try to play it super safe with outfits that look they were designed for working at a Six Flags water ride? Don’t get me wrong, I would give Arrianny’s leg a proper humping in any outfit, but lets spice it up MMA. Even Strike force doesn’t take any chances with boobs. Back in Dusseldorf they’d have the girls topless!


What? You were born in America. Out in Studio City. I picked you up out there as a puppy.


Yeah, I know, but my father is from the old country, and he told me how less uptight everyone is about sexuality. I think America in general needs to loosen up. I mean, come on, we all got here by humping, one way or another.


You mean how you hump Odie? A boy? Are you gay?


Gay, straight, in my world the lines are blurred. Once you run around with only a spiked collar on, sex is just sex.


Wow, I guess things are much more liberal in German culture.


Yeah, actually it’s been like that more recently. I was lucky I didn’t have to be born in an era of radical conservatism. My parents went through all the horrors of Germany, during its darkest period—The Hasselhoff Era. There was no way that you could have the beautiful sport of mixed martial arts while the tyrant King Hasselhoff reigned with an iron fist, a furry chest, and a talking car.


Ok, what do you hate more than anything about MMA?


Early stoppages. Once, I watched a Boston terrier fight a mastiff, and the beginning of the match went really poorly for Sparky the terrier. Boof had Sparky in his jaws over by the jungle gym and was slinging him from side to side. Before their owners could get to the scene of the crime, Sparky pulled guard, scratched Boof in his eye, then leaped up and bit him in the other eye—a clear KO victory, which would’ve never happened had Herb Dean been walking him.


Well, Gato
r, the referee has the burden of protecting fighters. He has to keep it safe.


Yeah, well, better early stoppage than allow the fighters to just hug each other on the ground, not inflicting any damage on one another. I mean, I’m the one that starts all the boos in the arena when they go to the ground and don’t work to finish—usu-ally because it’s a full moon and I finished my hefeweizen, just like I just did now. I need another one. Will you use your opposable thumbs and open another one into my bowl? I’m empty.


Naw, I think you’re drunk enough, dog.


Don’t try and regulate my party habits, Loud, I can handle my booze, and I’m doing this interview for your little high school newspaper. Why don’t you run and grab me some goddamn kibble, and not that bullshit from the regular grocery store. I want the high-grade organic from the health food store—summer is coming, and I want my abs to accentuate my lipstick. Also, if you could check your closet, I left a giant kibble log in there, and I need you to clean it up before I leave another one. I’m out of here. I left your mouthpiece under the bed and I forgot I need to chew it up again.


You fucking wienerdog.

Comments are closed.