Thursday, February 03, 2005

Tinkerbell, Exposed

As if it isn't bad enough that this little rat dog, Tinkerbell, hasn't been through real trauma this year -- getting lost, Paris only offering $1,000 for his return, the reunion -- the writers at SNL plan on stuffing him into a thong, according to Page Six. We grant you an excerpt from the Tinkerbell Diaries (with appreciative kudos to Dong Resin):

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"Friday, August 13: I can't take the pink coats and 'wee booties' that Paris dresses me in anymore. My very 'dogness' is at issue here. It goes without saying that 'the bitches' are not feeling my vibe. And how could they? Dogs are supposed to be naked. I am rapidly becoming an accessory here, like her goddamned Louis Vuitton bag. The recent burglary has made me a little dodgy about whether or not I want to be doing this for the rest of my dog years. It's like Rilke says, I must change my life."

On the SNL set, things get ominous:

"Monday, Jan 31: Victim of Not-yet-ready-for-Prime-Time cast practical joke. Today those bastards on the set got me drunk. They put Saki in my water bowl. Ha ha. 3/4 into it the room started spinning and the next thing I know, Finesse Mitchell is tossing me in the air back and forth with Rachel Dratch. Can you imagine that? Pitching my ass like I was a whiffle ball! It's all fun and games until the teacup chihuahua gets hurt. I suspect Amy Poehler did the actual doggie bowl spiking. She was overly nice to me from the get-go. Bitch. And they miscalculated the Saki's effect on someone of my body mass. Hung over like a motherfucker."

"Tuesday, Feb 1: Still hung over. Lorne was a complete bastard. Always on my ass. I thought he was all laid back and 60's liberal and rock and roll. Whatever. So I took a quick whizz in his office. Maybe I left a "patty" under his desk. I'm a dog, that's what I do. Did he expect me to wait for the elevator to go outside? I'm definitely in the dog house with Lorne. That Maya Rudolph is one hott bitch!"

"Thursday, February 3: These Harvard Lampoon hacks want to stuff me into a thong as if I were a Vienna sausage in the tin. Are all the writers here Haravrd Lampoon alums? Worse, Kenan Thompson eyed me lasciviously during dress rehearsals. He looked hungry. This cannot augur good. I'm wedging myself tightly into Paris' Louis Vuitton doggie tote. Nothing good can come of this for me. It's always all about Little Miss Paris."

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