H-Dog Jr.

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Vol 36 Issue 44

Hard Day's Work Fails To Yield Sense Of Job Well Done

EVANSVILLE, IN– After a hard day's work Monday, Cahill Financial Group administrative assistant Janice Croyer mysteriously lacked a deep sense of pride and satisfaction in a job well done. "I don't know what it is," said Croyer, punching out. "I should feel great about the work I did today, but I'm not on any sort of high." It was the 2,076th consecutive work day to produce vocational indifference in Croyer.

Driver Rattled By Brush With Death For Nearly 10 Seconds

DOUGLAS, WY– Following a narrowly averted fatal collision with a weaving semi truck on Interstate 25, motorist Kent Withers was badly shaken for nearly 10 seconds Monday. "My God," said Withers, momentarily pondering the frailty of human life. "I could have been killed." Added Withers: I could go for a bacon cheeseburger."

Freddie Prinze Jr. Fan's Favorite Color Also Green

BURBANK, CA– Reading a profile of teen heartthrob Freddie Prinze Jr. in the December issue of Tiger Beat, 15-year-old Caitlin Rasmussen was thrilled to discover that both she and her favorite actor cite green as their favorite color. "That is so unbelievable," Rassmussen said. "Freddie likes green, and I like green. We have so much in common." As further evidence that the pair are soulmates, Rasmussen noted that she and Prinze share a fondness for ice cream.

Shingles Sufferer Sick Of Explaining What Shingles Is

NEWPORT NEWS, VA– Meredith Burr, a Newport News human-resources administrator who contracted shingles three weeks ago, announced Tuesday that she is "completely fed up" with explaining what the illness is. "For the last time, shingles is a viral infection that causes a painful rash similar to chicken pox," Burr said. "The medical term is herpes zoster, and it usually lasts from two to five weeks. Now will you leave me alone? My skin is burning." Burr added that shingles should not be confused with piles, rickets, scurvy, or the gout.

Gore Calls For Recount Of Supreme Court Vote

WASHINGTON, DC– An increasingly desperate Al Gore called for a recount Tuesday of the U.S. Supreme Court's 9-0 decision in Bush v. Palm Beach County Canvassing Board. "There is reason to suspect that these nine votes were not properly counted and that as many as five justices who sided with Mr. Bush did not intend to do so," Gore said. "It is therefore in the best interest of our democracy for the U.S. Supreme Court to suspend judgment in this case until we can be absolutely certain that this court did, in fact, intend to rule in Mr. Bush's favor." Gore added that if his recount request is denied, he will file an appeal with the Interplanetary Supreme Court.

Youth Sports, Adult Violence

The past year has seen a surge in adult violence at youth sporting events, including the beating death of a hockey coach by a player's father. What do you think?

The Scooter Craze

Across America, millions of kids are cruising around on aluminum Razor scooters. Why are they so popular?

All's Right With The World

Huzzah and greetings to the fine Onion reader-ship! All is well with you, I hope! You have a crust to gnaw upon and whale-oil aplenty, I trust? No more boils than usual? Excellent! Now, be not misled by my unaccustomed cheer. My concern for your welfare is genuine, I assure you, for everything is splendid to-day.
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Just Like Everything Else!: Fox 8 p.m. EDT/7 p.m. ABC Pete's wife is still on him about building that darn shed, these kids are going to be the death of Sheila and Dave, and the hot next-door neighbor is up in EVERYBODY'S business! Sunday nights on ABC couldn't be any more familiar!

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Fantasy Sports

Little League Pitcher Just Getting Fucking Shelled

RED BANK, NJ—After watching the 11-year-old give up the fourth straight double that inning, sources confirmed Sunday afternoon that local Little League pitcher Dustin Bauer is getting absolutely fucking shelled out there.

H-Dog Jr.

Yo, check it out, Gs: Last week, that freaky ho Judy from tha wack-ass Accountz Payabo krew steps to mah fly cubicle, all smilin' an' shit. I thought she wuz straight trippin'.

"Bitch, flag yo' ass back to tha A.P. before I go buckwild on yo' ass," I say. "I gots a variance here what needs reconcilin', an' I gots no time foe distractions from some A.P. ho."

No diggity, mah homeys. There wuz a negative $194.07 balance in tha subsidiary accountz-reecevable ledga, an' it needed to be balanced wit' a quickness, lest tha controlling account look all fucked up. Tha Code O' The H-Dog say, shit gots to be balanced before tha end o' tha bidness day. It a matter of HONOR.

"Herbert," Judy say. "Guess what... Agnes from the Cash Room had her baby last night! It's a boy!"

Damn. I be attendin' to bidness 24/7, and I almost forgot about Agnes an' tha shortie. Agnes tell me tha shortie be mine, 'cuz we be knockin' mad bootz in tha Cash Room afta hours. She say I tha only man she be hittin' skinz wit' lately, but then I gets word from my homey Jerry Tha Sharpie Head that tha freaky chicken-head bitch be givin' it up to all tha Accountz-Receevable highrollas. So I may not even be tha biological.

But at tha same time, when I hears tha shortie be a boy, I be mad proud, word is bond. I always wanted a Baby H. Jr. to carry on tha family trade of accountz reeceevin.' It just a damn shame that his mama be a lowdown, two-timin' beeyotch.

Judy say that ova tha lunch hour, tha whole Midstate Office Supply krew be goin' down to tha hospital to check out Agnes an' tha shortie. I mad hyped to peep mah son foe tha first time, but I just acts all hard an' tell Judy, "Whut about it, bitch?" 'Cuz tha bitch don't needs to know about mah bidness wit' Agnes and tha shortie. But even though I gots this fuckin' variance to contend with, I resolve that I must attend to tha shortie wit' a quickness, lest his mama school him in tha ways o' bein a no-skeelz-havin' Cash Room sucka what be backin' azz up foe all tha Midstate Big Willies.

But, damn, afta I finally lose that fool Judy, I remembers that mah hoopty, Tha Nite Rida, be in tha shop. Mah mechanic homey Kurt, he be installin' one a them dope-ass GPS DVD Navigation Systems. Plus, he be throwin' in, free o' charge, a pair of them phat bead seat covas that supposed to be good for yo' posture an' a fly vanilla air freshener shaped like a crown. So tha H-Dog be without his ride, an' it look like he gots to take tha bus. Unless you wants every hole in yo' body stapled shut, y'all best not make no wisecracks.

Nite Rida or no Nite Rida, H-Dog don't ride no bus, so I decide to call in a fava from a co-worka who owed me big-time. Namely, that wack bastard Dave from Inventory, whose sorry ass I saved when he OD'd on Liquid Paypa during tha Midstate office picnic last summer. I dialed his extension an' told tha muthafucka that he best give me a ride to tha hospital if he didn't want a swift beatdown.

Problem is, Dave still ain't got no clue about tha H-Dog protocol. When he be drivin' me to tha hospital, he be tellin' jokes like he Bernie Mac at tha muthafuckin' Apollo.

"Hey, Herbert," Dave say. "What's a shy and retiring accountant?"

"How tha fuck should I know, you corny-ass muthafucka?" I reply.

"It's an accountant who's half a million shy, and that's why he's retiring! Get it?"

Damn. If there ever a time to go balls-out Jeet Kune Do on that stupid fool, it wuz then. Huh. He crackin' wise when that missin' $194.07 wuz hangin' ova my head like a muthafuckin' Sword of Damocles. Not to mention them deep thoughtz I be havin' about seein' mah newborn shortie. But I decided to chill an' put tha muthafucka's demise on hold, 'cause we wuz at tha hospital by then. Besides, this a day foe life, not death.

I gets to Agnes' room, an' I spots her sittin' wit this old, flabby-ass ho I later learn be her mama. Man, she wuz tha oldest bitch I seen since fuckin' Myron Schabe, an' I could tell right off she wuz a stone-col' playa hata. She give me tha evil eye, an' I gives it back, because I don't take no shit from nobody. An' check it out: I don't see no shortie nowheres, but there be all these flowers, an' them shiny mylar balloons you can see yo' face in, an' some stuffed bearz, an' all this otha plush shiznit tha Midstate krew musta left behind foe tha shortie.

"Damn, I glad I bring this box o' thumbtackz," I say. "How tha shortie gonna be raised proper if he don't got no officin' supplies?"

Agnes' mama say some straight-trippin' bullshit about tha shortie bein' too young foe officin.' Man, you GOTS to start them YOUNG. What tha fuck would she know 'bout officin', anyway? Man, them fuckin' new-jack amateurs wuz really fuckin' wit' mah flow.

Agnes say that tha shortie, who ain't even got no name yet, be off gettin' his picture taken. A coupla minutes later, tha nurse carry him in. But he don't look like no shortie I ever seen. He all red an' shit, an' his face be all pinched up. He don't even look like no boy.

"Yo, thas one sorry-lookin' li'l punk you gots there, Agnes," I say. "How you know it mine? Maybe it Jerry Tha Sharpie Head's. Or Sir Casio KL7000's. Or AirGoNomic's. Or any o' tha otha A.R. bruthahs you be ballin' on tha second-floor copier. Shit, bitch, you think you can keep yo' two-timin' ways from me? Fuck all y'all!"

Agnes' mama grab tha shortie away from me. She tell me she know about my rep foe bein' hard an' that I ain't welcome around her grandson, 'cause she don't want him to turn out to be no "two-bit mid-level office drone." DAMN. Tha saggy-titted pigeon actually had tha balls to disrespect tha H-Dog to his face. Man, I wuz about to lose tha storied H-Kool. I gots this $194.07 variance, this damn fool Dave thinkin' we tight, an' Agnes' mama be ridin' mah jock. Under mah Members Only gear, I wuz fingerin' tha Letta Opener, ready to go 187 on these foolz.

Then, just as I about to start some mad drama, tha shortie goes an' pukes up a bunch of Gerba baby food on his old-ass grandma. Man, that was so off tha hook, I fo-get my rage an' start laughin' my ass off.

"Hell yeah, that gotta be my shortie," I say. "Mad propz to tha shortie. He don't take no shit from nobody, just like his daddy."

Agnes' mama say shorties do that all the time after they get they eat on, but she just heated 'cause tha shortie show her up, know what I'm sayin'? I wuz startin' to feel mad luv foe tha kid. Suddenly, he didn't look like some Yoda-lookin' freak, but a true son an' worthy heir of tha H-Dog.

I say tha kid's name gonna be Baby Prince H. Tha Stone Col' Dopest Biz-ook-kizeepin' Muthafukkin' Badass Supastar Kornfeld Tha Second. Agnes' mama be sayin' she want tha name to be Andrew Michael, but I be ignorin' her ass, 'cause it suddenly occur to me the source of tha $194.07 variance.

"Yo, I out," I say. "Shortie or no shortie, I gots A.R. bidness to attend to, know what I'm sayin'?"

Check it out, G's: Back during tha commencement o' tha fiscal year, I recalls getting a check foe $215.63 from this customer what be behind in his bill payments. Shit, I almost had to fade his late-payin' ass, but he got all paid up wit' a quickness once he realize he in tha H-Dog's crosshairs. Anyhow, I couldn't remember no $215.63 check on tha A.R. ledga, but there be one for $21.56. Tha muthafuckin' check had been recorded wrong! Sho' 'nuf, there wuz tha difference, $194.07. An' accordin' to Midstate accountin' guidelines, tha company can eat tha rest o' the cost as long as it under $10.

Mah phat skeelz as a stone col' troubleshoota who saves tha company mad benjamins already be legendary. But, shit, I fuckin' outdid myself this time. An' it all 'cause o' the shortie. Times were tough foe Daddy H., but tha luv foe mah shortie helped me once again get mah roll on.

Right now, I be sexin' that ova-tha-hill Eloise from the cafeteria, but I gonna get me some of them freaky Marketing hos. An' if I eva accidentally knock one of them bitchez up, I get to decide what the shortie's name be. Thas 'cause it turn out that fuckin' Agnes name tha shortie Tanner behind my back. What tha fuck kinda pussy name is that, Tanner? Shit.

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