George has been doing some recreational (read: on the couch on the back porch) peeing for the last couple weeks. So we took him to the vet this morning, because that could be a sign of a UTI (he has some bacteria and he got an antibiotic shot) and he also needed a bunch of shots. Poor George!

No but he’s a big dude. The vet tech went to put him on the scale to get his weight and she put him on sort of awkwardly at first and he literally tipped the scale over. With his weight. So the next time you feel bad about your weight, comfort yourself with the fact that your fat ass isn’t literally upending the scale. And then we all laughed. Later on the way home we laughed again and I might have cried a little I was laughing so hard. 

For the record 17.5 lbs. 

My partner in this half ass live blog of the second half of the Republican debate. He wants more Cuba talk!

This ends the George spam.

Oh but when he’s trying to sleep a bitch better not try and disturb him.

Don’t fuck with his 18 hours!

Message from the department of demands: Get out of bed and feed me.

Meanwhile…

This is currently taking place.

To be fair, I don’t know why I’m still awake either.

I tried to pool my finances with George but he has no income and really could only contribute shedding and the occasional twig that got caught in his belly fur.

So I cut him off.

George on Mondays.

Chillaxed.