Today has not been much better than yesterday. First, mom was supposed to take me to the beauty shop for a total make over. Which she did, however, she brought the furball with us! When we got a little ways from the shop, ole cry and whine started with the soulful wailing. How many times has the hysterical hillbilly got his hair cut? How many times must he cry? Once we arrived at the spa, I was thinking it’s time for a little lavishing! Mom tells the lady; furball is looking pretty good, just needs some trimming. Me, on the other paw, she tells the lady “just do what you can!” Just do what you can? What am I, chopped liver? (Editors Note: Princess did smell like rotten liver before her bath.) You’re quite the funny man aren’t you Mr. Editor. Anyway, as I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, what kind of instructions are; do what you can? I’m royalty, I should be treated as such! What kind of motivation does a beautician have when she hears; do what you can. Afterwards, due to some matting and very poor instruction, my hair was cut very short! I look like Sinead O’Connor during the bald years! Although, when I jut my teeth out, I do sort of look like Lady GaGa! PaPaPaPaPaPoker Face…. The furball, he came out from his treatment with a ribbon on his head! A ribbon? Really? What did he do, win first place at an inbreeding contest? He was all happy, jumping up and down, acting like some kind of prancing idiot pony! I’m sure those little lap dancers down the street will really go for a ribbon on his head! Maybe I could get the pit bull to put some stitches on flea bags head. Tomorrow has to get better, right?