“Would that that kid hadn’t applied so much pressure while using me to color the reptile skin on the dinosaur zombie robot! As it was, I couldn’t stand the force and snapped. Alas, my fate was the same as any broken crayon! Forget my loyal service as I dutifully filled in for blue crayon when the kid, barely able to find her own thumbs, needed to color a pond next to the dragon king’s fortress. It was my color of that pond that inspired you to pretend that the pond was a rotting pool of fish guts used as a torture device for the Dragon king’s enemies, including that devious Dr. Pteradactyl Laser Eyes. Fate’s cruelty was not done. Ere long, a napkin reeking of pickle juice came to rest beside me.
I spent a night next to this malodorous napkin, adopting a secondhand aura of briny vinegar. Perfumed as I was, a foul beast snatched me from that prison of garbage, no doubt mistaking me for a loathsome pickle.
The trash ravaging monster soon discovered that my insides tasted nothing like my outside, but not before she broke me in half again! Did she bother to return me and the other detritus to the rubbish bin? ABSOLUTELY NOT! Like roadkill we were left there to rot until such time as a more evolved, mature creature.”
I heard this refrain from a green crayon, victimized by my chocolate lab, Lucy. Lucy had plundered a trash can for a napkin that’s been used for a pickle, a paper tray thing with some leftover cheese specks from Bagel Bites, and more napkins in a variety of flavors.
I found it peculiar that this crayon should meet with this fate. Made me think about all the innocent bystanders in the pursuit of satisfaction. Here’s to all the innocent crayons!
Fowawaplaberugu (food water walk play belly rub guy) went somewhere in his moving domicile (car) and he left the computer on with a web browser open and signed in to his blog. So I thought that I, Lily the dog, would tell you about life as a dog.
It is a common misconception that life as a dog is a breeze. Why, just the other day, the blue menace (a blue plastic bag) tried to kill me…excuse me, I need a nap.
Also, Fowawaplaberugu only let me lick his bowl twice! TWICE! Egregious, I know.
I also have to defend Fowawaplaberugu from the people walking by outside our domicile. For the most part, my savage bark and my kill face keep them away: but occasionally, Fowawaplaberugu lets these people in. That’s when I have to unleash my most fearsome barking and growling…excuse me, I need a nap.
When we go for PEE-PEE as he calls it, there will be humans lurking out there, sometimes they try to TOUCH me! This aggression will not stand, so I poop on their lawns…excuse me, I need a nap.
Here’s a picture of me –
Humans call me “cute” and “precious” a lot. I guess those are different words to describe a vicious beast.
There are a lot of facts in this world. That statement is itself a fact. I’ve conceived a list of six facts that may or may not be profoundly…uh, profound for you, you and even you there with the glasses.
These facts will be presented to you in the same order in which I recorded them. That is to say that the order that the facts are presented in means nothing!
In fact (settle down, this is only a fact relating to what I’m saying now – the list is coming), do your best to imagine that all the facts are first; like this: “fact #1 – yada yada yada yada. That was a good one, now I’ll read fact #1 – blah blah blah blah blah. That one was stupid, maybe fact #1 will be better. And so on.
Why six facts?
Have you ever stopped to wonder why lists always go to 10? It’s ok, I haven’t either. Fact is, I could only come up with six. Furthermore, this article asserts that there were six days in a week until Augustus Caesar’s nephew, Devon “Seven Digits” Caesar – he was born with seven fingers on his left hand, nagged his uncle into adding a day to make the week seven days long so his pinky wouldn’t feel left out when he counted the days of the week on his fingers (err, he counted in English, and spoke in Latin).
Moving on, here is the list, starting with #1 and ending with #1 with four #1s in between –
#1(1) I recently noticed that my dog sneezes a lot. I thought maybe she was sick, but then it occurred to me she sniffs EVERYTHING. It is, therefore, a logical outcome that she sneeze a lot.
#1(2) I was at the gym the other day and I decided that I’m normal, everyone else is superhuman. I guess I was thinking that I’ve been like this for so long that I’m normal now. Then I saw a dude doing lunges across the gym floor with a 50lb barbell across his shoulders and thought holy cow! That guy is superhuman!
#1(3) Listen – I’m right handed. The fact that my left side was more affected than my right is, in my mind, divine intervention. I think about this often, but can’t think of anything else to add. I suppose that I’m saying it could certainly be worse.
#1(4) I went to Egypt at some point apparently and found the pyramids and the Sphinx to be eh. I found the Ginormous boxes of cereal to be far more awe inspiring. Here’s a pic that captures my consternation regarding the large cereal box –
#1(5) Let’s say you order something from an online vendor (any vendor will do, but for purposes of this fact we’ll say Amazon (coincidentally, this entry it’s brought to you buy 🙂 Amazon.com -“Buy more sh*t, dammit!)) Further, let’s say the item you ordered came in a box. To keep the contents of the box in the box, the vendor used a sticky plastic strip (for purposes of this discussion, let’s call it “tape”). I’ve provided an example picture below. Here’s the problem, you have this shiny new box expertly sealed with tape and you’re too lazy to fetch a knife. What to do?
You look all around the place, hoping that a pocket knife will shoot out of the ground. After a few minutes you decide to take action and can only locate a…
Then you do the rational calculus, would it be easier to find a knife or try this comb? You’re rational side screams out GET A F*CKING KNIFE! Uncharacteristically, you’re lazy side makes a stupendous effort to stifle this command – you don’t hear anything, so you proceed with the comb as pictured.
All that box cutting and rational calculus cramped your style. The box is open, so use that box cutter/comb to get your style back.
Now the box is open and you’re lookin pretty good.
#1(6) You can’t see it in the picture, but this bag is steaming hot. I love sushi with wasabi, I tolerate spicy stuff pretty well. I thought it probably only TASTES like wasabi, but doesn’t have the fiery essence.
I! Was! Wrong!
I upended the bag into my mouth, filling my mouth with a generous portion. What I felt next is best described by flaming golf balls being forced out of my nose. Here’s a visual –
Don’t forget that I don’t curse, so the title is pronounced “Shasteriskit Happens”. I’ve mentioned before that I fancy myself a writer, and do so enjoy writing. I would like to share some of my fiction writing with you. The following is a short story I wrote for a short story contest (that I somehow did not win, I blame Satan). It’s pretty long ( fast what she said!), so I dare not post the entire thing. I’ll put up the first part today, this third part tomorrow, and the second part the day after that (approximately).
The inspiration for this story comes from Kurt Vonnegut and the way he trivializes major events. ENJOY!
“PEE-PEE!” Shouted Rob in the highest octave he could muster.
Sandy buzzed with excitement at those words. Rob bent down to clip the leash onto his dog’s collar, but the dog was so spastic with excitement, he couldn’t secure the clip.
“Sandy, help me help you!”
After a few more minutes, Rob had the leash clipped on, potty treats in his breast pocket and a baggie for poop in a back pocket, with that they were out the door.
Sandy led Rob on their usual morning walk – on the sidewalk in front of his apartment, then around the corner into the courtyard of his complex. She went pee, Rob gave her a treat. They continued to the other side of the complex, Sandy scrunched over and pooped on a patch of grass close to a window. Rob decided that, since he was in a hurry and it was dark with no one around, he’d leave the poop there. No one’ll walk there, he assured himself. Rob and Sandy started walking back to the apartment. Sandy was leading Rob through a grassy field. The walk was going speedily until *squish*. Rob slipped a little as warm poo spread onto the bottom of his workboot.
Rob composed himself and used the rest of the walk to scrape his shoe against the grass in hopes that it would remove all traces of poo.
Rob lifted his boot to see the damage, the sole still had a heaping glaze of feces, with a few ambitious clumps that, in an outright “up yours” to gravity, were crawling up his ankle.
Rob thought back to the last tenants meeting. Patio ornament lady brought up the issue of dog owners not picking up their dog’s “excrement” – she refused to say or respond to any slang word for shit. The tenants at the meeting all agreed that they’d do a better job of picking up their dog’s “excrement”.
All the same, Rob’s foot found a very stinky, sticky and gooey pile of “excrement”. Rob didn’t want to show up smelling like poop, so he started scrubbing off his shoe, choosing to be late instead.
Rob woke at six, extra early that day because the central office called him late in the evening on the previous day to assign him the job. Rob, an AC repairman, already had a job lined up for that day; but Mrs. Sanderson, his boss’s sister in law needed a technician right away, she said her AC wasn’t cold enough. She gave strict instructions that he was to be there no later than 7:15.
He arrived about 7:40. Mrs. Sanderson was pacing back and forth on the steps of her porch, yelling into her phone; no doubt at Rob’s boss.
She noticed the van pull up, abruptly ended her phone conversation and stormed down the steps. “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” She shrieked.
“Well you see, there was this grizzly bear chasing after some orphans…”
“OH, CAN IT! Do you know how much Zumba classes cost?”
“Eleven dollars?” Rob said sarcastically. “What’s a Zumba, anyway?” He asked with mock sincerity.
“I don’t have time to answer your bullshit questions, you’ve already made me late. Air conditioner is in the attic. I’ll be back in an hour, try to be outta here by then!” Before Rob could respond, she was halfway to her Jetta.
She sat down and turned the car on. Neil Diamond blasted through the speakers. She mouthed the line, “Hurting runs off my shoulders. How can I hurt when holding you?” She took her iPhone from her purse, she stopped to examine the new pink and white checkered case she just got for it, “Sorry, Neil. It’s Steve’s turn.” She said apologetically to her stereo. She plugged her phone into the cord coming from her car’s auxiliary port, pecked at her phone and Journey flooded the inside of the car. Mrs. Sanderson always listened to Journey before working out.
She usually leaves at 7:30 sharp. It takes about 20 minutes to get to the gym, ten minutes to check in and get situated. For a minute, she thought that being a few minutes late would be ok; then she thought about catching her husband staring salaciously at the waitress’s butt at Olive Garden last week. The young girl’s tight ass whirled in her mind’s eye – she floored the accelerator.
End of part one. Tune in tomorrow to find out if Mrs. Sanderson was able to work the jiggle out of her bottom…
True to my word (and the counsel of my ”blogtor”), herein are the words of the clumsy and wonky armed Jarrett, it shall be named micro-blog #2, so let it be done!
The girls and I went to a carnival fundraiser for a co-worker’s daughter. She (the daughter) was diagnosed with Leukemia not long ago and has already been through quite a bit. I’m not sure how old the little one is, but I’m sure she is less than 10. Now, I’ve gone through quite a bit also, but I got to live ~30 years free of major medical problems. This poor girl isn’t even a teenager yet and she has to contend with a serious illness. Moreover, her parents have to endure seeing their only daughter get ravaged by both the sickness and the cure. Life is unfair, but is unfairer for some than it is for others. I have every confidence that she will persevere and live a long and happy life, all the more joyful that she is alive to enjoy each new day, but I believe that the sadness, heartache and trials she (like me) has to endure to attain that joy are are not worth it. She has a good family and has every reason to feel joy without this contrast.
This largely holds true for me, as well. I have a loving and committed wife, a beautiful and vivacious daughter and three dogs that show their love by trying to knock me down the stairs every time I descend them, as well as a very understanding and caring network of family, in-laws and friends. I don’t need hardship to know joy.
Stay tuned for micro-blog #3 which, I promise, will have MORE COWBELL!