Friday, June 03, 2005


Sorry, kids. I'm not much fun this week. My heart hurts, and my cat has the shits.

For one thing, I've been very emotional. I don't know what the hell it is. It seems my moods are getting worse as I get older, like my cat and his backdoor trots.

Ugh. You should have seen Lake Litter Box this morning. What the hell did he eat? A septic tank?!

I'm thinking there must be something in the water, because everyone suddenly has the Hershey squirts. It's not just me, because I ate Korean food again, so I thought nothing of it.

Well, the reason why my heart hurts is that last night, over dinner with a bunch of guys (if you are the lone female with a group of three or more men, and you are not going to have a gangbang, I would suggest begging off for the evening, as I should have done.) They proceeded to start recounting a bunch of stories about animals at the zoo going crazy, and hurting people - which is funny, I agree. The not-funny part is afterwards, when the animal is gunned down by a machine gun, for crissakes - just for being what it is: a wild animal. God, I hate people. Why did You make us such assholes?! Can't we leave anything well enough alone?!

Then, on the way to work, I saw a dog fight. It was a Rottweiler-type and a poodle-type, both on leashes. At the other end of the leashes were their dogs. (Yes, people do look like their pets.) Rotty A-hole's dog had Poodle's dog's ass in its mouth. A bunch of people were standing around rubbernecking, that's how I could tell something was up. It looked like they were just playing but I fear for Poodle (and her dog). Now I feel like shit. I should have stopped, honked, thrown water on them (and their dogs), anything. But I was late and I felt this would only add to the confusion. Damn. I sure hope Poodle's fat ass (and her dog's) protected her from that Rotty's evil teeth. I really wish I had at least gotten out and punched the Rottweiler owner in the face.

I hate so-called macho men who make their dogs mean, then take them out in public without a muzzle. Next time I see that guy, I am going to follow him home, put Rohypnol in his Greasy Little Prick Overcompensating Ale, and make cascarones (confetti eggs) out of his testicles. Then, I'll yell "SURPRISE!" and when he wakes up, smash them over his own head. Then, I will fill a piƱata with his intestines and invite the neighborhood children over to smash it for the colon candy, blindfolded with his flaccid nut sack*, and using his cauterized dick as a stick. Then, we will play Double Dutch jump rope with his remaining digestive system.

Ah, yes. Then, I will feel better.

*what? I would totally boil it first.

By the way, the obscure title is from a note left for my neighbor by the dogwalker. I just thought I'd leave that 'til the very end, because I knew you'd find it oh-so-titillating. Er, something.

How's your die-a-rear?
Oh, no. Not you, too...


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