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Monthly Archives: August 2018

Me, my bitch and the drunken clown.

I am in love.

That pure, spring is in the air kind of love, not the hair-pulling, “spit in my mouth” type of lust you see in porn.

I’m talking innocent here.

Gracie is my bitch.

True, she belongs to someone else, but dats ma biotch!

She is also a dog.

Something about dogs this week.

I am in Starbucks and there is another dog in the store.

Gracie looks like a miniature doberman pinscher, but smaller that whats in your head right now.

And she is into me.

She has been licking my elbow for the last half hour.

In certain 3rd world countries, that is as binding as wedding vows. (Although it saves me the bridal price of 3 goats.)

But, as with any true and pure love, there are issues.

Gracie likes to fart.

Maybe like is the wrong word.

Must, must fits better.

Gracie must fart.

It is an odd ironic twist that my nose, broken several times over the years, has a wide collection of smells that are denied me.

With the exception of rectal potpourri, and especially that variety of canine eau de toilette they are so well known for.

Eh, I’ve dated worse.

She isn’t cheating, has a drug problem, crazy ex, or 10 kids without fathers. (I am assuming here, but she seems like a good dog.)

But there is someone trying to break us up.

Gracie’s owner.

No clue what her name is, but I want to call her “Hot mess”.

Except that the word Hot feels odd in this sentence.

She’s a heavy girl, not that that’s unattractive, but this is that unhealthy kind of heavy.

The makeup was done by a drunken clown on a meth binder with Hodgkins.

In a very old woman, iffy crazy makeup would be somewhat excuseable.

But the drunken clown appears to be an ill-kept 22.

There is a low level murmur that has been going on for awhile now.

Except when she suddenly becomes aware of Gracie and me.

“Gracie, NO!” and yanks her over beside her, then goes back to being oblivious as Gracie comes back to me, begins licking my elbow, and farting one more time.

It is my sincere hope that Gracie does not shit on the cushion beside me.

Who knows how long the drunk clown has had her in here?

I am interrupted from my musings by the fact that my coffee has cooled just enough to drink without blistering my mouth.

There is an almost orgasmic delight in that first sip of a properly done pour over with Ethiopian Yirgacheffe beans. (And this is with clothing on, go figure.)

Mmmmmmm… coffee.

Gracie seems to share my excitement and snuggles up.

It is a good moment to exist in.

Even the drunken clown minds her own for that moment.

Which is good.

Sometimes, you just need that moment.

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Posted by on August 27, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

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Till the service dog goes blind

There is something off-putting to other people when you lick your nuts in public.

Like a social faux-pas that is a little too blatant to ignore.

Before this goes much further, this is not about me.

I am not that flexible.

And if I was, I sure as hell would not have time to be writing a blog.

I would have “things” to do.

Doug, however, has no issues with licking himself in public, he’s been doing it since I got in line at Starbucks.

“Its obscene!”

The stage whisper ahead of me is from Gladys. (Google “Gladys Bewitched” and it makes sense.)

Gladys is all up in Doug’s shit.

Doug, by the way, is a service dog, a real one with a vest and everything.

And Doug has a serious thing going on with his nuts today.

Gladys is highly triggered by it, but can’t seem to look away.

The two stoners behind me are delighted.

Here is their first comments, verbatim:

“Dogs have all the luck.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wish I could do that.”

“Try petting him first.”

5 minutes of laughter followed that seemed to upset Gladys even more.

Doug didn’t seem to mind at all, he just continued licking his nut.

“Sir!”
Gladys has officially, “Had enough”.

Doug’s owner was texting and missed this whole deliciously uncomfortable scene.

“Huh?”

Raised eyebrows show no comprehension or acknowledgement of Gladys’ #MeToo ordeal.

“Can you do something about that?!?!”

Gladys wants SOMETHING done.

“Like what?”

The smirk on his face is not helping here. (Its a Service Dog, pretty much, he could kill someone and I think that is legal.)

“Do something about that!”

Gladys wildly gestures in the direction of Doug’s testicular garden party.

“Looks like he’s got it covered.” (Outright laughing only makes it worse, dude.)

“Make him stop!” (Gladys is hitting her peak of outrage. Worse seeing but a little sad, too.)

“I don’t like to interrupt him when he’s eating.”

And then goes back to texting with a chuckle.

In the silence that follows, the stoners lose it.

Gladys fumes and and crosses her arms defiantly.

But she will NOT stop watching.

Jealous?

Maybe she should pet him.

Damn, I need coffee.

 
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Posted by on August 24, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

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