The ozone crackles brightly in my nose. Time to snort another rail of democracy!
My parents had a dalmatian named Daniel when I was a kid. That fucker must have been part goat, as he ate everything he could lay his psychotic paws on.
One year, they made a cake for a friend's surprise party, and that fucker Daniel ate a corner of the cake. My mom layered the frosting to fake it, and they called the recipe "Daniel's Delight." After all, how often are you at a party where the cake gets polished off?
Daniel sucked on a multitude of levels. The fucker bit me in the nose and though I was four and you can't quite see it, I've got a goddam scar to this day. I hope the family that took him off of our hands sent that son of a bitch - no relation - to the pound and after his demise, children from that "special" high school got to dissect him. Fuck that lousy dog.
Where was I?
So Daniel ate everything that wasn't nailed down. My folks built a little grow house for plants - ferns you fucking asshole. My parent's weren't that cool.
I got some Day-Glo Crayons, that fucker ate them too.
The Fisher Price peg people? Holy shit, you'd think that was a staple of the Dalmatian diet around our house.
Being a stickler for freshness, Daniel was always right at the ready, sticking his snout into our cat, Pywacket's, ass to get a little soft serve.
That fucker even ate about a quarter of the tire on my fucking Big Wheel.
With big and weird meals come big and weird shits.
I think a lot of people have kids so they don't have to pick up dogshit, but it's only a theory.
But the Old Man had a policy when he made us pick up dogshit: we could look around the yard, and select the turd that would most likely make us throw up. The first one between my brother and I to throw up could go inside and watch cartoons. If we were lucky, it was Fat Albert.
Now the week that Daniel ate the crayons, and the fisher price people, he also ate the shit out of Pywacket's asshole. So you'd think that the shit that was comprised of shit from another animal would be the shittiest shit of all the shit. Therefore inducing at least a LITTLE barf, and if you're lucky, a little shart. So my brother ran for piece of shit that was basically recycled shit, in hopes of making him throw up so he could go inside to watch Fat Albert.
But no! Sometimes running blindly toward the easy choice leads to ruin.
He overshot the shit, and merely stepped in the day glo crayon shit, which having not much shit to throw up on, only gagged.
So I not only picked up the shit that was made of shit, although it was technically my second choice. But I scraped the day glo crayon shit off of my brother's Tom McCann's and hurled a mighty load. We'd been to Long John Silver's the night before.
"That," my dear Pappy Vinehamner said to me, "is America."
As for me, I didn't send in my absentee ballot, so I'm going to Pasadena today to pick up dogshit and hopefully throw up fast. I need to get back to work on my opus magus recti.
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