Sick as a dog.
None of you has written to ask where I’ve
been lately. But I’m going to tell you anyway. Again. Sick. [Warning: spoiler
alert.]
What I didn’t tell you: I got it from
the dog. What I didn’t tell you about: the great Bacchus-with-the-sprays
episode, where the damndog ran in a hunch (like a TV-show cop avoiding fire) from
kitchen through butler's pantry through dining room to the front room,
scrambling to escape the explosions of dog dirt popping like liquid caps from
his ass. As difficult as it was to clean up the mess, it was still funny. Or,
it was until the next day, when I found myself running from my own explosions,
or running my own explosions to a proper receptacle (to continue the TV cop show metaphor – one of the barrels of
water the bomb squad puts bombs in
before they detonate them).
And the dog had the last
laugh, because he was over his shiftlessmesss in a day, and I’m not sure I'm not still running from mine.
05.21.16
What you need is a Tuesday at the Bean.
ReplyDeleteWhat I don't need is beans on Tuesday. Or Wednesday. Or
Delete