Gremlins

Jeeze.  I sure wish I could think of something to write about that's happened recently.  I mean, I guess I could but it'll either be totally uninteresting or reasonably disturbing.  Reasonably disturbing sounds like a paradox.  I'm not gonna rack my brain to think of something that's both reasonable and disturbing.  I guess a vasectomy is reasonably disturbing, but I didn't get one of those this week.  If I did though boy, lemme tellya.  I'd have one reasonably disturbing motherfuckin story to tell you about my recent activity.

Most stuff is unreasonably disturbing.  At least stuff that anybody wants to hear about.  I could tell you that my kitten played with a ping pong ball, to which you would most certainly respond with a resounding ¨who gives a fuck?¨ and then we'd all get on with our lives.  But I don't have a kitten.  That's cos I choked the goddam thing with a fuckin ping pong ball.  See?  That's unreasonably disturbing.  Fortunately for you, me and my nonexistent kitten, that never happened.  

I'm glad I could clear all this up for everybody.  

Now, if anybody's still reading this, I'll quit stalling and try to tell a little tale.  A tale of adventure.  Perhaps it'll be a tale of misadventure.  A tale that will make your blood boil, that will make your blood curdle, that will  make your heart stop, that will make your heart pound.  Basically folks, I'm gonna cause you to have a goddam heart attack.  Probably not, but if any of yall have a cardiac arrest from reading my stupid blog then I'll certainly have an interesting story to tell about that.

As things are, nobody ever died from listening to my nonsense.  At least I don't think they have.  If they have, then fuck em.  

So yeah, I remember walking around in Philly with a pack of dogs.  Pack of dogs sounds pretty intense considering what it actually was.  My buddy and I were high on cough syrup, and the dog pack consisted of a medium-small white dog who looked kinda like an albino fox and three or four dipshit puppies.  And that's if an albino fox even exists.  If it doesn't, then fuck you this dog looked like one.  Her name was Skitch.  She was an All-Star dog.  Made it to the Dog Hall of Fame.  So did most of her puppies.  At least in that litter.  There were two of them in the dog pack.  They were probably 3 or 4 months old, each of them a little bumbling ball of white fur.

Then there was my puppy.  He was the odd-man out.  He was about the same age as Skitch's pups but he was tall, brown and gangly.  Destined to become a good-sized alpha male, at 3 months he was a clumsy and semi-cheerful dingaling.  Well, he was never all that cheerful, but he was the big brown puppy amongst all the snowballs and he was about as cute as was ever gonna be.  All the pups were following mama dog, though.

So were we.  Christ, I was trippin my ass off.  So was my buddy.  Skitch knew what was goin on, so we figured we'd just follow her around.  She didn't need to be on a leash in the first place, and there really wasn't any traffic at midnight on a Sunday in the chilly, misty October in Philadelphia anyway.  Whenever me and Ian would be thinking maybe we should get the dogs some water, Skitch would miraculously lead us to a Wawa (the local convenience store chain) and we'd waddle in and fill up a few cups.  Skitch knew how to babysit a bunch of puppies and a couple of putzes who were technically too high to be legally walking around.  She was a good dog.

At one point, Skitch led our seemingly not-very-threatening gang down to the Schyulkill River Park, down by the railroad tracks that ran along the east side of the river.  It was an area that was well-known to be a pick up spot for homosexuals.  It was also a good place to get drunk or fuck around when you were tripping.  As we entered the little park, we were met by an army of Pekingese dogs who all had bows on their ears.  Our puppies pranced playfully up to the little furry weirdos to say hi.  

The Pekingese kinda cowered.  Cowered is the wrong word.  They were certainly humble, though.  I was trippin my ass off.  I immediately felt sorry for them.  They were happy to meet our dogs, and they were happy to meet us.  But they seemed somewhat apologetic, as if to offer a disclaimer that they had no choice in the matter as to their size, their crazy fur or their severe underbites.  They also seemed to shrug and telepathically explain that if it were up to them, they wouldn't have tied ribbons on their heads.  

I winked and told them that it was okay.  They were down, as far as the squatter guys who were doing the Robo shuffle around town were concerned.  And the puppies seemed to think that they were kinda funny.  Oddities that they had nothing to be afraid of.  I'm not a big fan of weird ass little dogs, but to this day I sorta tip my hat to Pekingese when I run into one.  Fuck it.  It ain't their fault.