Tranny Porn Dogs of Mordor

Saturday, March 22, 2008

Tranny Porn Dogs of Mordor Current mood: grateful Category: Water Sports Life I acquired a new dog this afternoon. She is a Jack Russell Terrier, a breed not known for being calm. The only reason I took the dog is I need and want to introduce additional drama to the Morning Wood Sober Living Pod environment. Josh advised me that a six-month old JRT is "pretty rowdy, dude." As if I’m going to consider the consequences of anything. I simply plunge my monkey ass into whatever seems likely to jack with people, places and things. I already have a Rat Terrier, who is 17. His name is Virgil. He is blind, deaf, neurotic, and incontinent -- not unlike his owner. He only eats canned food now, and he forgets that I just fed him, and he begs for more. I spend more on his food than I do for my own food. When he pees, usually on the carpet in my den, it is about two gallons. Every single time. Like a cow on a flat rock. He does little of interest now, other than sleep or stand around and moan. Again, not unlike his owner. He is painfully thin, and nothing I do or feed him causes him to gain weight. He looks like a dog from Dachau. Or, like a dog whose daddy doesn’t properly look after him. Poor thing. He is also drug addict and an alcoholic. He routinely smokes crack. I must keep a dog snifter of Remy Martin Louis XIII Grande Cognac® or he is impossible to live with. He also watches porn, which is odd, I should think, for a dog. There’s so much more on that, but I’d rather not get into it. He didn’t learn it from me, though. He has been a cool dog, and we’ve been through some trippy times together. However, I’m sick of cleaning up pee; he has a dawg door; he should use it. Never mind he’s old and it is painful to go up and down the stairs. I really thought he’d outlive me, and he may yet. Who can say, as all I have is today – provided someone doesn’t sneak across the border and blow me up. At least Virgil doesn’t shed. Mickey, my other dog, is a lesbian Jack Russell Terrier. When she worked for the CIA, her name was "Rose of Sharon." Mickey is 13, and she is so fat that Billy Rodgers noted she looks like a Guinea Pig. She is fat because she eats all the food that Virgil won’t eat because he is also anorexic. That started when Virgil realized he was gay after he saw the South Park episode about "Big Gay Al’s." Was it Stan or Kyle who had the "gayest dog?" Micky has long hair. Some are as long as Mark Brockway’s hair. They fall off, and under a microscope one can clearly see little prongs on the both ends. These prongs are designed by nature to bore and imbed themselves the eff into the carpet in the den. No vacuum will pull them out. So I don’t even bother any more. I used to go to court or church and find white dog hairs imbedded in the wool fiber of my dark suit. They won’t come out. No matter, as my grotesquely fat ass cannot wear those suits now. Like Abraham Lincoln, those suits "belong to the ages." I’ll never be able to wear them again, any more than Scarlett O’Hara will ever again have a 17" waist. So I’ve learned to live with dog hair. I’m a peaceful man, and nothing or no one gets to me any more. Life is good. Collin accepted me as a MySpace Friend, which is like getting into Skull & Bones Society at Yale or something. All my self-esteem has returned. Often people like Collin share good stuff. I want to tell him, but it is as if he disappears. He has a magic ring, you see. Now I can send him a cheesy myspace message. I’m going to Chickasha for a meeting. This time last year the notion of driving more than two miles would have been too much to contemplate. Things change. Life is better. People still annoy me, of course. They don’t act right most of the time, and they come out of their homes and businesses and expose themselves. Not literally, most of the time. It’s always something. But I’ll have the world to myself some day. Nick was to be the Easter Bunny this year. He donned some rabbit ears and a fluffy tail, and he agreed to hide Easter eggs for Josh’s little boy, Noah, age 4. Hide the Easter eggs in the back yard amongst the dog turds. Well, Nick didn’t hide nuthin’. I caught him just as he’d eaten the last of the little boy’s eggs. Probably some turds too. Oh well, hiding eggs is a stupid tradition, and so is eating dog turds. Let the kid watch TV or something. Thankfully I have the coolest, most insightful, and best dressed sponsor in America. He and his staff of mental health professionals have their work cut out for them. I’m glad the Baby Jesus woke up after they killed Him. Happy Easter to you and yours. I’m glad to be here. Love, RPH, Esq., N.V.