Your Dog Chad, He Has A Headache

It's a sad and sorry thing for an old dog's old eyes to start to go, but he doesn't need to be peeping about like a young-blood anyway. That old boy needs to sleep up by the fire and die down the puppy headache causing him to whimper-whamper. When he was an attractive young babe, Chad was peeping about with the best of them. Peep all day. Peep fast across a football field when he heard a rabbit make a smart joke, peep up close to .75¢ carrot cakes behind glass in shop windows. That guy had plenty of peeping to do in those days, but I gotta say, I think it'd be best if he just kept his eyes rested in these days. He's a sweet fella and I want his headache to leave him be, so please don't go pointing out old photographs around the fireplace room tonight. Like set that one down, and just ask him about his rabbit friend who hates football.

This Happened To Your Clothes Today

Your under-wears are found shining on the top of the bluff today, the bluff that won't crouch down for the ocean's shoulder. Your under-wears when worn are too high at their top and too low at their bottom: so you roll them, down? Or is it up. And is that tide in or out when it's backing away (is it going out or staying in, or coming out and coming in)? I can't tell if it's higher or lower no matter where that tide is going, especially with that entire bluff distorting the neckline I'm more used to seeing.

Did you go naked from the beach today? Because the police found your undies and they think you had some doobies, oh you had better 'fess up. A seagull probably got it all on tape for you -- it's going to be a big VHS tape though, and no one will have a working player on their hands, so scratch the seagull's idea. Seagulls can't afford the modern video recorder. They shop the electronics and chirp to themselves, In this economy?

It's totally alright though and don't even sweat it because I won't let them keep your under-pants or make wild dehydration accusations about why they found your short-pants near the public ocean. Everyone has to wear little *tiny* clothes under their regular-sized clothes, and sometimes people have to roll their little-tinys right off because they're just not going in the right direction that day, and I'll just straight tell that to the cops for you. They'll understand it coming from me (I have a new outfit on today).

Nooo, My Butt Out -- No, My Butt's Out

My butt's out again.

I asked you, Nooo?

You said, Shuuut it up?

So to get out of the house

& away from your crap 'tude,

I offered to accompany my lop eared

Down to the bus station.

She had to get to the mall,

To buy clean underwear

(I did suggest full coverage).

That's The Spirit, THAT IS THE SPIRIT

You're corn-fed! Eat up that yellow vegetable, you need all of your carbs in proper balanced order because you're going hiking today. Well tonight, when the East Windy Blow blows and you can't bear to sit alone at the kitchen table any longer. You are with God, but it's the not the same these days.

You're going through your day, going up and down different office buildings all day long delivering information, and you come home and everyone has already eaten and they're watching TV. And you wanted to talk with them. And they only kind of left you something to eat, most of the roasted meats are eaten but some small pieces are left. There's a lot of corn left over that's for sure. You finish it all though, all of the food they left you, and then you're sitting with the TV going in the next room and the rest of them chewing on candy in front of it. You're done chewing and sitting and being around empty serving bowls and no place for anything.

The wind goes loud outside and you look the other way to the TV room and you decide to go up the steep hill of tan dirt and rocks that cuts your backyard short just outside your kitchen. If you jumble up that small mountainside you'll still see the TV room. The good news is you'll be further from it and digesting your corn the way God intended you to. But good news is hardly worth it and you look outside the kitchen window and then put your dirtied plate in the empty kitchen cabinet and then go to bed without telling anybody.

You're A Mess Hound

Oh Ollie, you are a cat with many responsibilities. "Oh what a night!" You dance well to your favorite song. But guess what, Kid, I'm getting tired, super tired. Maybe you could start, oh I don't know, wearing a dress to church? It's getting embarrassing, walking into the church, walking down the isle, me in a fedora and a blazer, you without even underwear on, well only a bra. It's just like on your wedding day, but you were only sixteen then and you had a perfectly good excuse. You didn't know better. By now though, you need to own up to your responsibilities and become a good mother. One day when you stop being a full-time whore week in and week out. When you start counting how many kids you have, which will take one hundred years and a bottle of whiskey.

You have responsibilities. Ollie, the priest asked me to talk to you about this, you know that don't you? Yes, because it's officially an upper class citizen church now, fully registered with the government and licensed, and you're bringing everyone down by not even wearing a dress let alone leggings, or a pair of gloves, or a modern shawl. You look nearly wicked when you walk around in church, only a bra to hide your body. (And I might add, it, your bra, is doing a sorry job. And I wouldn't believe you if you said you've ever washed it.) You're only one and one half of a foot tall, but you have a commanding presence, especially when you wear pink lipstick, and the upper class members are just growing, just growing so tired of your shit. And I am too.

To say this to you hurts my heart down to where I feel like shaking, feel like I would choose to start shaking, but I can't have you bringing me down like this and you need to grow up. You're thirty-seven. You're having whore sex daily and you aren't wearing a dress to church. You'll thank me one day when you've changed your ways and look upon Christ with tears of shame in your eyes. I'll be sitting right behind you and you'll thank me.

Any Of The Times When You're Ready

Blow out a candle because you want to be hushed by an angel. It is nice, isn't it? Dear creature, how many comforts do you have? To tell you the truth, my mouse won't stop creeping around with all her whiskers, and it's a royal pain in my comfort. No, that can't be the case; I haven't heard from him in weeks. Cousin Louis? Yeah, he's shifting gears so he can shake up the shit. Jamie, get inside; it's freezing outside.

Jamie stopped her imagining in the dark front yard because she had grown too cold. She shook up her shoulders and did a circle in the snow, then ran up the porch steps and into the front room glowing with a small fire burning old cardboard boxes. Her mama was standing next to her Lazy Kid chair and chewing sticky old caramel candies from sticky old Halloween. She stared at Jamie and chewed, and then slowly she sat down without taking her eyes off Jamie. Lorraine, that's her name, said, "Jamie, I swear on my spit I've never seen a little girl wear a plastic bag as a scarf." Jamie said under her breath and through her teeth, "Little girls usually get to buy scarves, you silly witch." "What you grumblin' at?" "Mama, I think I'll take a bath." "Whatever, child."

Lorraine put her eyes back on the television set that glowed dim, much dimmer than the fire burning boxes. She was watching a talk show that featured people who could sense life inside trees all over the world. She thought it was beautiful, but she probably would of hauled off yelling hogwash if someone asked her if she could believe her ears.

Jamie hopped on one foot up the carpeted stairs to the wallpapered second floor and opened the bathroom door with a shove, and she thought she'd brush her teeth first of all. She put her plastic stool in front of the sink and climbed aboard and plucked her yellow toothbrush from the little bunny cup her grandma gave her. She dunked the small brush in a jar of pink bubblegum mouthwash that lasted longer than a tube of toothpaste. While she cleaned her teeth and ignored the dull pain in the tooth that had a brown spot on it, Jamie watched her cheeks turn from frosty pink to warm pink. She was so happy to be warm that she decided she'd forgo the bath and stop brushing her teeth and just go burrow down under the fuzzy hand-me-down bed blankets from her cousins. In the burrow she held her stuffed bear and giggled about her mama chewing on Halloween candy instead of smoking cigarettes and then she fell asleep.

A Brisk Walk Today

Filthy birds walking the city walkways who are perpetually interested in awful pieces of food. Jackery R. Davis was only interested in clean silk scarves and shined shoes that could nimbly avoid the dirty little things. He whistled and smoked at the same time and boldly scoffed at children's smiles in the passing afternoon. He straightened the folded square of fabric in his vest pocket and turned his body sideways to miss contact with a stranger eating a pretzel that might as well have been covered in sand from a foreign country that did not have running water.

Mr. Davis was on his way to his business chamber and had to take the path through the park in order to make it on time, seeing as how he narrowly scheduled his Persian dog's Persian bath only one hour before the meeting. The small dog with an artistic face was escorted to and from the baths by Mr. Davis' butler, Gregory, but Mr. Davis needed to personally supervise his companion creature's satisfaction and relaxation. The dog's happiness for the week, not to mention Mr. Davis', hung in the balance.

When he first entered the park, Mr. Davis sneezed and credited the reaction to Manhattan's lack of discrimination and regulation. If he could have had it his way, only precisely manicured flowers of season-appropriate colors would be allowed in the park, but as the city's official edict currently stood unmanaged, the park was full of people. The absence of law did not stop Mr. Davis from informing people of their nonexistent invitations while he slide past them without physical or optical contact. In between whistling and smoking, he would hiss under his breath or sing out loud, "You're not wanted here, as you are a scoundrel and should leave."

He rounded the edges of designated areas of plant life that lined the concrete path he sternly declined to stray from. He moved swiftly and with a smugness charged by his permanently sarcastic smile that frequently formed words of disgust. Mr. Davis was closely reaching the other end of the park, and he was sure to not let any person ruin his closing celebration of surviving the detriments of the public as he put out his gold-tipped cigarette and gave it to a homeless person begging for change. He moved around a last grouping of pigeons and sighed to himself with pride and exited the place he regarded as filled only with dirt. This accomplishment bolstered his preparedness for the business meeting, and he grinned while running across the street.

I Love How He's Gone

My special band practice was canceled today, so yet again I went for a snow bath around dead trees filled with pelicans who were all on a diet. They were upset because I wouldn't share any of my pudding packs, of which I had several. I kept shouting, "IT'S FOR YOUR OWN GOOD, IT'S FOR YOUR OWN EFFING GOOD," all the while shoveling away and sitting pretty in my puffy ski jacket. I scared and offended their children when I started to drool so much. Well, their attitudes were out of place. And I now find those pelicans to be nothing more than large bats with a bucket attached. That doesn't impress me.

After that whole shit storm, I decided to sail a while to calm my nerves. I shape-shifted a raft; this wasn't hard for me, I do it all the time. In the snow lake the tiny fish followed me around, which was fine because they're yellow and have dollar signs in their eyes. Floating off there into majestic waters, I was really starting to forget my worries. I eventually felt like whispering, "You can't touch this." I was letting go of the forsaken band practice and snotty sky predators, when the sunset started to change its mind. Instead of going pretty like I anticipated, it all went terribly back into what it was. I felt glass inside my body and wanted to escape. I decided right then and there that I would become an assassin of Christmas.