August 18, 2009

Suck It, Vick

No, I didn't pussy out on the blogging again...had a little trouble here in Hooterville that kept me occupado for a period of time.

So. It was a Wednesday, which means that I don't have anywhere in particular to be except hanging around this joint, doing what I do. The only must-do on my Wednesday agenda is a little yoga, which I mostly do to keep my ass from getting huge, only I pretend when I talk to someone about yoga that I "just love!" the mind-body connection and the meditative aspect and the communion with the cosmos and words, words, words to show that I am enlightened. Eh. That just be my bullshit. In my world, yoga does one thing and one thing only--saves me from Fat Ass. Commune with that, Gandhi.

Krispy Dude, on this particular Wednesday, decided to schedule a meeting in a burg about an hour from home base. So he gets up and heads off to meet with the grown ups and takes our SUV with him, which at that moment, also happens to contain my cell phone. This leaves me at the mercy of the land line and makes me want to go "grr," but I decide to roll with it. So K-Dude is gone, and I slip into my yoga duds, which consist of a teeny pair of shorts and and an even teenier tank top.

Before heading up to Spare Bedroom Yoga Studio, I think, "I'd better let the dogs out to pee. Nothing like easing into a good Warrior Pose and then having a dog need to commune with the God of Squat and Pee or worse, Krishna HunkerandPoop. So, I open the front door, and six dogs haul ass out to the front yard.

I see it an instant too late. A big, juicy, and MUCH coveted Denta-Bone, glistening in the drive-way like a god damned doggy grail. And the Bad Ass Doberman and the dog henceforth known as Hard Times (that story later, bitches) both have radar lock on the fucker. I swear to God, time really does slow down when disaster strikes. Or maybe it speeds up. Who the fuck knows, because I was waaayy too busy hauling my yoga-clad ass out to snatch up the object of desire. Not to be, bitches. Not. To. Be.

Bad Ass and Hard Times lunged for the bone simultaneously and when no one was able to come up with the winning lottery ticket, they decided to arm wrestle for it, doggy style, and were truly getting medieval on each other's asses. And the pit bull, for our purposes here called Nasty Bitch, decided to help out Hard Times. And at some point, the other 3 jumped in and took sides and I felt like I was in fucking West Side Story minus the operatic Puerto Ricans. And then I felt like I was in a Jackson Pollack painting with debris splattering everywhere--blood, pee, wet and smelly fear shit, and I swear to God, somebody's squirting out these little black demons that are fucking laughing and cavorting in mid-air and poking me in the eyes with two fingers like Moe did to Larry. Or better yet, I was in the middle of a Munch painting, only my hands were nowhere fucking near my hollowed out and horrified cheeks and big round "O" mouth, because they were too busy grabbing for collars and encountering teeth.

Bitches, it seemed like it lasted forever. Have you ever seen a pit bull fight? Worse, have you ever seen a pit bull fight a fucking doberman? There were teeth and claws and more teeth and bodies and hair and shit and piss and blood and teeth and little black demons--but enough about Michael Vick. Back to me. I was rolling around on the driveway screaming like an epileptic with Tourette's having a heart attack while clutching a lightning bolt. At some point, a neighbor across the street heard the commotion and probably wondered why someone was blasting the "Saw" soundtrack in his front yard. He came to the fence, saw what was going on, and started yelling something at me. By this time, I had Bad Ass by the collar in one hand, Nasty Bitch by the collar in the other hand, Hard Times is being fended off by a leg, and the other three have gotten bored and lost interest. So Neighbor Dude is yelling at me and I'm yelling back, "It's OK! I think it's over! Thank you! I'm fine!" What he sees from his nice safe little vantage point behind an iron fence is a skinny bleeding woman holding two fucking scary looking dogs while wearing nothing but a pair of skimpy shorts that have been jammed into her ass crack and a teeny tank top with at least one boob and probably both flopping around, each boob totally confused about being out in the open in the broad daylight without a beach anywhere near. I still have no idea whether Neighbor Dude was yelling "Are you OK? Do you need help?" or "Pipe down crazy train, what the fuck?! And put some god-damned clothes on!"

After Hard Times decided that the fun was elsewhere, she headed off and I was left panting and shaking and still holding Nasty and Bad Ass. Don't ask me how because I think I went a teeny bit crazy at that point...OK, crazi-ER...but I somehow managed to corral everyone except Bad Ass and get them in the house, in separate rooms, behind closed doors, with large chiffarobes pushed in front of the doors and a cross and string of garlic hanging on each door. I went looking for Bad Ass, only to discover that she had been dealt some serious shit in this little tete-a-tete. Her face was kinda hanging in Doberman tatters, she had deep puncture wounds to her neck, and an ear was sort of just hanging there by a loose tendon, making her look so much less like a Bad Ass and so much more like an old and dirty and torn My Pretty Pony on the dollar table at Goodwill.

Fuck. I can't let this one heal by itself...this is vet territory. Only the SUV is an hour away and all I have is a little BMW at my disposal. FUCK. Why the FUCK did Krispy Dude take the fucking truck???? Fuck. I got blankets and covered the seats of the Beemer to keep both Bad Ass blood and Krispy Kreme blood off the seats. Oh yeah, Krispy is bleeding, fuckers. The knees are torn to hell, the legs are covered in deep scratches, the elbow has a giant gash, and the bare feet are bereft of both toenail polish and skin. No time to clean myself up though, since Bad Ass has her face hanging off in bloody strings and all.

So, with Bad Ass in the back seat on some blankets and me in the front, shaking and crying like a god damned 16 year old girl who didn't get invited to the prom and sees years of Janis Ian songs in her future, we start hauling MAJOR ass up I-35 to the only vet I could find that was available...30 minutes away. I'm freaking out, I can't call Krispy Dude for a little moral support because MY CELL PHONE IS IN THE FUCKING SUV, my dog is in the back seat bleeding like a lawn sprinkler, and I'm speeding like a son of a bitch, in a foreign car, in south Dallas, wearing almost no clothes, crying, bleeding, and whipping my head around to the back seat every ten seconds like Linda Blair to make sure Bad Ass hasn't bled out and fucking croaked on me. We finally get to the vet, Bad Ass is hauled into the back for inspection, the vet gives me the estimate for surgery, I keel over and die, through the miracle of modern medicine I am revived, sign the necessary papers, spend enough money to buy a couple of fucking Iphones as spares, and leave Bad Ass in the very expensive hands of a vet that I hoped had done this before.

I made plans to pick up Bad Ass later that day after she had a face again, and with a huge fucking sigh of relief, I headed home driving a little less like a retarded and blind ferret this time. And here's the kicker bitches...when I got home, I noticed that Krispy Dude had left his god damned Sonicare toothbrush case in the front seat. Why is his Sonicare toothbrush case in the car? What, he's that concerned about his dental hygiene? I picked it up, planning to take it back in the house and it came open. And in it, bitches...oh, the Sonicare toothbrush case, which was in the front seat of my car as I sped at least 85 miles an hour up I-35 like fucking Jack Nicholson in The Shining, was Krispy Dude's stash of pot, roach clips, and rolling papers. And bitches, when Krispy Dude got home--with the SUV and my fucking cell phone--Bad Ass was not the only one who got shredded that day. And let me tell you...the next time a toothbrush case finds its way into a vehicle, it god damned well better contain a toothbrush.

Posted by Krispy_Kreme at August 18, 2009 01:01 AM

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I always knew that no good would come from yoga, but until now I didn't know why.

Posted by: Mayor McSleaze [TypeKey Profile Page] at August 19, 2009 06:08 PM

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