The Apocalyptic Holiday Parade

If you're unfamiliar with some of the characters that have been featured on this blog before or you just want to reacquaint yourself with them again to better understand the following heartwarming holiday story, just click on the following links and enjoy!

For another story about the mysterious Intenso, click here:

The Incident at St. Mary's

For stories regarding Asmodeus, click any of the following links:

Auditions For The Circus
Second Round of Auditions For The Circus
Asmodeus' Astounding Circus

For lovely adventures involving Toadie, click any of these links:

Toadie in "Happy Anniversary"
Toadie in "Road Rage Spectacular"
Toadie in "First Love"
Toadie in "The Christmas Trip" (Part One)
Toadie in "The Christmas Trip" (Part Two)
Toadie in "The Haunted Bordello" (Part One)
Toadie in "The Haunted Bordello" (Part Two)
Toadie in "The Haunted Bordello" (The Final Chapter)

And now, the final story involving all of these wonderful, fairy tale like characters.  

Brandon and his family are at his house, enjoying video games, talking about the economy and pulling food from bags.  The family pet is also busy, in the corner of the living room, licking his pecker like a lollipop.

Brandon just came from the grocery store with his Dad, Mom and dog, Skipper.  Then he, while putting a jar of peanut butter on the top shelf of the kitchen cabinet, heard what he thought was a marching band, just down the street.  Curious as to why there would be one, especially on this day, around Christmastime,
the twenty one year old man went outside the door, turned and saw what was coming his way.  Behind what was coming his way, was a cloud.

This was no ordinary cloud.  The was unique.  It was a deep crimson red cloud that was raining blood from it.  Hot blood spattered the ground and street below, erupting from the cloud in wave after wave.  Steam rose up from the asphalt of the ground and soon, even from where Brandon stood, he saw the blood was eating away the street as if it were acid.  Even the ground beneath what was once road was eroding into nothingness, leaving a wide trough of burnt dirt.

This cloud crackled with a horrifying sound that Brandon thought was a raucous mix of laughter and thunder. It scared away almost all of the animals. Dismembered body parts rained down from this cloud.  Detached heads busted open on the eroding, steaming street.  Arms, legs, torsos followed.

Trumpets made an earsplitting noise in the air.  At the front of the parade, sat the demon, Asmodeus.  The demon was sitting on a throne being carried by men, writhing in agony.  Asmodeus' tongue flicked out of his mouth.  He began laughing.   Intenso was by his side, laughing, while the band played a warped tune that began to make people come out of their houses, screaming.  While screams of laughter and pain filled the air, Intenso saw neighbors staggering out of their houses.

Brandon could see the neighbors' faces then.

The neighbors watched, filled with terror, as some of the participants of the parade were wearing the blood and dead skin of other humans.  Others had simply painted their naked bodies with odd human expressions and symbolism.

Dressed in black, the mysterious Intenso twisted his wrist, suddenly, and through sheer mind control, made the neighbors tackle each other to the ground and fuck like wild dogs.  Afterwards, they forced tree limbs into each other's butt holes.  They both howled and bled, profusely.  They wouldn't stop until they had torn each others assholes apart and bled out, almost completely.

"Tree huggers," muttered Intenso.

A neighbor dog ran up to one of the fat naked corpses on the lawn.  Blood was forming in large puddles around him and his wife.  They had just gotten finished with reading the local paper and suddenly found themselves in the front of their houses, fucking each other with long tree limbs.  The husband was struggling to breathe.  Abruptly, a huge dog, named Pippy, sprinted toward the man and tore out a piece of the man's gaping butt.  The dog, under the spell of Intenso, then ran across the yard, growling, with a slimy chunk of the man's colon in his canine jaws.  The man watched the dog run away with a meaty bit part of his colon, screamed loudly and futilely, then shit himself in a funny sort of way, before breathing one last time.

Intenso skipped forward a bit and began to sang, gleefully...

"Oh, Susannah
Oh don't you cry for me
For I come from Alabama
With a banjo on my knee."

He then turned to the lesbian couple and twisted his wrist again.  "Think you could "munch some carpet" for me?"

One of the women shuddered, seeing what chaotic, violent acts he had made the other neighbors perform.  Still, one of them stepped forward, bravely and said, "You can go fuck yourself."

Intenso smiled and then replied, while twisting his wrist back again, "What you will do for me is going to give me such a hard on."

It wasn't long before the women, under the spell of the maniacal Intenso, stripped off their clothing and began to push each other to the ground.  The smaller one hit the taller of the two in the face, knocking her out.  She took out a small pocketknife and was about to carve up her lover before Intenso decided their deaths would be more humorous if he tried his next trick.  Intenso curled his finger, forcing his supernatural powers to overwhelm the woman with the knife with thoughts that were more sinister than the ones she had before.

Everyone who witnessed what happened with the women began retching, violently.  Skipper the dog, ran out of Brandon's house and enthusiastically chowed down on the steaming piles of vomit.

Towards the front of the parade were baton twirlers, swinging human femurs into the air above and catching them as they came back down.  Blood poured out of their sockets in their heads where they once had eyes.  Their nude, emaciated bodies contorted, every so often, repulsing everyone watching them.  Their ribs would sometimes rip through their thin flesh, with blood spilling down their bodies.  They no longer had the will or strength to scream.

A huge balloon animal was pulled along in the line of the parade.  Even those that were lying on the ground, suffering from torment, looked at the plastic object and chuckled.

People heard Intenso, skipping along, cheerfully singing...

"I had a dream the other night
When everything was still
I dreamed I saw Susannah
A-coming down the hill."

By this time, everyone was out of the neighborhood's houses and apartments, in awe, of course, of the evil, disgusting spectacle being played out in front of them.  When a few people tried running back into their dwellings or attempted using any of their electronic devices, they were instantly incinerated by the power of Asmodeus.

When one man was almost able to reach his cell phone, about to dial the emergency numbers, Asmodeus raised his butt cheek, from where he sat, cut a huge fart towards the man and burnt his victim's off of his shoulders.

Women in strange green clothing, sat on the shoulders of merry men, while the muscular men had deeply planted their hands, then arms in the women's vaginae.  The women, oddly enough, wouldn't scream and only smiled to the passerby.  Some even waved, as if they were on a normal parade float.  Their minds, obviously, had been taken away long ago.

Brandon screamed at the living nightmare all around him.  Body parts were everywhere.  People were torturing and raping each other.  Scenes, too horrific to describe, froze Brandon where he stood. At this point, the marching band stopped playing.

Asmodeus, the demon, raised his clawed hand, signing to all the rest who were involved in the parade, to halt at his command.  With his other clawed hand, he had been munching on a woman's detached boob.  Quickly, he tossed the rubbery nipple off to the side like a discarded, half-eaten gummy bear.  The demon stared at Brandon, angrily and soon the young man was feeling himself slowly catch on fire.

___________

Four blocks down the road, Toadie and Valerie had just gotten married.  After several years of being together, making love and going on several adventures, they cemented their relation by making their love official and on paper.  They came out of the little church, full of happiness, ready to begin their lives as husband and wife.

When the newlyweds looked down the road at the carnage and the macabre parade, the mentally challenged man shouted, "Toadie is hungry for wedding cake!"

Then he farted.

Valerie looked at him, lovingly and held his hand, proud of her new husband.

Asmodeus turned his attention toward Toadie and instantly, Brandon's body ceased catching on fire.  His parents came running up to their son and extinguished little flames on his shirt and pants with their jackets.

In less than a second, Asmodeus was staring down at Toadie, sneering at the apparent fool.

Toadie looked up and giggled at the smoldering red behemoth.

Asmodeus snapped his fingers, without warning and caused Valerie to bleed out of her ears and nose.  Streams of blood ran down her face as she cried out.

Toadie stopped giggling.

Toadie cocked his head to the side.  Intenso ran over to see what the hold up was about, regarding the parade.  He thought everyone was having a good time, so far.

Intenso looked at Toadie and the demon standing toward each other, shrugged and to break the tension, the man cloaked in black garments began to sing...

"Old McDonald had a farm, E-I-E-I-O.
And on that farm he had some chickens, E-I-E-I-O.
With a..."

Intenso couldn't sing the rest of his verse because Toadie had quickly crushed the supernatural being's trachea and shattered his voice box with his right hand.  Intenso grabbed his pulverized throat with both hands, confused and unable to understand Toadie's surprising surge of strength.

Before Asmodeus could take any action, Toadie, with lightning speed, pierced Asmodeus' chest and pulled out the demon's black heart.  Asmodeus slumped to the ground.  Valerie, in that instant, stopped bleeding.

Skipper the dog ran up to Intenso and bit through his scrotum, causing Intenso to wail.  The dog shook his head, aggressively, clamping his jaws down on Intenso's nutsack.  Soon, Intenso's genitals were being escorted off the property by Skipper the dog.  The testes of the mysterious being slipped out of the dog's slobbering mouth and hit the ground.

The cloud behind the parade cleared up.  No more blood rained down.  No more body parts.  The sun came out and the street that was there once before began to reappear again.  People who had once died or were hurt, stood up, healthier than they were before the parade.

The stout, broad shouldered Toadie looked down at Asmodeus and said, "You're no different than any other tyrant.  You feed off of the fear of others.  You either secretly or not so secretly crave attention, fear and adulation from as many obedient people or sheep as you can gather.  If more folks like me took a stand and realized they had capabilities they didn't know they had before and were willing to stand up to pieces of shit like you, you wouldn't exist in the first place.  Love, courage and people using their minds for the greater good will ultimately defeat beings like you.  Oh... and one more thing."

Asmodeus was gasping for breath.  Toadie turned around, pulled down the pants of his tuxedo and farted directly into the demon's face.  Asmodeus coughed, choking on his own retched vomit.  The green, toxic gas ate the demon's flesh off of his face.  The demon's eyes bulged and melted away. Soon, the demon no longer existed in this realm.

Toadie threw the demon's heart high into the air.  Skipper caught it with his powerful jaws and burst the organ in his mouth.

Suddenly, those involved in the parade disappeared, completely.  There were no signs that anything had transpired during the last few hours.

Toadie looked at Brandon and said, "Nothing should be assumed.  That especially includes anything that breathes.  Strange, evil beings, such as the one you confronted, are different, in how they appear and the tricks they can pull off- but that is really the only difference between them and the puppet leaders and ruthless dictators of the world.  Sometimes, regretfully, you have to resort to violence as a last resort with these fuck wads or they will continue their reign of terror and their often successful campaign of fear-mongering."

After this was said, Toadie took Valerie up in his arms and took off in their white rented limo, toward the reception hall.  This would begin a new exciting chapter in their lives.  Together, in spirit and love, they would spend the rest of their lives, making each other as happy as possible.

At the reception hall, everyone drank bourbon, rum and tequila, singing and dancing.  Later, old friends would tell their same old favorite stories, smoked copious amounts of marijuana and had a terrific evening of fun and revelry.  It was an evening of celebration and also a time to reflect on what they could all do to improve themselves and the state of the world.

Everything, miraculously, had been set right again in the land.    

The Furious Gingerbread Man

The Gingerbread Man was furious.  With weapon in hand, he was determined to slay those who dared to stand in his way.  For too many years, his brethren had been made for the sole purpose of being devoured.

"Why must this be the way of things?" asked The Gingerbread Man.

He raised his hardened cake fist, shook it furiously and sobbed.

Somehow, he thought to himself, he would find a way to make humanity pay.

Suddenly, a dog came up and began munching on his gingerbread penis.  This made The Gingerbread Man even more furious.  The Gingerbread Man cried out, "I will be eaten no longer!  I have rights!  How dare you eat me!"

The dog, blown away by the fact that a cookie was talking to him, said, "Well, if this isn't some freaky shit, I don't know what is."  And then the dog walked off, shaking his head and vowed to get some therapy.  He realized, in those moments, that the preceding event would likely scar him for life if he didn't receive help and support with this issue.  And then he licked his balls.

Furious, the Gingerbread Man ran as fast as he could back to his gingerbread house.  He poured himself a drink and began to relax. Just as his nerves were beginning to settle, a man child approached and took a huge bite out of his home.

"Oh no you didn't!" screamed the really incredibly furious gingerbread man.

The man child took another big bite off the top of the roof, gobbling up a chocolate candy heart.

"MMMM... Tasty," said the man child, as cookie crumbles fell out of his mouth.  The man child continued eating the gingerbread house with as much enthusiasm as a crack addict scoring a rock after being without a high for a day.

Finally, the man child's mother called out the man child's name and the little brat reluctantly ran to her, throwing a tantrum and pissing himself before throwing a fork at his mom's head.

The mother plucked the embedded fork from her forehead and with a reassuring tone, she said, "Ohhhh... that's okay, dear.  Mommy will get a boo boo band aid for her head and then mommy will let you eat the rest of the gingerbread house because you are such a good little boy."


The Gingerbread Man, even more furious than before, had had enough.

 He shouted, "Sweet Satan, Lord of All Who Dwell in Darkness, please give me the power to destroy those who wish to do me harm!"

A black fog swirled around The Gingerbread Man.  Electricity filled the air around him.  The flames of hell began to engulf him.  When the flames disappeared, his form had changed.  The Gingerbread Man became possessed with the spirit of a demon.  And a single perfect cookie dropped from his crusty butthole.

For a moment, he felt sweet relief.

Then he became enraged because he remembered he was supposed to be furious.  In the days to come, the Gingerbread Man gathered up his fellow gingerbread brethren and created a mighty delicious army.

Furious, The Gingerbread Man commanded his army to fight the humans.  So powerful were the gingerbread army, in their quest, that they did, indeed, conquer all of humanity and laid waste to all of their creations.  Dogs were ridden, against their will, by the gingerbread men, as if they were horses.

True.

Those humans who were not slain, were forced into slavery, cock fighting and prostitution.  And when the humans were forced to copulate, the gingerbread men ate their children.

And thus began The Ten Thousand Year Reign of The Gingerbread Men.  All hail their might, wisdom and absolute power!

Fool's Errand On April Fool's Day

Around a week ago, I thought of challenging myself to a task that I've never endeavored before. The challenge to myself may not seem like a big deal to you and in the grand scheme of life, it really means diddly-squat. I mean to take on this Fool's errand, starting today, All Fool's Day, that will have me creating and putting up a fresh new post, each and every day in the month of April.

"Wowee Gazowy!" you shout with as much exuberance as a kid who gets socks on Christmas Day. You're thinking, There's bloggers that do this every day. Who gives a shit? And you would be a correctly thinking cynical bastard for having this thought rattling in that big ol' noggin of yours. But, given the often arduous responsibilities I have had with certain family members and the time restraints involved, it is a challenge for yours truly. Only recently, have the burden of these responsibilities lessened with the help of several factors.

This challenge can be halted, unexpectedly, at any time due to what certain family members (and others involved) do or not do, of course. Anyway, I want to post something every day for a month just to see if I can do it.

This idea came to me during a weird day I was having, walking at the park. Just as it popped into my head, a huge motherfuckin' dog, that resembled a woolly mammoth without the tusks more than a loyal canine, struggled against the pull of a leash to eat me alive. The girl, no older than 16, was losing the battle of keeping this behemoth, this St. Bernard, from devouring my leg with this flimsy strap on a trail at the park I walk at every day. Several of her friends observed the shocked look on my face and laughed.

One of them said the usual thing that all pet owners say in these circumstances.

"Oh, don't worry. It won't bite."

Hey, that might be true most of the time, regarding your pet but that doesn't mean it won't happen at one point during their lives and it certainly doesn't give any comfort telling me or anyone that worthless shit. Hell, I've been bitten three times by dogs and each time I did absolutely nothing to cause them to take a fleshy hunk out of me. Two of those three times, I had been told earlier that their animals didn't bite people. So yes, I have a fear of dogs. For good reason.

Next time somebody tells me that their fuckin' animal doesn't bite gets to be whacked in the head with a baseball bat. The same goes for dumb fuckers who don't keep their dogs on a leash in public areas. Nobody knows for certain what their animal is going to do around anyone because animals, just like human beings, are unpredictable.

As I tried to quickly explain my past history with dogs to the teenagers while trying to walk around them, which was difficult because of the spot we had all converged, they blew off what I said like teenagers and some adults will do when you're attempting to give rational explanations to them.

The teenagers and the monster dog continued walking past me, ignoring what I was saying. Luckily, I escaped, with legs and arms still attached as we continued going in opposite directions.

Moving on, I later encountered a little boy, pretty far from where his parents were at, sitting and riding on a plastic tricycle. He said, "Hi. Who are you?"

Impressed with his willingness to be friendly to somebody he didn't know at his early age, I said, "Kelly. What's your name?"

He said his name was Tyler. At least I think he did. I really didn't want to stand there and talk to the kid for any length of time because I figured the parents would eventually look over, see that I was talking to their kid and think I was a guy with evil intentions or something. In this day and age, parents are leery of their kids talking to strangers (especially men), with good reason. I didn't want to be confronted with a potential weird situation. I just wanted to get through my day's walk without any more incidents.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on the way you perceive it, the kid followed beside me on his little plastic bike. He was determined to have a conversation with me. It was cute, you know, and I was very impressed with all of his questions and his details on what he had done so far that day and so on. Kids sometimes surprise me with their lack of self conscious behavior and fear that adults tend to have by the bucket loads.

So here I am, hobbling along, due to my feet problems, trying to be polite and at the same time, escape from this kid before the parents can come along and ask me why I'm talking to their kid. I'm doing my damnedest to avoid a potentially awkward situation and he pulls his bike directly in front of me and asks, "So where are you going?"

I felt like saying, but didn't say, "I'm trying to make it to my goddamn truck!" But, as evil as I pretend to be, I'm not going to do that. This was all kinda funny, in a way and I was beginning to feel a little sorry for the kid. I wasn't sure if he was just naturally this talkative all the time to complete strangers or if he was doing it out of loneliness or a little of both.

Exasperated, I took a deep breath and said, "I'm heading toward my truck. I have to get home. I'll talk to you later, sometime, okay?"

I wondered, after saying that, if the kid was going to ask me for my phone number so he could call me at home. Instead he asked, "Where's your truck?" I shook my head and laughed. I was afraid to tell him where my truck was at, figuring he would try riding over to it. About that time, one of his parents finally came over and began talking to him, saying it was time for him to go eat over at one of the picnic tables across the road. The parent didn't look at me once as he grabbed the boy with one hand and the bike with the other. And off they went.

Relief, at last, I thought. lol. But, I was happy to have the experience of such a courageous kid talking to me. I thought what a wonderful world it would be if everyone were as uninhibited as that. Ten minutes later, I was back in my truck, heading home and I wondered what the parents and kid talked about and did for the rest of the day.

A Typical, But Not Completely, Typical Day

I woke up, today, around 11:00, after about fours of sleep. Seems like I can't sleep any longer than that, lately, without waking up from some strange dream. They're mostly "guilt dreams". I'm only theorizing about that. But I guess I've been burying my conscious and it only escapes during my sleep. This beast has been having it's fun with me for the past month and IT is getting mighty annoying.

Pop goes the nasty shit! It's running out of my mind's door! Unfortunately, it's still in my sleepy head, where it stays trapped. Fuckin' guilt! I liked it better when I didn't dream. A decent sex dream would be welcome, for certain.

When I'm awake, I don't think about anything "I believe" I've done wrong. Normally. But, like the therapist pointed out during one session several years ago... He said I persecute myself and think I deserve punishment for things I've said or have done towards people. He also said that I seem to have the tendency to formulate it in my head like whatever I said or did- to be blown out of proportion. He based it on things I had said, when I was around this or that person, from other sessions.

Makes sense. So now the shitty goop of misplaced or unwarranted guilt is popping up in my dreams. Ah, how nice. But I'm going to confront it head on and admit that I'm not that bad a person and carry on... Even if it takes a hammer to my head to knock the evil goop out my ears. I can't afford therapy at the moment, so I'm going to do battle with my stupid brain, by myself. Like Homer Simpson, I'm going to give it a good talking to and tell it who's boss. If that doesn't work, it's HAMMER TIME, baby.

As I was saying, I woke up, made coffee, petted the cat and put two Bacon and Cheese Hot Pockets in the microwave. Soon enough, I ate them and played my messages on the answering machine. One was from the wifey, telling me she made it to work alright. Good. Next, was the receptionist from my doctor's office. She was letting me know that my insulin pens for my diabetes came in from the patient assistance program. Definitely good news. They had messed up the order of insulin last time and if I hadn't caught that it was the wrong stuff-- when I picked it up from the doctor's office, I could have taken it home, injected it into myself and.... Who knows?

After that, I showered, made supper for later tonight and got my clothes on. That's right! I was cooking in the nude! Excited? No? Alrighty then. Anyway, while I was managing to cook up some Tuna Helper, the cat started going nuts when he smelled the tuna cans I was opening. He kept leaping on my legs as the cans slowly turned round and round the electric can opener. At one point, I thought he was going to strike at my lopsided nutsack and rip into it. Then my precious jelly beans would fall out! Then I would feel blue. My solution is to give him a can of Fancy Feast cat food in a can. It's something we give him as a treat, once in awhile. It says on the can that it is Whitefish and Tuna flavored. Ah ha... That will fool him, I think, patting myself on the back.

I set the bowl of juicy, succulent cat food down on the floor (are you as horny as I am?) and he eats it like a little piggy. His normal bowl of cat food is sitting there, halfway full, next to the water bowl. He's a spoiled little bastard. But then I feel sorry for him because he is our only "child" now. Mufasa, our eldest cat, died, recently. We only have Victor now. He's loving and playful and lonely. We plan on getting him a playmate after Christmas. It's too hectic these days and it takes patience to train a kitten, which is what we'll be looking for when the time comes. No pound kitties, though. We had extremely bad luck with that. That was years ago. Max the Cat was his name and shitting behind and beneath megaton furniture, for no good reason, was his game. Sometimes we didn't find his piss and shit surprises until it was too late. Almost needless to say, Max was returned before I could kill him. We gave him four weeks too many. If I wanted to clean up shit for longer than four weeks, I would have had a friggin' kid. No thanks. There's already enough breeders in this world as it is. Many of them aren't equipped with enough brains or conscious to do battle with themselves.

But, on the same token, responsible parents are just as easy to spot.

I say we give the rotten adults an abortion. Or... Any more than two kids, then you have to give up your genitals. Sorry. Rules are rules and we know how humans love their rules. Lap dog, over breeding imbeciles that don't put on their turn signal when they're changing lanes, by damned it! What was I talking about? Damn those voices in my head.

Immediately, when I finished cooking, I got dressed, brushed my teeth, put on my jacket and hat and out the door I went. I went to doctor's office to pick up the insulin pens, went to the grocery store to pick up lunch meat and bread, went to get monetarily raped at the gas station where the gas is currently at $2.85 a gallon and then I went back home. I checked to see if they got my insulin order right this time. They did! Jackpot! I get to live a couple more months. Hooray. And stuff. After putting everything away, I got back in the truck and drove to the park, with haste.

I had to get my daily park walking done in a hurry. It would be dark soon and wifey was going to be home in a half hour. I try to be there for her so I can be a good husband and not get a beating with the baseball bat. I'm so abused. OK. I might be exaggerating just a little. But she does confide in me that she would like to cut my dick off while I'm asleep. But strangely, that's not why I have trouble sleeping at night. By the way, I laugh when she says such things because I threaten to twist her nipple off now and then. It's like an ongoing comedy routine we have going on. 21 years. Quite healthy.

So off to the park I go. The first person I see is the guy by the athletics supply building. This building sits close to the tennis court that is hardly used and still looks new and the basketball court, nearby, that is the same way. The guy, I'm guessing, is the guy who takes care of supplying the athletes with enough balls and stuff to do their thing. The door was open, obviously, with a key. He looked at me, giving off a little vibe of nervousness. Maybe I imagined it.

All I've ever seen, as far as any games being played at the park, is two Pee Wee football games attended by millions of crazed parents and the other times when a couple kids were playing a few basketball games. Anybody else you see in that park are walkers, runners, people trying to fish at a lake without fish and the park employees. Maybe once a week, you'll see a cop car run through the park. If you wanted to, you could probably get away with fucking, sucking, fisting, lickin' the va-jay-jay and other horseplay down at the large gazebo by the lake without too much trouble. Party time.

Anyway, the supply guy at the building says, ""It's getting colder out here."

I say, "Yeah, it is."

Hell, I don't know what else to say. Supply Guy didn't give me much to work with. By the way, it was getting colder. It was about 45 degrees Fahrenheit at the time. For the rest of you, in other countries, I have no idea what that is in Celsius. I won't check, either, because I'm American and don't give a shit. I think that's the American Way. The metric system can go fuck itself, too. The last person who tried to teach me the metric system was a nun from the parochial school I attended. I rammed a pencil in her eye. Not to worry, though. It was a No. 2 Pencil. And she cried out, "Praise da Lawd!"

After walking the usual path, I find a second person. He is walking toward me from the other direction. He looks like he could be crazy. He's wearing a grey coat with a black sock cap on his head. So I nod to him and do what most folks do in that situation. I say, "Hi.", without really looking at him. He does nothing but nod his head, not wanting to be bothered by my evil, intrusive greetings and keep his hands in his pockets. I wonder if he's hiding Barbie Doll heads in his pockets. Then I wonder if they still have the bathrooms locked or unlocked up ahead in the yellow building. I have problems with my butt. It likes to shit. Although I'm not at the stage of routine adult diaper wear, I have had an accident at the park because they will lock them when it gets closer to winter. During that accident, it was so cold... The turds froze to my leg underneath my pants. Talk about feeling blue... and brown.

When I got home, I was able to shake a leg to pop the turdcicles from the very bottoms of my pants legs.

Minutes go by during my walk now. I have to stop every five to ten minutes because of my foot conditions. I have inoperable 2 and a half inch heel spurs (my feet have been X-rayed so many times, I lost count) and equinus deformity on both feet. The heel spurs have connected to the rest of the bones in my footsies. It's like walking on railroad spikes with misshapen, unbalanced feet. I've tried everything so spare me the advice that I've heard a billion times. Thanks, anyway, stranger. I've done my time with the fancy insoles, shoes and whatever. I've had almost thirty years of experience with it. But I force myself to walk short distances, anyway, because I still need to exercise. It's called perseverance, people. I was going to the gym almost every day for a year and a half and lost thirty pounds but that routine got fucked up during the continuous moving fiasco with my dad's old place that lasted 6 weeks. Now, I'm just trying to keep up with my walking routine.

Regardless, I see a couple walking their pet dog. It has a pink outfit on. I restrain myself from killing the couple. I smile, then say, "Hi. How are you tonight?" They say something back but it doesn't matter. I'm not listening. I'm still thinking of the poor dog in the pink cowboy outfit. As I walk further, I wonder if it's too late to limp back and bash the couple in their heads, thus freeing the dog. Then I think, Well the next thing to happen, if successful, would be the dog rewarding me, with it's rescue of it, by biting a finger off from my hand and taking my nose off my face. Oh well. I keep walking. No good deed goes unpunished. This has always been especially true, in my experience.

In conclusion, I struggle through the rest of my walk, make it home in time before the wife, serve her and I supper and watch a couple shows that we pre-recorded the night before. We talk for awhile. My wife goes to bed early. She's tired. It's getting busier where she works. And now, I'm typing on this keyboard and telling you I'm about to sign off. Who knows? I may come to your blog and leave a comment. Ah, can you feel the excitement?

Behold! You are at the end of this journey I took you on, brave soldier. You must celebrate by flagellating yourself. Or by fixing yourself a hot cup of coffee. Your choice. I won't peek.

A Good Day

When you're able to take a brisk walk at the city park without dogs attempting to bite off your face, it's a good day. That's the kind of day it was, throughout. Today it was forty three degrees. Quiet. Serene. Trees that seemed to be itching to sprout leaves but unable to do so. And people walking to either lose weight or enjoy the walk by the beautiful fountains and gazebos. The park happens to be close to home. A plus. It's never too crowded, either. Most underused park in this county.

I walk there two or three times a week.

Before I continue, I want to state that I do like certain dogs. These certain dogs lick my hand instead of gnawing it off at the bone and are friendly in a non-hysterical barking kind of way. Yes, I'm a peace lover. Yippy yappy dogs irritate me.

A couple weeks ago, I encountered two dogs during a walk in the park (like I insinuated earlier) that were leashed, but hardly controlled by their owners. I guess they were the owners. It was two guys with camo/hunting clothing on. Nothing out of the ordinary in this redneck town.

Moving on: They were very aggressive large dogs. Note: I have a bit of dog phobia since I've been bit three times by three different dogs for no apparent reason. When I met these two guys and their barking dogs at the top of the path, I moved further away from them, half-afraid but more angry than anything else. The owners pulled on their leashes and the dogs kept moving closer to me. They were strong.

Their behaviour didn't seem to matter too much for the guys.

One of the guys (I mean assholes. Pardon me.) said what I knew what was eventually going to come out of his mouth or the friend's pie hole.

"Don't worry. They don't bite."

How many times have you heard that line from pet owners?

With my dog bite record and justifiable anger, that response sit well. I replied, "Yeah. Sure." They gave me the expected funny look and kept walking; as did I. Too bad I didn't have a taser gun. Just kidding. For the two guys. Okay. So maybe the dogs, too.

The next week I took my walk but I had a surprise in my coat pocket. As it so happens , I took my pet trainer device. It's a harmless device that emits a sound frequency that dogs, cats and I-don't-know-what to want to be very far away from it. This time, the dogs were quickly towing their owners away from me when I pushed the button on my pet trainer thingamajig. The guys were having a hell of a time trying to restrain the dogs, causing the guys to nearly trip and fall into one another.

That was fun and made the rest of my walk even more enjoyable. A good day, indeed.

Triumph The Comic Insult Dog

Triumph The Comic Insult Dog is freaking hilarious! This time the infamous dog/puppet visits the Bonnaroo music fest or you could call it the neo-hippy, smokin' love fest. Triumph takes them all down a notch. He funny, raunchy and a sarcastic lil' bastard.

Who does that remind you of?

This is a hulu clip. That means you have to endure a twenty second advertisement but it's well worth it. It's from the Tonight Show with Conan O' Brien.

Family Guy 420

This episode is full of laughs and truth about marijuana. I especially enjoyed the musical Brian and Stewie put on for the townspeople and also what Brian said, concerning why the plant was made illegal in the 1930's. Even for the few who don't care for "Family Guy", I advise you to watch this one. It's hilarious!

Tinker Bell The Dog Goes Airborne

In Waterford Township, Michigan-

A few days ago, a dog named Tinker Bell was reunited with her owners after a 70-mph gust of wind picked up the six-pound Chihuahua and tossed her out of sight. Witnesses last saw the dog, airborne, heading over Dixie highway.

What a sight that must have been for onlookers. I wonder if the little scamp shouted, "Weeeeeeeeee" as it was tossed around by wind gusts, much like a hairy little kite.

Dorothy and Lavern Utley give credit to a pet psychic for guiding them on Monday to a wooded area, nearly a mile from where 8-month-old Tinker Bell had been last seen. The brown long-haired dog was dirty and hungry but otherwise OK.

A pet psychic? Uh, okay. These folks must REALLY love their pets. If Tinker Bell was hungry, they should have taken it to Taco Bell. Everyone knows Chihuahuas love Taco Bell.

The couple had set up a display Saturday at a flea market in Waterford Township, 25 miles northwest of Detroit. Tinker Bell was standing on their platform trailer when she was swept away.

Dorothy Utley told reporters that her cherished pet "just went wild" upon seeing her.

Oh, great. There's nothing better than being overwhelmed by a yipping, tiny dog that's jumping all around, stinking of God knows what. I say, toss it back in the wind.

The Spy Who Watched Me

Years ago, I worked at a hair care product distribution center. I'll refrain from giving up the name of this hell hole, not to protect the innocent, but because I don't want to encourage any shampoo/conditioner freaks, reading this, to buy this company's goddamn products.

While there, my co workers and I would pack product in kit boxes for salons, while the conveyor belt ran between the 40mph mark to a thousand (perhaps an exaggeration). If you didn't get your particular thing (shampoo, brush or whatever) in your box in time before it passed your sorry ass you would receive a hostile, verbal thrashing from the line leader, or worse yet, from the one above that position. The head honcho, herself. Nola. She had the pleasant face of a six hundred year old Shar Pei Dog. Wrinkles Ahoy, Matey!

If you happened to be daydreaming on the line about some hot babe and you also happened to be "sporting wood" or "raising the phallic flag" and Nola, happened to come out of the office and you caught sight of her, your wood would melt like butter or fall like a Oak Tree or just disappear, entirely. Poof!

I know from experience.

In one episode, during my time working there, some freak was wiping shit (his shit?) all over the men's restroom walls, stalls, floors and sinks. Most everyone agreed that it was someone that had an unhappy confrontation with Nola- which could have been anyone, actually. This Spreader of Poo made Nola very angry. It didn't really sit well with the rest of us, either. Our bathroom break times were shortened, for one thing. Plus, we were lectured by Nola every day for the next 2 weeks about the juvenile antics that we, supposed grown-ups, were not to engage in. Whoever the Crap Culprit was, he wasn't creative, in the least. He didn't spell his name or draw puppies on the walls with his poop, like some masterpieces I've seen in some gas station restrooms. But, I digress.

Nola's plan was simple and moronic. She instructed her all-too-loyal and obedient assistant, Chris, to remain stationed in the men's restroom to watch, almost 8 of the nine hours of the day, the male employees pee and poo. Of course, we were given a tiny crumb of dignity. When our backs were turned, while pissing in the urinal, Chris the Brown Noser, refrained, thankfully, from peeking over our shoulders. Good thing, too, because it was rumoured Chris might be bi-sexual. He could have been in trouble for sexual harassment if he had done any peeky boo-ing. So Chris did, as he was told, without question. For him, Nola's word was his command. Nola's reasoning behind her plan? She believed Chris would somehow get real lucky and catch some disgruntled, but apparently, non constipated imbecile, painting walls with own excrement.

Maybe the nasty bastard would be caught.... brown-handed.

Moving on in this tale....

Diligently, Chris would watch our backs while we peed and checked inside the toilet stalls, after one of us exited, for fresh shit decor on the walls and so forth.

Being the considerate guy I am, I poked fun at the somber, serious Chris whenever I entered and left the restroom. This seemed to bring about a certain amount of good cheer to everyone who heard my words of wit, during that time. For instance, I would say to Nola's assistant, "Ah, the Poo Peeper, how nice of you to watch me squirt." Chris' face remained the same, showing consternation at my jovial remark.

After all, it was the kind of job one took seriously.