Posts Tagged ‘ dog ’

The Mechanical Horse/Pony

Over the years I’ve gotten some pretty good bookshelves and chairs on “big garbage night” or as the town calls it “Large Trash Pickup”. Red Bank has these a couple of times a year. The night before the pickup when the curbs are filled with the oversized and the unwanted, it’s like a town wide garage sale for ghosts. Most of the stuff we put out at the last one was gone before the town trucks came by. A couple of days after the last one my wife saw a freakish mechanical horse/pony standing guard outside a neighbors house. It was too late for the pickup and was just sitting there in hopes that someone would take it. We ended up with it. It’s now sitting on our porch taking up room and making the dog act suspicious. There’s a giant hole in it’s stomach where the batteries used to go, I suggested that we film the mechanical horse/pony giving birth to our dog Lucy in some horror movie infused unholy c-section. Carrie’s not really on board with the idea but I signed the dog to a three picture deal.

The horse with no name

The battery womb

The star of “Unholy Horse Dog Birth!”, (the title might need some punching up)

 

I Hate Me, part 196,332

I recently had a talk with the dog about pulling her own weight around the house. You know helping out with chores, that kind of thing. Well she decided to help out by helping me archive my old cassettes. I thought they were in pretty good shape but the dog had other ideas. She decided on something a little more organic, storage wise. Her radical plan involves chewing up the tapes, eating the parts that she deems are worthy of archiving and then storing them in her own shit. I’m not sure I agree with her methods but she thinks it’s a simple, elegant, environmentally aware solution. Or it could just be a scathing review of my music.

Tape archiving pt.1

 

Tape archiving pt. 2

I Hate Me, part, 167,441

I’ve probably mentioned before about how fast the dog (who for some reason is now being referred to as “Dream Weasel”) destroys her toys. Much like Charlie Brown and the football, we always go back and buy another toy that claims to be “tough” or “Tuff!” even though deep down we know that we’ll be bitterly disappointed. Today was no different, we were at a pet store( CosmoPAWlitan) and I saw a toy goat. It’s got triple stitching! It’s got hidden seams! It’s got photograph of a dog the size of a golf cart chewing it WITH NO DAMAGE! I’m sold, Carrie on the other hand, not so much. She gave it a once over with a jaundiced eye, “MMMmmm, Really? She’s gonna tear this to shreds in no time.” “But baby, it’s got triple stitching! TRIPLE STITCHING!” She relented. When we got home I went outside to throw some food on the grill, the whole thing must have taken me a minute, minute and a half tops. I went inside and Carrie was standing there with the goat whose guts were torn out. The dog, sitting there with her inscrutable grin, “Is that all you got, fucker? Bring me a real toy.”

R.I.P. goat toy. We hardly knew ye.

I Hate Me, part 217,002

Today’s blog was gonna be about the plastic wrapping from Charmin toilet paper. I tore it off of a package of it we got at work. It says on big letters on it “For a Clean You Can Feel” or something along those lines. My angle was going to be that most toilet paper should give you a “clean you can feel”, blah,blah,blah. Yeah, it was a thin premise at best. Now, when my wife walks the tiny terror she never (or almost never) brings a bag or something to clean up with and I’m always giving her grief about it, I usually come off like a self-righteous asshole (“it’s a sign of the collapse of society!”, “we’re bad neighbors”, etc). So this morning, I was walking the dog and I realized I didn’t bring a bag with me. I was hoping that Lucy would hold off until we got back to our yard, where I could clean it up later. “I will cook you a steak, if you don’t shit until we get home”, “I will let you destroy my favorite pen, chew up all of Carrie’s flip-flops, just hold off. ”We got close to home, I could see my house. She looked at me with the dog equivalent of “Hey, fuck you” and went on my neighbors driveway. All I had in my pockets were a bunch of old ATM receipts and the plastic wrapping from the Charmin package. It actually worked out ok, all things considered.

planning destruction

I Hate Me, Part 198,229

About four years ago we bought a new couch. We got it at a place called Savings Town Furniture, or Value City, or Badly Built Cheap Furniture-ville, (I’ve forgotten what the actual name was). My taste in furniture runs toward Herman Miller/Danish Modern style. Unfortunately, A) we can’t even afford to buy doll sized versions of that stuff, and B) Something I call “Matchstick Syndrome”. As a large man, most danish modern furniture looks like it will disintegrate (like it was made of matchsticks) if I was to sit on it. And even if it didn’t explode in a cloud of sawdust and embarrassment, I would never be comfortable thinking that it might. So after many months of deciding and having to return one couch because it wouldn’t fit into our house we ended up getting a couch that was as cheaply made as anything in the store but had a certain amount of comfort and dare I say it, style. We also got it on store credit which was for five years. I knew that the couch was cheaply made and I wasn’t sure that it would last five years so I wanted to pay it off faster, not much faster but I didn’t want to be paying for a couch that didn’t exist anymore. Flash forward a couple of years when we got Lucy (aka; shitpaw, Ellen Barkin’, lil’ pack a day, etc.). Since we got her she has single mindedly set about to destroy the couch. She crawls underneath it and starts tearing stuff up, she tore out one of the zippers on a cushion. This is with a vigilant eye from my wife and I, any second she can get away she will be dismantling the couch. I’m glad she has a hobby, I wish it wasn’t the couch. So with this in mind, I started paying off the couch even faster, double sometimes triple payments when I could. I finally paid off the couch a couple of months ago and it’s still sittable, for the time being.

Notes From Das Boot 110

Sign from the game room at the hotel in Maribor. I especially like the "Noooooo!" sign, it looks like some mad scientist from the future trying to save mankind

Graz, Austria 6/30/11
We are at the PPC club in Graz. Graz is pronounced like something Frankenstein’s monster would say, “Grraaaazzz!” Small club, lots of lights, should be cool. Called home yesterday, as I was talking to my wife I heard the dog vacillating between a fearful squeak (Squeaky Fromme) while attacking an umbrella and an impatient bark (Ellen Barkin) when Carrie was too long on the phone for the dogs liking. She seems to be ruling the house with an iron paw.

I Hate Me, Part 218,902

One of the few toys that the dog hasn’t destroyed is a Kong Wubba.It’s this thing that looks like a cartoon squid, a round squeaky thing covered in firehose material (or something like it). She was in the kitchen happily squeaking away, and I was outside at the grill cooking my weekly batch of chicken. As I was cooking, the rhythmic squeaking was in the background. Then it started sounding kind of interesting, like some out-jazz horn player and I was digging on it. I flipped the chicken over and went inside to see what the hell was going on with our canine Coltrane. I opened the door to the kitchen and she stopped, she thought I was bringing her food. I tried to get her to play a solo on the Wubba, no luck. I went back outside and I heard it again. As I was deciding what to do, my brother-in-law opened his back window to say something to me (we live in a two family house). When the window was opened, loud free jazz was pouring out and what I thought was a musical dog toy was actually jazz heard through a closed window. I tried explaining it to the dog but she didn’t seem to care.

Our canine Coltrane's ax

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