This end when they're at the other one
One good thing you can say for the queers: they know assholes!
Now before I go on, I feel I must warn you that what follows may try more delicate sensibilities; mind, if you've been following this blog at all I figure you're not a pussy.
Anyhoo...
I was on a walk with Mook A the other day when a call of nature hit and I began to go about my business. As usual, as I set to, A took a black, plastic (biodegradable...sheesh) bag out of his pocket and prepared for my offering. Problem: things were going as well as might be expected but something was not working. I had something long and sticky holding on for dear life and it would not get out! I strained, and moved about and nothing. A noticed my little Russian squat dance and went, "What now, for fuck's sake!?" and tried to investigate except I wasn't having him anywhere near there, thanks. But no matter how much I strained and how bug-eyed I was getting, that thing was holding on for dear life so I thought I'd scoot it off. A went ballistic and shouted, "No, you idiot, you're just going to make a mess!" and bent down, bag still wrapped over his hand like a glove, and went for it. "Oh, good Christ in heaven!" he howled, "What, in the name of fuck have you eaten now!"
Down there, with the bag on his hand, he gave good, clean tug and pulled a three or four inch branch of something out of me. I can't say the sensation was totally unpleasant and it was definitely nice to have things clear back there. But not clear enough for the Mook cause he went to wiping and tidying me up and pissing and moaning things like, "Now you see why I have to walk you in alleys, you little fuck—to keep you from doing this kind of thing around civilized people." (Excuse me! In my experience, I have seen very little evidence that people are particularly civilized!)
Anyway, the walk ended and we went home and A told the whole story to B and added something interesting: "I am getting seriously tired of being forced to rummage around in the assholes of every dog we own." Ah! So the sainted Cosmo did this too! Nice to know.
As it happens, I am prone to munching on leaves and branches when we're out on the balcony. The Mooks gave up ages ago on trying to keep me from doing it thinking it could do no harm. Now they yell at me for it again.
Meanwhile, HELLO! It's my fucking birthday and it went by completely unnoticed. Even the Mooks who named me Léo, for chrissakes, didn't note it. Leo! Leo! Get it, idiots!
It's all abuse. Even from people I used to like. Like the nurse.
First, let me be clear: my beloved is on vacation which means we have a replacement nurse for the three-times-a-week visits and I really adored her too. She's a foxy young thing and plays with me like mad when she arrives. If I had one quibble with her, it is her way of flirting with A. He mentions how much weight he's lost, she says things like, "You should stop the diet now cause you're already a stud!" and he giggles like a schoolgirl because he, queer as he is, can't help noticing how foxy (and young, let me stress young) she is. (Frankly, I think she says things like that to help his self-esteem because, let's face it, he's human wreckage.)
Anyway, they were talking about the Mook's weight and she said, looking at me, "Him, on the other hand, seems to have put on a bit of weight."
Well, fuuuuuuuuuuuck you!
And thus endeth that love story.
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