Kids in a schoolyard, a dog's nightmare (and why do you think they keep them in cages?)
Hey!—I'm getting tired of this. Yesterday it was the nurse and today it was a house-guest. "Oh! He's putting on weight!" they said. This, of course, opened the door for Mook A to say, "Yeah, I've lost 22 pounds and he's found it." Hardy-fucking-har.
Apparently the Sainted Late Cosmo never got tubby and was sleek and handsome 'til the day they offed him. But one thing I've also heard about him: he didn't like children. On this we are agreed.
I was thinking of this during the walk, this afternoon, when a murder of kids came dancing and la-la-la-ing down the block, on our side, and started shrieking, "Doggie! Doggie! Doggie!" when they saw me. Mook A immediately reeled me in and pushed over to the side of the sidewalk to let the little fuckers pass and keep me from molestation. Their mother (or nanny or shepherd...whatever you call those hapless broads) kept them from me but it isn't always so easy. Sometimes there's no escape.
You have to understand: human children are the most retarded beings on the face of the earth. Every other animal fends for itself pretty soon after birth, but humans start helpless, develop the most basic of motor skills and only far, far, far later in life grow a brain and some semblance of consciousness and conscience. Until that time—well past their teens—they are vicious pack-animals who prey on the weak, try to attack the strong (when they're in a group) and if no victim presents itself, devour each other. (You think I'm kidding? Look into any schoolyard and see how many of the little cretins are being picked on or are simply cast aside by the herd.)
And the problem is there is not a fucking thing a dog can do about it. We're actually put down when we attack one of them! Do you believe it???!!! I mean, I can be minding my own business and one of these tards wobbles up to me and starts yanking my fur or poking me in the eye and the onlookers honestly believe I should take it! I say to that: Fuck that noise! Survival of the fittest, baby-cakes. Poke me in the eye and I'm going to tear that fat little finger off! (And they sure are tasty, let me tell you, cause they always have something gooey and sweet stuck to them.)
But no!
If I so much as grunt at one of them, a scream from hell and, often, a hail of blows comes down on my head. Now is that fair? At least with adults, if they tease you you can fight back and they say you're feisty or energetic or some damn thing. If you do it with a six year old you get torn a new asshole...if you're lucky and are not "destroyed" as they like to call it.
The worst is when they come at you like a swarm of African bees; suddenly you're surrounded by five of them who are losing their fucking minds and thumping about on their big fat legs and sticking their humongous hideous faces in yours and "petting" you—except when they "pet" it's like being gang-raped: hard little things going in holes all over you where they don't belong and definitely don't fit.
I can't even nip playfully with one of them because some of them seem to be made of fucking Kleenex and starts squealing like a piglet and then, watch out; you're labeled "out of control."
And to think, they put dogs on leashes and let these awful things run free.
Thank God for traffic.
No comments:
Post a Comment