July 9, 2010; Sweat

Fifth day of the heat wave.

Skeeter and I were out for our afternoon walk when he said, "Jesus, Little Dude, where do you get the energy to dance?"

"I'M NOT DANCING, BIG FAT DUDE! THE GODDAM SIDEWALK IS TOO FUCKING HOT FOR MY FEET!!!!!"

"Oh," he murmured, "sorry."

That's the reality of this shit weather.

As we went back home, we ran across the white lab mix from up the block, Shutup (yes, that's his name) and his owner. Shutup is famous in the neighbourhood because he's a huge dog but is terrified of stairs. So terrified, in fact, that his two owners (including a rather lovely though small young woman and—Skeeter would insist I add—a very hunky blond guy) have to carry him up and down the long flight of exterior stairs to their apartment. I noticed that Shutup was still wet from what must have been a very soothing swim in the lake in the park. This rankled.

I snerfed, "You can swim, but you can't walk up the stairs...what a 'tard."

Shutup whimpered like a fucking puppy and then, step by terrified, shaking, weeping step, he walked up the stairs to his door. His owner went nuts about it and showered him with love and praise.

"FUCK YOU, LEO!!!!! FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK YOU!!!" the idiot dog barked at me.

The owner looked down at me and Skeeter and said, "I don't know what your dog did or said, but thank you for curing my little pussy here."

"AND FUCK YOU TOO, YOU BIG BLOND TWAT!" Shutup roared in Dog Speak.

"SHUT UP!" the owner bellowed.

As we walked off Skeeter muttered to me, "You said something cruel to that poor dog, didn't you?"

"Fuck you, it's hot!"

Skeeter sighed. We went in and I slept, splayed out on the kitchen floor, trying to gather its coolness and wishing I was dead...or in that goddam lake in the park.

And that's it for now as my pant-drool is falling on the keyboard.