New Year's Resolution

1.) To lick feet on a daily basis, to expand my clientele of lickees. I do not discriminate.

2.) To fine tune details of my plan of ruling the world, starting with running for Mayor of Chicago.

3.) Drop the 5 lbs I gained over Christmas, I am joining a cross-fit gym.

4.) Ride the train less often (once was enough, I own a Bentley Limo, why am I subjected to ride with you other lower caste members of society).

5.) Finish my mystery novel.

6.) Write more screenplays of the horror genre.

7.) Sleep with at least 20 different ladies, I want to beat my 2010 record.

8.) To grow a white beard, it is in it's beginning stages.

9.) Find a way to bite My Nemesis's forehead and make it bleed.

10.) To make the ladies drool and men jealous of my crunk cup.

Christmas

Enough said. I achieved the five lb gain that most of you humans gain from the holidays. I traveled to Wisconsin and stayed with my Uncle Matt in his cold ice box. He left my food out so I was able to eat most of it in one night. This caused unsatisfactory conditions for my bladder, but luckily Uncle Matt was nice enough to leave a curtain in which I could slip into a separate area of the house and relieve myself.

I must boast that i received the most presents out of everyone including My Master. Among these treasures was a new tuxedo. I will wear it out for New Year's Eve to impress the ladies, not like I have to try hard to do that.

My holiday was successful, sleeping, turkey, and perch life. I look forward to my New Year's Eve plans. I am ready for the year 2011.

The Ladies Man

Many men envy what power I have over women. I am always the man at the party everyone else wants to be. I always have bunches of women circled around me admiring my handsome figure and my good disposition. I can get any girl in the sack that I want. Rich, poor, tall, short, red hair, brunette, big back side, supple front side, if they are drunk all the easier, but sober works as well, it does not matter. I can have them all.

To all you sorry human beings, you may be in luck. Discouraged, pitiful, ape like, clueless human being men, I am working with my manager to set up a work shop to teach men some of my secrets. You will obtain the power to be a diamond in the rough, like myself. Classes will start at 20,000 per class. My techniques do not come cheap, and they require diligence and fierce attention to detail. My scent of socks and pan fish does not come easy.

I guarantee results to a certain degree, but I can not guarantee that women will find you as irresistible as I. My scent, handsome fur, striking brown eyes, sharp tongue, and full lips are enough to drive women mad.

Contact my cousin/ manager Pedro for further inquires.

Spies in the Second City

My past may have finally caught up with me.

I have noticed a few things as of late that disturb me and may be reason for alarm. I am starting to fear my safety, being a man of my stature it is a given that there are high security risks involved with my safety and well being. I have been hunted for years, why do you think I wear such a crafty disguise?

Anyway, I think that I am being tracked by spies that I used to work for in my dealings with Interpol. My current job requires that I make some lets just say, "unsavory decisions" that may or may not affect large populations in countries that hold interests of value to my company.

The other night I woke up startled and in a sweat,something was wrong, I was choking to death. Let me explain in more depth.

My Nemesis has this blanket that he absolutely adores, I find it quite ridiculous. He has several homosexual men named the "New Kids On the Block" which I am assuming they named their group after realizing they were all homosexual. The blanket looks like it is from the 1940's which explains the code name "New Kids on the Block." There are long strings hanging from the blanket because it is so old. I never used to question this, I could spend eons trying to figure out the crazy antics of My Nemesis but I try not to waste my brains cells on what I find to be ape like behaviors.

I was dreaming peacefully and then I felt as though my air way was being blocked, I woke up instantly choking, disoriented. A string from the blanket was around my furry neck, the more I tried to get out of the string, the tighter it pulled around my neck.

Clever.

I have also used devices such as the Chinese Finger trap on detainees during interrogation. Finally after screaming at the top of my lungs I was assisted out of the knot. I found it strange that it took so long for My Nemesis who was closest to me to wake and help me.

I have also noticed other strange things. I have several animal toys that My Master has given me to practice torture and biting techniques upon. Lately I feel as if these animals are sneering at me. I wake up and I find them sleeping closely by me even though when I fell asleep they were across the room.

I cannot logically explain these happenings, but I am aware now that I may not be safe. I have had to move several times now, and it is only time before it will be unsafe for me in Chicago.

I will report more as information develops.

Over and Out,

SmokenStein.

On Christmas Presents

The Christmas season is spoiled for me when I realize that presents means something other than licking feet.

The Audacity of Nothingness

Unfortunately, being a four pawed fellow, I am in the same category as a sewer rat in that I cannot vote. Although I pay several lobbyists who represent my business interests on Capitol Hill, I feel deficient in my lack of voting powers.

Voting symbolizes much more than paying people to buy politicians in lieu of your interests. I can feel the valor and honor of voting every time my owner votes. Silly as she is, she has pride about her beliefs, and she is passionate about fighting for those who most need it, the poor, and the women, which are very much connected.

I do not like getting into the raunchy subject of politics much. I see Obama for what he is. A politician. He picks his battles according to what people want, but he is constantly worried about getting re-elected. Obama is notorious for bending different ways so he can get elected. Most politicians are. The difference between this being a big deal with Obama and not most politicians is that he was supposed to represent something different, change.

Our country was in the lowest point it had ever been in. Peanut butter chewies are no longer a commodity due to outsourcing and steep price hikes. What I am saying is the things that I considered to be accessible are no longer. So when the 2008 election rolled around I was just as desperate as the next to see some change. I was proud of my owner when she voted for Obama, although based on his history he seemed to have all the charm and not a lot of experience standing up to the bad guys, it was better than McCain and that awful reddish/brown q-tip on crack known as Sarah Palin.

But this is the mistake we made as Americans, and if I could vote I would vote based on who is seen on paper for fighting against the big guys like Bernanke and Greenspan, quit letting them get away with destroying our country.

Being the half man/ half furry fellow that I am, you may wonder why do I care? The answer is that my interests are just as tied up in American politics as the average human. Those tax cuts for the rich will benefit me, even though I cannot vote. It costs money to look this good, and drive the car I drive.

I believe in a leader who understands the symbolization of his actions, you stood for change in the beginning, now what...

Snow

This is no good at all.

I'm at My Nemesis' house. There are inches upon inches of white fluffy snow on the ground, with little sign of stopping. My Master and Nemesis are still sleeping; I've been awake for two hours. I had an impromptu phone call with a former employer of mine in the UK. They apparently are thinking of expanding into the US market, and offered to retain me as their sole US representative.

I'm really torn. Yes, the income would be lovely, I'm currently beginning to notice the drain in my primary bank account, the optioning of these screenplays had better happen soon. But more so than that, I left the financial services industry, and little desire to return. But, their offer was very, very attractive. I'm still thinking about this.

The real problem, though, isn't my future in international financial advising. It's snowing. I'm a tiny baby puppy, a baby puppy who is currently at odds with his car service. I simply refuse to drive my M5 in the winter, the salt is far too damaging. When I pay for a car service, I expect very little, other than they're there when I need them, and the drives are decent. Who's business is it, if I need to be picked up at 3am, in River North, and I'm rolling 4 deep? At any rate, it was the first and last time I will ever wait that long, or have to answer that many questions from an obnoxious driver, interested in how a 10# baby puppy is able to so easily corral runway models? Good lord. Choose them carefully. I guess it's back to the drawing board. In the meantime, I hope I can reschedule this meeting, and get my Nemesis to drive me to meet my cousin Pedro. God, I hate having to grovel to such a cretin.

I guess I'll go back to reading The Times, and press another pot of coffee.

Thanksgiving2010

As I am writing this I am stuffed so full that I needed to unbutton my tuxedo suit a notch. I had more than my fair share of treats this weekend of family overload, the treats are what I am most thankful for. I was accosted into the barbaric state known as Wisconsin for this holiday, which at first I dreaded. Previous trips have developed my distaste for this state of cheese (which I never seem to encounter).

We drove to Oshkosh at my grandparents on Wednesday. Our first night was quite tame, my perch was established on the couch, and I would say that was the climax of the night, riveting, I know.

The next day we all piled in the already crowded car and drove north to a place called Sturgeon Bay in Door County, WI. I observed that we made one quick stop at a tavern about two minutes away from the cabin, it seemed as if My Nemesis has not been properly potty trained. This does not surprise me, but evokes a snide giggle in my furry chest, as there always seems to be a fuss about my outdoor bathroom habits. As I strolled into the cabin, my hopes and expectations of WI were exceeded immensely.

I could smell succulent turkey vapors rising from the oven. Sausage wrapped in bacon, fried cheese olives, creamy mashed potatoes were all amongst other treats that I would be lucky enough to sample. The host whose name was Pete, and his daughter were very gracious. I have never had so much turkey in my entire life. Food was being thrown from all corners. I had to stay quick on my paws to catch all of the bits that were flying like saucers through the air toward my general direction.

There was a giant hot tub in the living room which was a cause for concern. No, I did not bring my swimming suit, as I have never been a huge fan of water. Living by the Gulf Coast was pure torture for me. At one point someone had a stroke of genius, instead of letting Smokey in the hot tub, we should let him use the Nesco Roaster. I had never heard of this contraption prior to my outing, but from the sound of it, the device was filled with hot grease from remnants of the turkey. This is the exact kind of hot tub I want to one day install in my penthouse in New York city once it is done being built, filled with steaming hot grease and gravy. Although the idea of the Nesco was suggested, people were too inebriated to follow through on the plan, part of the Wisconsin experience I suppose.

The day wore on and turned into the dark evening on Lake Michigan, I noticed rum being consumed in massive amounts as well as Oktoberfest beer. I needed to be on patrol for food most of the night, which was fine, this gave me a chance to relax. My novel has been at a standstill, inspiration has been weak in these dark, long, winter days.

The next day after a great breakfast of ham and eggs, I fell into a limp, deep, slumber for most of the day. We traveled to my Uncle Matt's in Milwaukee later that evening.

I was slightly offended by some words of my breath being less than fresh. Later that evening after everyone had gone out and once again left me to peril in the cold unfurnished box Uncle Matt calls a home, I saw a gift shimmering on the table. This time he had left out breath mints for me, with ease I jumped up and ate at least 20 since my breath had been such a cause for concern earlier in the evening ( I can take a hint, the suggestion was anything but subtle).

I enjoyed the mints, although I had some trouble separating the plastic from them, and spent most of my time laying on the comfortable bed that my Uncle Matt had set up for me there. All in all, the weekend was a success, I ate more turkey than anyone else in the house, and slept like a King. The vacation was good, now back to Chicago, and back to the grueling business of being a man with too many responsibilities.

Rats V Coyotes

As a supporter of the arts and humanities in all their forms, I am a frequent reader of the news. While journalism may not be literary criticism, novel length fiction, or epic poetry, it is a very accessible form of literature, and I give its due whenever I can. It perturbs me that the news is increasingly found online and not in print these days, but as a concurrent supporter of a clean environment, I sadly resign myself to using my iPup more and more often to keep current on the events of the day.

I have also tried, since moving to Chicago, to keep up with local news. My Master still has her subscription to Texas Monthly, so I feel I am still getting a good overview of the news from my former home. And, my 300 cousins keep me abreast of happenings in my native Chihuahua, which pleases me. I have been trying, though to add as many local new sources to my daily Google Reader feed.

The other day, I came across this, and nearly spit my coffee all over my iPup screen:

Coyotes Run Wild in Downtown Chicago

I performed more research, and found this was no new thing; Coyotes apparently have been living in the city for some time, and appear to be thriving. I thought to myself, where's the Road Runner?. ...But I digress.

I am truly torn. Part of me wants to implore them to leave the cold concrete of the city, and escape to the country, to be free. I say this, then think back to my own recent experience with country living (and eating), and I shy away from such recommendations, even if the Coyote is better suited to such an environment.

After much thought and consideration, I issue this open letter to the officials of the City of Chicago:

Dear Dick Daley,

You can contact me for negotiations. As a fellow mammal, I too feel that there are an overabundance of us in the city of Chicago. There is no need for murder, we can work something out. My size and intellect make me a perfect liaison. I have considerable experience with the process of Mammalian meta-cognition, as well a strong affinity for those who travel in a pack. Coyotes, as I have been reading, have a somewhat unique social structure, such that they alienate those individuals who disrupt the overall cohesion of the pack. Although I've only performed a cursory examination at this point, this exclusionary behavior towards trouble makers seems to be the vector of the influx of Coyotes to the urban landscape.

My ancestors used to run wild in packs in the mountains of Chihuahua until we found it more useful to live in houses and use the human for free rent and food. This gave me substantial experience with the mentality of the Pack, and how to spot and deal with agitators within such a group. Simply kicking them out is not the answer. At minimum, this breeds broke homes, and family disunity. It must stop! Perhaps your species needs to take a step back and reconsider its social order, and ultimately move towards taking advantage of humans, as we Chihuahuas have done, and mastered might I add.

These are all details we can flesh out if you decide to retain my services. I have my J.D. and have recently passed the bar in Illinois. With plenty of court experience, I will fulfill your goals as a client, and hopefully we can come to an satisfactory agreement outside of court. My experience with Alternative Dispute Resolution is well known. I can help you, and am willing to, if my services are retained by your group.

Warm Regards,

Smokenstein X. McGothlin, esq.

Let us fellow mammals unite and learn to take advantage of the humans. You all know how to reach me, I will be waiting to hear from you. Pedro, we are still on for drinks later tonight, I need to finish this screen play, my agent has been on my back.

Debunked

The vast explosion missile in the sky off of the California coast, you can all stop wondering what it is. It was a space shuttle full of Chihuahua's going to conquer and settle in new territory that I have been investigating for years. A planet full of peanut butter chewies and all of the chocolate covered bacon one can eat. Plus, Chihuahua's can eat the chocolate without throwing up or having diarrhea.

Actually, that is what I dreamt last night. I woke up next to some ripe smelling feet under the blankets, ate my breakfast and started work on my mystery novel. Deals with the screen play are inching along. Some have requested that I give some of the details of my projects away. In time my friends, in time.

CTA Etiquette from the Master of Social Graces

I do not frequent the CTA, and when I do unfortunately it is on the blue line. I have a 2010 335d Sedan BMW in a platinum gray metallic, but it is currently being worked on in the shop. So this forced me to take the dreaded train as I had to go visit my cousin about the housing trust we are working on.

Being a furry creature, and small, I tend to be unnoticed on the train. But I do notice all of you other disgusting creatures, some of you who will not even budge over on your seat when the train is entirely full of people, forcing me to stand on my four strong and supple legs.

The main point I would like to address here is that we all have to share this vehicle of germs, ungodly smells and scents (pungunt puke and your awful choices of cologne/perfume, whatever happened to the simple smell of dirty socks?) So when you people sneeze, could you please sneeze into your fur, not in your paw?

When you sneeze into your paw you will not get rid of your germs. Rather, you will spread them evenly with your unfurry paws on door knobs and other dirty objects that you touch as you go about your day. I know all the specifications about this, I can sneeze on all of you because I cannot hold my paw up to my mouth and cover it (or at least that is what you think), and it is one of my best defense mechanisms.

I know there is nothing better than the delight of spraying your wet snot and salivia into someone else's shocked face, or leaving your waste and excrement in public, trust me. I am a ten lb chihuahua though, and I am granted the right to do otherwise disgusting acts because my charming good looks make up for it. Your looks do not, you nasty larger than life human beings.

They'll never know

I am at my Nemesis’ house. Everyone is gone. They locked me in the bathroom, again. Luckily, I planned ahead, and hid my iPup tablet under some towels. It’s my only source of stimulation at this point. I am thankful for the wifi here.

My Master planned a reunion for Halloween this year. She had several of her friends (and mine) come down to Chicago from Minneapolis, in addition to my uncle Matt, who came from Milwaukee. My Master and I arrived at My Nemesis’ house on Thursday night. During the day on Friday, My Master was goodly enough to clean up the craphole of a house My Nemesis calls home, in preparation for all her friends coming to stay the weekend. It made his living conditions so much more palatable, and since the house was so nasty to begin with, I had ample time to discuss the housing trust I’ve been working on with my cousin.

Seeing My Master’s friends was so lovely. These people, they are like family to me. I’ve known them my entire life, they’ve all taken care of me before, and shared in my triumphs, setbacks, and life course thus far. Even Jessica, although she “plays” so rough with my ears, I cannot help but love her. Guy and Jake are like two uncles, they take me in when I come back to Minnesota, let me play with Eva, and are such kind people. And my uncle Matt was there, too. I’ve stayed with him before, he’s great. He lets me sleep on his huge soft bed, and usually leaves the trash precariously low and available.  

I saw all of them at home for awhile, then they went to eat, and My Nemesis went to meet some acronym person, J.B.R. or something. I assume this person has a real name, but who knows, he’s so stupid he probably talks to chairs, or garbage cans. I still don’t understand what My Master sees in him. I got locked in the bathroom, as per usual.

Why do they lock me in the bathroom, curious reader? The short answer is they are afraid of my majesty and power. The longer answer is that I have a problem. I’m not sure if it’s endemic to all members of my species, or just me, but one thing is clear: if there’s a garbage can nearby, I’m going to knock it over. I’ve never been a drug addict, despite spending time in multiple border towns during my youth. I saw too many of my compadres go down in flames in the Highlands of Chihuahua. I’ve always prided myself on my ability to resist temptation (I was one of the few who never invested in mortgage-backed securities, derivative products, and I never endorsed the credit default swap…lot of damned good it did me, taking down the whole market…).

Despite seeing the evils of drugs, and being steadfast in my resolve…I just don’t know…but put a garbage can in front of me, and it’s almost as if I become possessed by some otherworldly force. We watched quite a few Halloween movies this weekend; I swear it’s as if another being takes control of me when I see the garbage can. There is no “you must kill mommy and daddy,” but there is a resounding “JOIN US, Smokenstein. We are filled with goodies. Your Master will be OK with it, don’t worry, KNOCK ME OVER and JOIN US.”

So in effort to save me from myself, they lock me in the bathroom. It sucks. I hate it. Luckily, this time, I have my iPup, so all is not lost.

But that is not the point. Friday night, after they returned from the bar, wasted, they let me out. I normally am left free to run at night, but I usually just stay in bed with My Nemesis and Master, although my Master farts, and that’s gross. Last night, they attempted to block the stairs to the main floor of the house. They have tried this before, and I have, time after time, studied the details of the impediment (a large chair), trying to find it’s weakness. I may be small, but I’ve overcome all who’ve faced me thus far.

It was last night that I bested my latest foe. How did I do it? That is forever my secret. I do not doubt My Master and Nemesis have spies everywhere, they no doubt know of this blog, so those details shall go with me to the grave, of this I am sure.

I was successfully able to circumvent the chair, and succeeded in making my escape down the stairs. Free at last! It was dark and cold, although not as cold as it was upstairs. My Master and his two buffoon roommates have the thickest blood on earth, I swear. Their apartment/cave is always so cold. But no matter, I wasn’t down here for the warm sunny weather, I was down here to get my piece.

I quickly and silently performed recon. They had done well, almost as if they anticipated my arrival. The garbage cans were cleaned, the kitchen cabinet was battened down securely. I thought for a moment that I was doomed. I had gone all the way down, and although my baby puppy eyes are some of the best, it was quite dark, and turning on the lights would surely belie my presence.

I thought I was doomed, until I looked up and saw the pizza box. HaHA ! Victory was mine! While My Master may have gotten one, I remembered correctly that there had been two pizzas ordered, and one of the boxes was still laying out on the glass coffee table! Even better, it was at the edge of the table. With a quick yank, I pulled it down to the floor. The only reason I didn’t stop and yell out in joy was fear in waking the slumbering bear-men nearby. Silently, I removed the cover of the pizza box, smiling in anticipation.

It was fucking empty.

Inadvertently foiled, again. Not by My Nemesis’s careful planning, but by his sheer gluttony. This was not going to go unchallenged. If I had made it this far down, I was going to at least leave my piece. Had there been pizza in there, they would have concluded I’d been there when their precious pizza was missing. I resolved to leave my mark the only other way I could.

I shredded that damned pizza box for over an hour. I know I am small, but I've learned to compensate by sheer pluck, hard work, and determination. I took me awhile, I'll probably take a nap today, but I destroyed that box. The cover? Gone, turned into a mess of corrugated cardboard, grease stains and all.

I hope that someone woke up that next morning and cried for a moment, thinking I had eaten all their pizza. Perhaps no one did, as they’ve all left for the day, and I’ve yet to hear of it. Score one more point for Ole Smokenstein. Novelist. Playwright. Investor. Ninja.

Chocolate Covered French Fries

The weekend has been a success. I spent a lot of it writing and editing my new mystery novel. I have been struggling, the plot line seems generic, although originality is rare in our present society. I enjoyed a crisp salad from Rosebud on Saturday night that my Master left out for me. Anytime food is left in this container with rare contents in it,  it is known to everyone that the contents are mine. It always baffles me when other parties are angry with me for eating the contents that they do not want.

Anyway, in other news,  my Nemesis tried to win over my affections by buying me pig strips. It was a nice attempt, but I hope he realizes that I only eat things that are simple to lick and make soggy enough to take down in less than ten minutes.  Licking an object for more than ten minutes is a waste of my time. Licking salty feet are the only exception to this rule.  He did win some points with the treats he bought me. I do not blame him for his poor taste, the insolent old fool.

 I was lucky enough to try the greasy french fries from Five Guys dipped in creamy chocolate with chunks of peanut butter ice cream from Oberweiss. The combination was every flavor I most desire. I must now return to writing my novel. Deadline is coming up soon I fear.

A penny for your thoughts...

I was trying to sleep, as usual licking the sheets when I toss and turn, because it calms me and lets me get control of my thoughts ( I often hear complaints about this being that the radius that I lick can be quite large, but I do not see how anything could clean more than my saliva). I was having some profound thoughts, especially about my current neighborhood.

Everybody says that Logan Square is full of hipsters. I do not see this as much as I see Polish people that are atrocious at driving. There are so many Taquerias that you cannot throw a rock and miss one, but I feel an absence of the true nature of my homeland in these parts.  As far as tail goes around here, well I have seen a few lookers but nothing to make me stop, except a pack of Pomeranians that were skirting around the other day, and only because of my desire to have several women in my life.

Every time I leave to go to other neighborhoods such as Wicker Park, which certain parties claim don't have as much hipsters ( I disagree with this notion) I am glad to return to Logan Square. My neighborhood does not boast all of the trendiness and glam that people flock to Wicker Park for, but it is laid back, there are more trees, and trees with leaves on them and trunks that are thicker than my 10 lb body. I am more of a Logan Square kind of dog, it fits me well. I am home.

If anyone else feel like they are giving up all of their love for their neighborhood, please feel free to post. If I ever see you, I may give you a penny for your thoughts, or a licking.

My princess by the sea

Dear Sasha,

A few months ago, I left a hot bay that often looked like chocolate milk and smelt like dead birds in which I had called my home for four long years. Although close to my homeland of Chihuahua, not nearly close enough. And too many English speaking fools, not enough packs of Chihuahua's running wild in the hills like in the old days when 30 of us would take down a 39 lb Chupacabra with no hesitation.  I never did prefer the artery clogging Tex-Mex over the authentic food of my homeland.  Anyway, you were part of my life for a year and a half of those four arduous years in the most important ways.
 Although you were of different kind and not the preferable kind, you were the peanut butter chewy of my eye. Long, gray, fur, you never did like doing your hair. You walked around the flat that we lived in with a confidence I could not ignore.  Although you would never give me the time of day, I am sure I caught your attention. Many a night while licking my paws clean I noticed you around the corner watching me with clear intent, wondering. Our interactions were limited, but my love for you grew, as it grew for you unruly owner, who often left tidbits such as cranberry supplements out for me to test.
(Side note, I did test those out, My owner was not happy with the results, although I was. I was meaning to go to the doctor for my first colonoscopy, but I did not feel the need to after those pills, to this I owe you. Who cares if the results was a dark brown liquid excrement on the white carpeting of My Master's floor? I heard you got the deposit back.)
We left that hot day in June for Chicago. I barely even got to say goodbye. I know you are out there, your beauty and indifference shining a light on someone else's soul. I know that many men have been through your apartment, and I could never expect to have a real chance with you, but I want you to know that my tiny little heart beats a trillion beats a second when I think of your sharp intellect, and your sharp tongue.

Shiny Streets of Chicago

Outside this evening walking around, my black and white coat glossy as ever, I was feeling like a million dollars. Crisp, fresh, night even though the city is constantly shrouded in scents such as the burnt smell of overused train tracks, putrid trash, and cheeseburgers.  My paws had a light, confident, gait. The city was beginning to feel like mine, my fate is to succeed here. My feelings of confidence are assured by a black, shifty looking fellow at the bus stop. His thoughts are aligned with mine as he says to me with his Issac Haye's sounding voice when I trot by, "Now there is a pimp."

I walk on to discover a silly man dancing to electronic music on the street corner in front of the Evil Olive. His pupils as wide as saucers and his pants as baggy as a prostitutes private parts,  I automatically know that he has befriended a gal referred to as Molly this evening. This woman apparently gives you a euphoric feeling, and a false sense of confidence as seen in this man's fluid idiotic dance moves as he listens to his stereo pounding drum and bass sounds on the intersection of Ashland and Division. 

I turn a sharp corner and start to run into a Chinese restaurant that is similar in lights and smells to Super Sub, but I am held back by my Nemesis who clearly has no good taste in food items.

A few blocks down Milwaukee from the corner of Division and I am back where I will be staying this evening, my quarters are sufficient for work I need to complete. I am tired and curled up on the bed, ready to crawl under the covers to the foot of the bed, the best spot for sleeping due to the smell and access of feet. The promise of a new day in this beautiful city is my last thought before I sign off.

Torture

I am dying, of this I am sure.

I am barely able to write these words, I am so weak. This past weekend, I accompanied - nay, chaperoned My Master and My Nemesis as they went to a wedding reception. Not only am I personally against weddings (it's hard to be a farmer when you only sow your seed in one field for all eternity), but this one took place outside, I guess. I was left behind, as usual, only this time it was in a strange house in the forest. I don't mean to condescend, and I realize fully that not everyone can be the former strategic adviser to the King of Sweden and second Earl of York, but I'd have assumed there'd be some caviar somewhere, or at least a gigantic ice sculpture. Apparently, I am not well versed with wedding plans in this country.

Being left behind was actually OK, I was able to get some poems drafted, and everyone returned about 12:30am, when I would go out on the town anyway. The night in the forest, however, was not my undoing.

The next morning, My Nemesis and I were walking through the forest near the big house. We had just taken our breakfast, My Nemesis had been truly lovely (a rare moment for such a rude dullard) and given me some bacon. We decided to have a walk to help us digest. Of course, not two minutes go by and some damn cat sashays onto the trail. My Nemesis, being the buffoon he is, immediately takes me for granted, and picks up the probably disease ridden cat. And oh the smell of this animal! People mention, lovingly, that I smell like Doritos, or socks, or panfish.

This ruffian of the wilderness would need the talents of New York's finest stylists to approximate such an odor, he was so disgusting. I had had enough, and took off on my own. I thought this would work out; we were leaving soon, but had a few moments left, and this would be the perfect time to have a moment alone, and reflect on the poems I had drafted the night before.

Then I saw the red berries. 

Perhaps they saw me first, I will never truly remember, but I do know they spoke to me, of this there can be no doubt. I knew I should have consulted a book as to their edibility, but fuck it, I'm on vacation, too, and if My Master and Nemesis are going to lock me in a water closet all night while they get drunk, I'm eating some motherfucking red berries God dammit.

They were so sweet! Before this moment, I was sure that such a flavor could have only come from Chocolate, but I'm not allowed to eat that, and have only experienced its majesty a few times. These were like strawberries dripping with honey. Each bite was more lovely than the last, I thought it was too good to be true, until I found another bush of berries just down the trail! I ate as much as I could, waited to collect myself, and wandered back to the big house, swaggering proudly. They may have had their lovely wedding party, but it was I, Smokenstein McGothlin, who truly had won the day.

Or so I thought.

It was about an hour into the car ride home when it all started. It was a lovely day, but by and by I found myself unable to enjoy it. I began to feel cold, just as my heart began to beat faster. I began panting uncontrollably, even though I was cold. My Master sensed this, and asked me how I was feeling. As if I can reply in a manner she would comprehend. Why they even try is beyond me.

It was as if each mile brought me closer to the gates of hell. I was wracked by spasms, first in my midsection, then out to my toes and nose. My entire body felt ready to convulse, it was sheer mental stamina that allowed me to maintain composure. My stomach felt as if it was being torn asunder, I half expected at one point to have one of Ridley Scotts' puppets burst from my chest. Never have I experienced pain like this. Not even after half the large packet of Tums did I feel this bad. The Cranberry pills didn't feel this bad. Try as I might, there was nothing I could do to alleviate the pain, the horrible horrible pain, that was growing in intensity, as if planned out, as we inched closer to Chicago.

To make things worse, it was Labor Day weekend, meaning traffic was completely backed up. We had to take alternate routes along strange backroads. I barely remember this, I was in such pain, I only remember we began to travel much more slowly, and my usual nasal diet of exhaust was replaced by that of farm animal excrement. I could not longer see straight, I knew only cold and pain, unending pain that tore at my insides like an icepick. 


We finally made it home, or rather to the home of My Nemesis. This made matters much worse. Normally, I don't mind his home at all. His home has cable, more books, a kitchen teeming with floor scraps, and a decent record collection, but today those were the furthest things from my mind. I knew only biting, gnawing pain. I was so ill I couldn't see straight. Walking was a Herculean event. I was wishing - almost dreaming - for death.

My Master put me in the bathroom, as I was ill and she wanted to sequester me. How could she do such a thing? I needed embrace and affection more now than perhaps ever before. She kept telling My Nemesis, "I have never seen Mr. McGothlin this ill before, I'm afraid." Well, Master, not only are you right, but I'd ask you to refrain from being so damned provincial about the whole thing. I am not only next to you, but I'm in massive amounts of pain. No, this was it, the final straw. I was in pain, horrible pain, but even I have my limits.

It was then that I shat liquid all over the floor of the bathroom. I made it look like I tried to get it on the rug, but I really did my best to strategically deposit liquid in places most likely to be stepped on. If either of them didn't slip on it, at least they'd step on it. I've had many days, but today, after hell, this dog, had his day. I felt better for a moment, after voiding my bowels, but I cannot say if it was fleeting or lasting, as i collapsed on the cool tile floor nearly immediately afterwards. Remembering the final seconds is difficult and harrowing enough.

....[author's edit]

It is three days later, and I am finally back to a normal diet of braised lamb shank, peanut butter chewies, and baby greens. The past two days were spent in the care of My Master, as she devised some ritual diet for me, in attempt to help me improve my Constitution. After days of pedialite, and this horrible human consumable called "oatmeal," I am better.

I don't know that I will ever venture into the forest unaccompanied ever again. My brief flirtation and love affair with all things rural has come to an end. Sidewalks, fire hydrants, urban liberal elitism, and poetry readings, I welcome thee.