Smack My Blog Up

Daily Writers: Duck

Ok, how does she not see this? It's happening like three feet away from her. The dog is LICKING the duck! So awesome. I sort of want to bust the little bastard, but I don't want to cause a huge scene. She's been working on that duck since yesterday. It's been a non-stop chore for her: basting, baking, stuffing, basting again, checking, adjusting, checking, rubbing, checking, checking, checking again.. It's like that duck is in Intensive Care and she's the nurse. You turn your back for five minutes, and that thing is as good as dead. Again.

She loves it, though. She always has. This is her big show. This is where she shines. She's wearing her favorite apron, rushing around the kitchen like she's on Iron Chef. She looks and acts stressed, but you can hear in her voice that she's having the time of her life. She answers questions in that mom-esque sing-songy way.

"Mom, how much longer until dinner?"

"About three HOU-rs hoooooney!"

Loves it.

And then there's the dog. What a sneaky little bastard he is. He's been watching her all day like a lion, stalking a gazelle. Waiting, waiting, waiting for her to let her guard down. He's watched every little move and tried to find his angle, never getting frustrated and never losing focus. He waits. He waits some more. She turns around to mash some potatoes and BLAM! He goes for it. Except instead of tearing ass across the desert to a crescendo of bongo drums, taking down the duck in one grand kill move, this little fuck just sidles up behind her, stands on his back legs, and goes to work licking the damn duck silently, right behind her back.

If I hadn't been there when you had them removed, I'd say you've got a lot of balls on you, my hairy little friend.

So what now? I am definitely not saying anything. Let her serve the damn duck. They deserve it anyway. Assholes. Sitting in there on their fat asses watching some stupid game while she slaves away all day. YES I KNOW I SAID SHE LOVES IT, but still. Fuck them. I'll just fake a stomach ache and eat some potato chips while they all chow down on mom's famous succulent duck, basted with dog drool. It'll be a hit as always and mom will be the star of her show again.

God, I hate Christmas.

Daily Writers: Water Bottle

Daily Writers is a new thing I'm trying out at node.nerdist.com. They give you a topic every day and you write for 10 minutes about it. This is my first submission.

Water Bottle

Where in the FUCK is my water bottle? It was right here, on the little table, right by the front door, where it ALWAYS IS. God dammit, this is driving me crazy. WHY ISN'T IT HERE? It's always here.

How the hell am I supposed to take the dog to the park if I don't have water? I mean... there are those fountains at the park but I don't know if I can... ugh... no fucking way I'm drinking from one of those things. I'm sure homeless people put their mouths on the spigot. No thank you, Hepatitis. Not interested.

Come fucking ON! It was RIGHT HERE. I came back from walking the dog last night, drank the last of the water in the bottle, and put it on the little table, right by the front door, with my keys. There are my keys, so where the fuck is my fucking water bottle?? GOD FUCKING DAMMIT.

The sun is starting to go down. Do I really want to deal with trying to walk the dog back through the Mission on a Friday night after the sun goes down and all the freaks are out? That's easy. NO. I'm not going anywhere without my water though. That'd just be ridiculous.

The store on the corner sells water, but screw that. It's the principle. I have a water bottle so that I don't have to buy bottles of water. I'm certainly not going to be the only dick walking the streets of San Francisco with a PLASTIC water bottle! I'd be the scourge of the city! No way. I did not spend $20 on a water bottle to be scourge. I know it's here somewhere. THINK, Steve... where's your water bottle?

The dog is starting to get crazy. He knows it's time for walkies. He couldn't care less about how much water we have on board. That's just not how he works. He'd rather just get going and solve problems like water along the way. That's why I'm the master and you're the subservient pet, man. I have the ability to plan for problems such as thirst, where you're just going to run yourself crazy in the park and then come up to me with your stupid pink tongue lolling everywhere and put it on me to make sure you're hydrated.

I need to find this bottle, or my dog will die of dehydration. I don't want that on my head. AND WHAT ABOUT ME? I get thirsty too. Oh god, I can feel my tonsils. Am I starting to get a headache? WHERE THE FUCK IS THE FUCKING WATER BOTTLE?

You know what? Screw it. I tried. I can't be expected to just go forth in to the city without water. That's not reasonable. But... the bottle's not here, so forget it. You win, Universe. I tried to be a good pet owner, but clearly it's not in the cards for tonight. Sorry, dog. Guess you'll just have to figure out some other way to entertain yourself. I'm going to watch Jeopardy and eat a burrito. No fucking idea what I'll wash that down with, because someone has clearly broken in to my fucking house, and stolen my fucking water bottle. God dammit.

Oh wait. I think it's in the car! Yes! It's in the car!!

I'm not going all the way out to the car, though. Just... forget it.