HEIR OF THE DOG

Good boy! Now run before the Hannitys wake up...

Or, "SCREWING THE POOCH."

I bring tidbits from the tits that nurse our suckling souls, the curdled musky purulence that bilks us as we milk it…junkie piss from humanity’s withered, cancerous spout, parading within our ignorance of irony as the very nectar of the heavens, while our fist-sized tumors sprout beneath our scalp.
I’ve been reading the AP Wire again. It’s like tempting Fate in prison with a heart-shaped ass, a bottlecap of liquid soap and a freshly sanded broom.

Thusly, I peer into the abyss; I lick the snatch of Destiny…and whew boy, it don’t smell so good.

A random search retrieved items both goofy and quite ominous. In no particular order, of course...

I've clearly been out of the loop; I hadn't realized that Terri Schiavo was actually cremated. Wait…how will she be RAPTURED now?!

While digging around for further abuse, I found THIS little nugget: “Chef Remembered For Love Of Kids And Food.”

The link itself is generally harmless. It’s the title…or is it just my MIND?!

Another gem of a headline: “ALL SHALL PERISH on the road!”

Yeah…I wish.

And then this… This is what happens when cousins fuck:

“SPARTANBURG, SOUTH CAROLINA (FOX Carolina News) - A Campobello teen is accused of raping one neighbor's dog and another neighbor's two little girls. Now the dog has died and charges against the teen have been upgraded…”

Wait…he raped a three-year old, a 13-year-old…but they only “upgrade” the charges after the dog dies? This says so much to me about the value of human life. It goes on:

"Sylvia says she and her husband would not have believed Cory Williamson raped Princess exactly two weeks to the day she died had they not seen it with their own eyes."When I got here we were laying on the deck looking at him and he had his pants down and he was doing sexual activity with the dog like a man would do to a woman."

So what the hell were they doing while watching the kid rape their dog?

“After receiving word that the dog died possibly because of the rape. Fox Carolina called the Solicitor's office to see if now new charges would be filed against the teen.”

Slow news day, eh? That’s the clincher—people did research on this. Repeated phone calls were made; interviews were conducted. This was news. And lets not forget the man who recently allowed a horse to sodomize him to death. How pleasant! There was once a time when Man rode the Horse.

In other news, senior citizens are reaching new depths of desperation, with one old coot arrested for selling dope, and another geriatric avenger calling 911 forty times to complain about a late pizza delivery, only to bite the officer who arrived to take the call. None of this surprises me, of course; I worked retail.

Meanwhile…a baby is born in a toilet (a fitting metaphor, really), people are having sex with inflatable sheep, and stupid rich people are paying to be abducted. They’re hiring, by the way.

Oh, it all gets worse. And worse. And worse. Weirdness and glass houses prevail. As I take some time to contemplate the meaning of it all (and those things far worse that never make the cut), I’ll leave you with a quote that comes to mind:

“The pack of cards in his hand was pornographic…each of the suits detailed a different area of sexual activity… Hearts represented male/female congress, though by no means limited to the missionary position. Spades were oralist… Clubs were analist… Diamonds, the most exquisitely drawn of the suits, were sadomasochistic…on these cards men and women suffered all manner of humiliation, their wracked bodies bearing diamond-shaped wounds to designate each card.

“But the grossest image of the pack was that of the Joker. He was a coprophiliac, and sat down before a plateful of steaming excrement, his eyes vast with greed, while a scabby monkey, it’s bald face horribly human, bared its puckered backside to the viewer.

“This was surely the definitive human portrait. The other pictures on the cards, with their pretensions to love and physical pleasure, only hid this terrible truth away for a while. Sooner or later, however ripe the body, however glorious the face, whatever wealth or power or faith could promise, a man is escorted to a table groaning under the weight of his own excrement and obliged, even though his instincts might revolt, to eat.”

--Clive Barker, The Damnation Game

(As a final note, fitting neatly into the puckered slot of the bestiality theme I seem to have inadvertantly fallen into, I implore any readers uncertain of just what this all means to track down and examine a very special film—a sociological essay on the Human Condition (masquerading as an exploitation documentary) called Mondo Cane. It isn’t what you think. It is a hulking, lacerous condemnation of humanity. It altered my worldview forever…for indeed, we live and die like animals, while animals know a peace we never will. And as we grow against nature, and toil against our own…Shake your angry spears at the complexity we’re cursed with—the complicated lives we toil at…and envy every dog, but one.)

)+(