Chubby the Dachshund

I work graveyards, so I usually wrap up my shift in the early morning and I had home in the wee hours…usually when everyone is just beginning to stir.  Nevertheless, at 8am or so, I am very groggy and desperately looking forward to heading home to gulp down a cup of joe or two before hitting the hay.

This is usually how I spend my mornings.

Today’s morning was a little more complicated than that and sleep didn’t occur right away.  First off driving home was a bitch.  Spokane traffic is horrible during the summer.  You could be two blocks away from your house and pass by four traffic crews, twelve drivers who don’t know how to signal, a bicyclist who prefers to weave down the center lane, and somehow, no matter what, you will still end up overshooting your house and ending up on the opposite side of the city.  A five-minute drive almost took me twenty and my ’87 Chevette doesn’t have very many twenties left in her.

It's true.

Needless to say I was in a less than stellar mood by the time I reached home, so when I opened the door to an apartment filled to the brim with purple haze I was quickly delivered to livid.  There, in plain view, was a chubby Dachshund strapped into a baby seat next to a passed out ferret after a late night of smokin’ the ganja, looping “Beat It” on vinyl, and playing Super Mario Bros. on my NES!  Mopey was softly snoring, yet twitching and muttering about Goombas.  I kicked him as I went by and he started to stir some more as I put my coat away.

As soon as Mopey straggled his was out his slumber I asked him to head into the office.  We needed to talk.  The whole time Chubby the Dachshund just laid in his car seat making wheezing noises and occasionally coughing which ultimately knocked over his ‘snorkeling’ gear.

After some ferret harassment, which might border on the illegal Mopey confessed that Chubby used to be a political campaign manager to Anthony Weiner and since the great Weiner debacle Chubby has been out of the job.  Chubby was raised in a single-parent household with thirteen other chubby Dachshunds’ and it has always been his dream to be a politician.  Because of Weiner’s wiener tweets it looks like Chubby’s dream is all but lost, so he called up his old college roommate, Mopey, hitched a ride to Spojakistan, and spent the night wallowing in copious amount of weed, alcohol, Michael Jackson vinyl, and NES classics in order to ‘forget.’

After such a sad tale and with Malicious the Gorilla living with Bradley now I decided to let Chubby stay as long as Mopey cleaned up the house and lit some incense.  As he scurried off to clean and tell a comatose Chubby the good news I plopped down on my bed.

“Damn it Mopey!  Who painted Che Guevara on my ceiling!?”

Short and sweet. Sweet and concise. Concise and correct.

Twist and turn like an electrified spider…legs outstretched…all eight, count ‘em.  Long and straight dipped in sweet tea for an appetite suited only for chocolate covered frogs and snails.  Grab a Dachshund by the tail and pull.  Ask the badger at the end of the tunnel for a receipt because that Pheasant hasn’t paid his borrow bill in over a month.  His daughter is outside next door sellin’ marmalade to Darth Vader in an effort to pay the bill and reach the dark side.  Pinky would know that side of the moon because the force choke only works on the appendages of an arachnid…hence the sweet legs of the neighbor.  Force choke that bastard because the only badger that befriends a Dachshund is unfortunately…a dead one.

Even at the end of that bright light the white lantern wouldn’t resurrect the badger in an attempt to make Deadman jealous.  The only one worthy enough to pull off a double back flip without a net could counteract that smart mouth.  The fish that fly to the fringe of the galaxy balk at the net, because only they can hitchhike without the guide.  With an iPod jammin’ the intergalactic fish flounder in a rhythmic jingle that leaves star dust frozen in awe at the fringe of a black hole.  With a slight wink a son grabs that black hole and asks his father, “What’s this?”

I wish I drew this.

And, in a cosmic flurry that causes the stars to war within one another, the badger to lay to rest, the Dachshund to jam to the stolen iPod, and most importantly the Pheasant to finally pay his bill without the death of single spider…and, that my friends…was all in the father’s reply.  Short and sweet.  Sweet and concise.  Concise and correct.

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