The sunshine success stories that I hear about others makes me wonder, if there is some essential lesson that I did not attend early in life. A lesson that explains how to make the cocktail of success. It must have been on one of those days, where you pretend that your tummy hurts so that your parents reluctantly let you stay home, because after all school is very important. Too late for that now. I have obviously not attended that cursed class, and here I am years later paying the price.
Face the facts I must, I will never know the secret ingredients that go into the drink that will grant me glorifying success and prosperity. These ingredients are like those in the KFC chicken recipe. They create a unique and distinctive flavour, but still esoteric to those who eat the chicken.
Fact of matter is none of these privileged sunshine bastards will ever reveal these ingredients to me. Not even if I expose them to physical and mental torture, will they even remotely consider to surrender their precious knowledge to me. No, the secret stays within the circles of this cult of success.
It seems that we have yet another dog in this house that needs taking care of for some time. Unfortunately this dog has a similar type of aura that surrounds Devil Cat. Its appearance and actions stirs this urge in me to either provoke it or slap it around for a bit. I've done the keen observation that by moving my legs restlessly and speaking with in a deep voice, the dog will enter into of a state of despair. Its paws will be scratching and sliding on the wooden floor in its attempt to run from me. When it finally starts moving it turns its head to see, if I'm still hot on its trail. Occasionally it reaches to a location in the house, where it's confused of where to go next and starts barking uncontrollably, as if saying “I give up! Terminate me now, but do it quick and painless”.
A few nights ago he would not stop barking, because random persons would be passing by the house. I was desperately trying to get some shut-eye, but the dog didn't seem to care much for that. I remember feeling rage, and I had got up to go silence him. When I was actually walking down the stairs, I could hear his paws moving in hast across the wooden floor back to his basket. It obviously knew that it should be quiet, which only ticked me off more. I felt like hitting him on the head with a crystal ball, or wheel spinning with a steamroller before I ran over him.
Why can't dogs hold the barking until someone is actually trying to break into the house, or already has broken into the house?
With this new addition to the dog family, a geologic transformation is taking place in the garden. There's an alarmingly increasing amount of dog excrements threatening to suffocate the rich flora.
When I go out there now, I move cautiously to avoid stepping into something that I would regret. Luckily the flies come to my aid by circulating the designated perimeters. I am coming to the conclusion that this garden is slowly turning into swampland. One might have thought that this process starts due to other circumstances, yet I am pretty much convinced that the presence of dog and cat crap is the catalyst to this geological phenomenon. What was once green and soothing to the human eye has now become the anus of Mother Nature.
My situation has not improved. It's frustrating enough having to share the dwelling with animals that lick their own anus as a sign of good hygiene, but with the transformation of the garden, the late night barking and the job hunt, I feel mentally sodomized. However, I take out fractions of my frustration upon the animals. You are probably thinking “You sadistic bastard.”, and that I am. I feel obligated to annoy them in order to suffocate my own frustration. State of beast should never be superior to that of man.
Edward T. Shufflebottom
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