If there is one thing myspace taught you, it's not to trust things that seem "too cute." You may have lost your social security number once, but you refuse to let these little mascots have their way with you. You put your javelin up and tell Chad to get behind you. "Whatever happens, protect the urine." You say, preparing for battle. The colorful bear-things continue to bounce closer, and you realize that they are not cute mascots, but mutant beasts from the polluted outskirts of Beijing. The five creatures charge in. You stab one, leaving a blue bear-cat dead on the ground. The other four pace around you, waiting for a moment to strike. One pounces at Chad, he screams, dropping the urine. Your clean piss leaks all over the cement. Out of rage you stab the green one. It moans as you prepare for another attack, but the others seem uninterested in you. Instead the remaining three gather around the spilled urine. One after another they take sips. When the pool is dry they turn to you, expecting more. You unzip your pants and urinate in the street. The beasts seem pacified by your offering. In fact, they seem submissive. How will you use your new army?
Sometimes I dream that I'm sitting in the back of the defunct Weinermobile as it careens driverless down the highway. At first I thought this was symbolic of the powerlessness I feel in life, but then I realized it's actually the Weinermobile's dream of being able to drive again.
Three years ago, when we were burying my uncle, Cleaver and some gross lady dog (Solstice???) showed up at the cemetery and starting going at it really loudly. It ruined everything and we had to have a "re-do" the next day and it cost a fortune. I've hated him ever since for that.
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