Dogs Don't Roll Over
Written by: Alex Sandell
Everything's Gay In Limbo
As I walk to my bank, I notice someone is lurking around the corner, again. How does he do it? How does Richard always know when Im coming (ooh, that sounded kinky.)? I try to duck around the corner, and blend into the crowd without him noticing, when I notice that it isnt him. Actually, "its" probably worse.
"Already trying to avoid me, huh?" My dead Dalmatian asks with a cynical stare. "What do you expect? Its not like you smell like a bed of roses." Jeez, Im glad my lifes not a movie, I keep having the lamest dialogue. "Hey," the dead dogs spits back at me, "no matter what I smell like, Im still your guardian angel." "Dont they have some kind of deodorant in Heaven?" The dog just looks pissed for about 30 seconds and then comes back with, "Im not in Heaven yet, remember? Im stuck in Limbo, working on your sorry ass."
"Speaking of Limbo," I start in with my burning question, "and working on peoples asses, do they allow gay dudes with a flaming throat and glowing, yellow eyes up there?" The dog gives me his patented, "cynical look," before commenting.
"What makes you think hes gay?" He asks, as some weird, dried-up organ comes falling from his mouth. "Um, he was hanging out with me in my locker room bag, and after a cryptic warning not to enter the gateway, he grabbed my buttocks." I figure my use of the word "buttocks," in lieu of "butt," would sound less accusatory.
"So, that makes you think hes gay?!? Its 1997, are you earth-dwelling people this primitive? One male cant even grab anothers ass, without you thinking hes queer?" "Well," I respond, timidly, "its allowed if youre playing football, if youre a football coach, or if youre really drunk, but anywhere else, I guess you probably are considered gay." "What a joke," the dog responds, making him sound just a little too human.
"God used to be homophobic," the Dalmatian begins "back around the time they wrote that outdated Bible, then he saw how fucking annoying the religious right was, and figured Hell would already be overcrowded with all of them there, so he decided that gays were cool with him." "Well," I return, "it is becoming more accepted down here on earth, as long as you say something like, I dont mind people being gay, as long as they keep their hands off of me." The dog looks as though hes going to vomit. "Thats mental," he begins, obviously overlooking the fact that saying "mental" in a derogatory sense is sort of retardphobic. "What makes all you humans think a gay guy would wanna touch your hairy-asses, anyway? Homos usually have pretty good taste in men. In Heaven, they usually go straight for the angels." "Its just a macho thing," I reply, ending the conversation.
"Well, to answer your question . . . answer your question . . . answer your question . . ." I kick the dog, and let the needle jump over its skip. The same customers that have been watching me talking with myself, stare even harder as they watch my leg kicking the open air. "DAMNIT!" The dog screams, "they said they had this fucking thing fixed!" "I still think you should get a CD player installed," my comment just annoys the dog further. "I already told you, THEY SOUND LIKE SHIT!"
The dog calms himself down, and begins speaking again. "To answer your question, the guy with the flames in his throat was probably Leroy, whos the head guardian of the gate, and he is gay. But I dont see what he would see in you." "Oh, thanks, that makes me feel real good. Now Im getting negative commentary on my looks from a dog-corpse." "No," the dog replies, "from a guardian angel."
"So," I ask, stress taking its toll on my voice, "what brings you up from Limbo, this time? I thought you were through with me." For the first time ever, the dog looks depressed. "I didnt do whatever it is Im sposed to do with you. I dont understand this part of it anymore than you. As a matter of fact, I dont think anyone really understands this part of it." "Why are you here then?" I ask. "Im here to warn you. Your little dreamgirl is in danger." "SUE!" My eyes light up as I yell her name. Curious onlookers jump at the sound, then quickly return their focus back to their gambling machines.
"Is she in danger?" The dog bows his head and grumbles, "I just said that, you idiot." "What can I do to help her?" I ask. "Maybe pay more attention," the dog snaps back. "Now, I cant say, and dont know, exactly whats going to happen to her, but I do know that, if something isnt done, her eyeballs are gonna be staring down at you from one of those cameras by the end of the day."
Go to: Chapter 41
©1997 Alex Sandell but, if you're a book publisher and, you wanna get this puppy out, please get in touch with me, hand me a nice, big contract and, of course, a 12 pack of Grape Soda and maybe we can do lunch.
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