Dead Dogs Don't Roll Over
Written by: Alex Sandell
Jeez, and I thought I had it bad
"I cant wait to hear this" I mumble, sarcastically. Bilbo, the scrawny E.M.T., smiles at my comment, giving me that, "if you only knew" look, and then begins to speak. "Youre going to have to make the ultimate sacrifice." "Whats that?" I ask, feeling as though Im going to pass out, again. "Let me explain what I meant," Bilbo returns, "when I said it was your mind that can control the evil." "Okay," I say, ignoring the fact that he just ignored my last question.
"Have you ever felt you were different from other people?" Bilbo asks. When I dont answer, he continues, "like you actually had a mind of your own?" I stare blankly, looking an awful lot like Homer Simpson. "Remember back in sixth grade, when all your classmates where busy scurrying around, handing in their petty little reports? All eager to please the teacher? Looking for that little sticker to be slapped on their paper reading, you did GREAT!?" I continue looking like Homer. "Dont you remember all those little stars you would get, if you did a good job with your multiplication?" "Yeah," I finally say, coming out of my daze, "I remember. I dont see any correlation between a bunch of stupid stickers, and my conquering evil, and saving the world."
"Theres EVERY correlation!" Bilbo declares, getting rather excited, at least for a Bilbo. "Dont you see it?" "Uh," I reply, "not really." Bilbos eyes light up, as he tries, once again, to explain. "Instead of desperately struggling to get a star, you desperately struggled over why the hell anyone would want one." He begins salivating, as he speaks. "Cant you remember sitting in the back of the classroom, just watching all these kids, and trying to figure out why they all care so much? Dont you remember how you compared them to rats, running around in a maze, looking for a bite of cheese, way back in the third-grade, when you were only nine years old? You got an F on it, not to mention really nasty looks from your teacher, from that point on. Dont tell me you cant remember that."
Im still not impressed. The easily excited E.M.T. looks disappointed. "Im sorry, man," I cant believe I just called someone, "man," things must be really going downhill now, "I just cant see why what I thought in sixth-grade matters; much less a report that I wrote when I was nine-years-old." "How can you not see it??? Its as clear as the tail on my ass!" At that, Bilbo stops cold. I do a double take. "What did you say?" I ask. Bilbo remains silent. I try again, "what did you just say?" Bilbo squeaks out an answer. "I said, its as clear as the hail on pie grass." I start to laugh. "That doesnt even make any sense. What I heard you say was, its as clear as the tail on my ass!" "Well," returns Bilbo, "that wouldnt make any sense, either - since I dont have a tail."
The two of us remain motionless, for a good minute, or two. Finally, Bilbo speaks. "Damn, I blew it. I knew Id screw it up." I pretend to look concerned, just because thats what humans are supposed to do, when someone else is distressed. "You screwed up what, Bilbo?"
Bilbo answers my question by shrinking, and rapidly growing hair all over his body. Pieces of scalp begin falling off, and his flesh starts deteriorating. With a "squiiiishy" type noise, one of his eyeballs disappears, leaving a socket full of squirming tendons. His jaw becomes detached, and hangs off of his head on a greasy looking string of flesh. The blood that drips onto the floor, Bilbo begins to lick up, as he continues his metamorphosis into . . . my dead Dalmatian.
Go to: chapter 51
©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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