How to Rule at Free Art Museum Day

How to Rule at Free Art Museum Day

By: David McGhee

I woke up at around six this morning and immediately checked my Facebook and Twitter. Because that's just what I do before getting out of bed. Every day. Same thing. It's because I swear when ever I get a response to something I completely flip my shit and say “Holy cock of Christ! People are interacting with me!” But most times than not it will be some shitty invite. I don't mind it when people do them. In fact I do them myself when the mood strikes me. But nothing is a bigger letdown than seeing that you have five new alerts and all of them are inviting me to some shitty party or show. I don't go out anymore people! Respect that or... Actually you can still send me invites. I don't want to be a jerk. But it does suck to see that no one responded to my witty post about a military man's penis. Ugh! What do you people want from me!?

Shh... Don't be like that. Daddy didn't mean it. Here. Come to my sweaty arm pit and I will wrap my arm around you and tell you that it's all going to be fine. It will. It just takes some time. Unless you have diarrhea, in which case things will never be fine again. And it's all your fault!

Frank was kind enough to leave me a cigarette on my book case this morning. You know. It's a case that holds books. And it's full! I need a new one. I wonder if I had two book shelves, would that mean two cigarettes in the morning? A girl can dream I suppose.

I recently got H Pylori from food poisoning. And it's all Chobani's fault! You see, a while ago they recalled some amazingly delicious vanilla yogurt that I ate before the recall went into effect. Ergo, intestinal bacteria swimming inside my uterus. Or wherever I hold that stuff. I was so sick for so long that I was starting to get used to the sickness like I did with my Hep C. With that shit you're tired all the time and you're sick all the time. It's like having a minor to medium cold every day for the rest of your life.

You see, I was a very bad heroin addict at one time. Like “Holy shit, let's hide the jewelery!” addict. Yes I stole from people and companies. I never really robbed anyone but my folks. Even then my father wouldn't press charges. If only they had gotten my Aspergers diagnosis along with the Suboxone in the first place. Man I did some stupid shit.

I remember being two bucks short and coming up to the little Honduran dealer. I rolled up the money in a ball so that he would just jam it in his pockets and not count it. I was hoping on that. But that day was destined to be a real dick slap to the face. And not the good kind of dick slap either. No, this is either a three inch penis or a five foot schlong just pounding away at my cheeks. What bullshit!

Anyways, he counted the money and he and his dealer buddies started laughing and calling me a “punto.” I'm sure that they were saying that my hair was amazing, but instinct told me that it had to be a curse word. I begged the man for just on ten dollar piece of heroin. I was in so much pain from withdrawal that I was literally crying in front of him and his compatriots. I saw them laughing and then the one that had the shit stopped smiling. He pulled a black balloon from his mouth and held it over his head. He started laughing again and he said “Bark punto!”

I felt a shot of freon course through my veins. I had never been so humiliated. But truth be told, I do it pretty often and really should just sort of shrug it off as another day at the beach. If Denver Colorado had beaches? It is literally a desert that was gentrified into a livable city. All those beautiful trees downtown? All transplants.

I did as I was told. Then he made me beg. I swear he would of asked me to hump his leg if it he had drawn it out further. He spit in my general direction and threw the black balloon far over my head and almost into the gutter.

“Adios punta!” They cackled as I was on the side of the sidewalk looking for the piece amidst all the crap that seems to accumulate near the storm drains. After a few minutes I was about to give up and just go turn myself in or something. I was in so much physical and emotional pain that I was sure I would kill myself soon. And I'd do it while in withdrawal. I swear I don't with opiate withdrawal on anyone. No matter how tall and beautiful they may be.

I went into the Arbys and smoked half of it on a piece of tin foil (because I hadn't yet discovered the joys of shooting the stuff up) and kept the other half for later. I don't know why I always did that. I would just be smoking / shooting it again as soon as I got home anyways... It's more the ritual I think. The ritual of using drugs is more times than not, the biggest thing you need to get over. The prepping of whatever you're doing brings just as much pleasure and security as actually doing the stuff.

Having no money and recently high, I decided to go pan handle downtown Denver and maybe get some money for a Jamba Juice. If you don't know who they are well it's this smoothie place that uses fresh everything for their stuff. It's sooooooooooooooooooooooo good! Even though they took it off the menu, you can still order an Orange Berry Blitz. Trust me on this. That's citrus up your ass son!

I had made two dollars when I walked up to a nice looking lady in a black baseball cap and a brown jacket. I asked her if she would have any change so that I may partake in Jamba Juice's Jamba goodness.

So instead of giving me a dollar or whatknot, she fucking slaps some cuffs on me and tells me that I'm under arrest for “aggressive panhandling.” What the fuck? I mean, I said “please” every time. It didn't have to escalate to this you know. But she was proud of her kill and I walked silently and deeply crushed. She brought me to a gaggle of plainclothes officers. They sure did look like officers too. What homeless person works out enough to have guns the size of Texas (I only use this metaphor because, as you may know, everything is bigger in Texas) I was more than intimidated by these people.

When one of them asked me if I had anything in my pockets I just up and said. “I got heroin in this pocket.” and I pointed to my left pants pocket. They first patted me down and then they went into my pockets. They found the piece of tin foil with the little piece of stuff stuck to it like molasses on a hard winter's day.

Yadda yadda yadda

So anyways, we went to the Denver Museum of Modern Art. It was their free day and we tend to like free things, so we went. In the car I read silently to myself. A little big book that goes by the title of “Stephen King's 'IT.'” Not that it's little at all. It's fucking one thousand and one hundred pages. It's a beast! And I love it! It's by far one of his better books. I was told that there will be a scene with children gang banging each other so I will keep a lookout for that. Only in my mind they'll age to post eighteen years of age and they'd all have man hair. Mmm... Man hair. More men need to show it off, because man hair is super sexy fellas!

Did you know that a man's sweat will turn on a straight girl / gay guy with his arm pit pheromones. It's true. Looking at a sweaty sexy man in a book is one thing. But to be right in front of this tall awesomely awesome dude and smell his musk up close? Fuck yeah!

I hope this doesn't make me into more of a freak. That's the last thing I need is to be demoted lower on the corporate ladder of life. I bet that that game plays more like chutes and ladders. One roll you're on your way to the top and then you slide back to the bottom. Usually with no money, no phone, and a sore bum.

From now on I'm going have to charge for my services. I'm asking two fiddy and a bag of skittles. Oh baby. Oh baby. Oh baby. Are you turned on yet? Hrmm... Neither am I. So let's look at a redheaded macho man!

Now that I've gotten your attention, we stopped at a doggy event over by the Platte River just before going to the museum. It was called “Pugs in the Park” and I was immediately drawn to their pudgy stupid gazes. Pugs should be mandatory house pets for anyone who is allergic to cats. I like to think that their pudgy pugness was one of God's many slip ups. Seriously, they look like Siamese cats only with Downs syndrome. You can sort of see it? Right?

I had a pug to my left and a pug to my right and one other pug bouncing against his / her caged fence. I had so much pug that I will be shitting black and white for a week now. Not that I ate them. That would have been just flat out rude. I'm sure you have to buy it first before you can eat'em.

It was all really just a blur after that. We wound up in the art museum and I will swear to you that I totally spaced between the puggity puggy pug pugs thing and arriving at the museum. I was totally like “What the heck?” Because I was told not to curse in the museum. There's kids in there you know...

I took out my phone and took these pictures just for you.

And then not even a fifth through with the museum... My phone died. Which is really a shame because I eventually found some nude paintings that I would of liked to have shown you. But I suppose you could just do that on Google images. I know I use that feature to look up naked male celebrities without paying to get into whatever site the picture is located on. That's the cool thing about Google. It will show you the pictures of any website for free! You just got to know how to look.

Normally I try the actor's name and then add “nude.” If that doesn't work then I also try “naked, penis, dick, covered in jams and jellies, and just all that sort of bullshit you'd expect from a juvenile.

I never felt like I grew up really. I still have this small kid's body and it pisses me off. Why couldn't I have been normal? Living with Aspergers sucks at times like these because I can't help but over think everything in the smallest details. Some hot dude looked at me at King Soopers (Kroger for you eastern folk) and I smiled back. He looked disgusted and probably went to have tall skinny person sex with some hot chick he just met because, well, straight men be sexin it up with anything that has a hole. Sadly though, this doesn't ever seem to be the case for my ass. Apparently normal men have “standards” and “set sexuality.” Fucking A! I say take your boxers off and let me take photos. Am I perverted? I don't think I am...

You see, my fascination with tall skinny men is that I wish I could be them. Darwin's evolutionary survival of the fittest thing has got me wondering many times if I would have been dead in any other era. What with all the suicide attempts and such? Back then they thought mental health issues were best dealt with in a locked institution. Geesh! And here all this time I bet you were hoping that I want to have intercourse with said men.

Nope. I am barely sexual. I swear I like never jerk off anymore. I did it tons back in my early twenties (I wouldn't touch myself in high school because I hated my body that much. It used to be that just taking my shirt off would ensue a thunderstorm of tears) but to be honest, it's really not that big of a deal anymore. So if I'm not getting sexual gratification from such things, then why do I do it? Because I like to imagine said hot men living a slutty life and using their good bodies to make more babies. Men be all slutty like that. I just wish I could be a normal 5'10”-6' 150 pound brown eyed football watching, bitch fucking, beer drinking good old boy. Even if just for a second.

I use humor a lot to deflect my hurt. So if you ever see me in a clown suit down at the mall and I'm screaming obscenities at the passing young children, you can bet your social security check that I'm just working through some problems. By being a clown that shouts mean things to children. See? Funny huh? Oh you're such a bore...

The Hound of Kittenville

The Hound of Kittenville

By: David McGhee

Pugsly the pug was a thug amongst thugs. With his tattoo of a cat's paw, he was an official kitty witty cat cat gangster. An honorary feline. Of the “here kitty kitty” variety. Genus: Kitty widdy cat cat. He had joined the ranks of Tabby the Terrible, Kill Kitten Thirteen, and the smartest cat of all, Drew. Oh he was a cunning monster. Who used his Christian Bible and street smarts to con the rich out of their loot and give it to welfare queens. Sort of like a modern day Robin Hood. Only these riches come in the form of scrumpdiddlelyumcious kitty treats. That's right. He would steal the fat cat's kitty witty cat cat treats and give them to the scrawny assed chick alley cats. He was a Himalayan Persian, so it was generally easy for him to gain access into the toughest of fortresses. Him and his cute fluffy black tail! Look! He's chasing it now! Awe!!!

Smiley face.

El oh el

Those famous feline murderers were also old style bank robbers. Like Bonny and Clyde. They tend to pull similar jobs in both style and veracity of plans, but had yet to collaborate as of this author's knowledge.

Pugsly got his street cred on the mean streets of Evergreen Terrace. Which is just a stone's throw from Spooner St. He would run up to joggers and ice cream men (The kind that pull their cart for a living, the ones where you had a Mexican shouting in Spanish at passerby's all about how awesomely awesome his Horchata ice pops are. And indeed, they rock) and bite the dickens out of their ankle length pants. He would hold on, he would! And the resulting beating that he received to make his jaws go limp promptly sent him to the dogey hospital. He died two hours later. The irate Mailman said he'd kick it in the nuts again and again until the thing fucking died. Again.

Oh he had a beautiful funeral.

Alan, his master, wrote a poem about it.

Oh Pugsly

So dapper and lover of the ladies.

You got me laid

Again

And again

And again

The chicks dig a man in a band with a pug

And for this I am forever in your debt

Which saddens me to say

From your face, I assumed you were gay

Fart fart, I don't give a shit

You were a fucking dog

I just bought another pug today and I'm calling it Pugsly

And it's a bitch dog too

I'm calling a bitch dog Pugsly, because that's what you were

Fucking stupid dog; eats his own poop...

Pugsly 2.0: Looked rather like a Siamese cat with Downs Syndrome. She was in every aspect, the perfect companion. Oh it was fun torture it! Never do any lasting damage. Not like you would with a cat. A cat is a way of God saying “You may now have the animal equivalent to the bitchiest of bitches who happen to have Histrionic Personality Disorder along with a touch of autism thrown in the mix. It was that touch of autism that the cats found Pugsly fascinating. The weird and different yet comfortable and none threatening. It was nice to have a dog around where you can get your pent up kitty cat aggression out on. You could scratch the the fuck out of the bitch and she just pants, smiling “Gee George, that was awesome George.” Pant. Pant. Pant. “Gee George, why are you cutting my tits off George?”

Pugsly gained entry to the “Felines Respect, All Niggas Killed”. Or “FRANK.” Along with another outfit, a pussy biker gang that went by the name “The Mother's of Nature.” Or TMON. Not exactly a good acronym, but the guy who names these things was on a forced vacation, with pay, so an intern had to name it. Blame it on that guy. I bet he totally pets them pussies too. Make's them purr!!!

Both gangs rivaled each other. One a master of ninjabonics, another a master at bikering! Who will the victor be? And why am I talking to myself?

One will stand truer than the other in an epic eight season hit cable TV drama “Toms of Anarchy.” In which a biker gang smuggles something or other and other gangs are in it and the father becomes the leader of the gang but then his son becomes the leader and they all have sixteen litters of kittens. The calico is named “Fido” and the tabby is “Puff Puff.”

The father, Fred Astaire, another tabby, is the leader of this biker gang in the beginning. He formed the “Mothers of Nature” back when he was just a kid riding a Yamaha TW200 motorcycle. O what fun they had as a gang of misfits and Tom cats. A new pussy every night, along with parties where snorting of catnip is sniffed off of the teats of a female Russian Blue. Her name was fish, who was actually a male, and he/she remembers it as follows:

Fish: “I was high. So very high. I'm high right now. I'm so very high. I needs me some kitty kibble!” Fish then goes off camera and the sound of something crunching emanates from parts unseen. The the lens goes dark. A gun goes off. There is a scream.

When it comes back into focus we see that there is a dead Irish Setter laying on the ground below. Above, the ninja like Fish is laughing maniacally at his most recent kill.

“Don't do drugs kids!” Fish explains. “Let the drugs do you!”

Fish then goes on down the road of addiction. Kitty heroin is a scourge that must be stopped. You see, Pugsly 2.0 is actually a spy out to eradicate the kitty drug lords. Goddammit, why does every dog have to be a good guy? Huh? Why are cats looked down upon? Why? Oh God why?

Because they're pussies. Hey-yo! And nobody like dat pussy. It's a rancid and acrid pussy. So smelly and sticky it corrodes her flesh away. Pugsly dowses her with Methamphetamine, she comes back to her normal Fish like self. Still so furry where it counts. Meow!

Pugsly walks up to his bitch master and expects a treat for doing what dogs do best, wasting the space where a cat could be. Who orders these things anyways?

Pugsly looks up at his bitch master and pants. She smiles and her tongue falls out of her mouth. It hangs like a search light, spotting her hand and ravishing it with dirty puppy kisses. But the bitch is ignored by the Bitch Master.

“You should have been a cat.” The Bitch Master says sullenly as she strokes Fish's fur. He purrs in contentment and smiles upon his genetically inferior friend. You had to pity her really.

Pugsly is oblivious to what she said. Because she's a fucking dog! They're stupid mother fuckers. You get?

Ever hear of a dog cleaning up after they poop? A cat will at least bury it's excrement while a dog will... I shudder to say. A dog will eat it's own poop. Scientists say this was developed along the millions of years of evolution as a way of hiding their location from predators. Why if I were a pigeon hawk I'd snatch up old Pugsly and tear at it's insides and then regurgitate it into my young's mouth. Pugsly lay there dead with a smile that would be forever frozen in the pain of its existence.

That's a good dogey, dogey!

Pugsly recuperates then speaks to his Bitch Master.

“Bark.” He says all dignified. “Bark bark. Bark bark ruff bark ruff.”

The Bitch Master thinks this over for a minute or so. Then she turns that radish color bitches be getting when they all pissed off and such. She raises her big twenty four pound hand, ready to strike. Pugsly smiles dumbly “Gee George.” The hand that rocks the cradle also smacks the pug.

Fish sits atop her Bitch Master, pulling strings like a puppeteer. The Bitch Master goes here. Then there. As if held by some sort of master string. String theory. Now there's a wacky concept. Branes and strings and such. But back to the dogey. It was crushed under the weight of her massive fuck ugly hand. When she raised it to see the smashed dogey underneath, she was revolted to find that she had bounced back like an accordion. For this she gave her the Purple Heart. She pinned it to her flesh. Pugsly smiled stupidly and panted.

“Gee George. Stick it to me George!”

On their leather Jackets, the Mothers of Nature insignia is of a robin but with it's head cut off. It spurts out blood like a water gun. The head Cat, Drew, was a demanding and demeaning little ball of fluff. Where ever Fred Astaire, who only got to where he was because he was fucking one of the other higher ups in FRANK, Drew wouldn't be far behind, telling him he's doing it all wrong. He screams. His bitch master's china breaks. He is proud of his tantrum. Outwardly he looks like he has lost part of himself in the ensuing chaos. But inside he relishes it.

“I am far too handsome for this!” Says the eager young male intern.

The dogeys stop in their tracks.

Who was this Master Handsome? And why was he too himself to be put through this ordeal?

“The Bitch Master knows!” Fred Astaire tells Drew and the others. They all head back to the Bitch Master's secret lair. Which is underneath the apartment where I live. But pudgy little Pugsly smiles dumbly at their desertion. “Gee George.” She growled at an invisible woman. “Why'ja leave me George?” She bites at this imaginary Bitch Master and receives a fictitious bitch slapping. “My pimp'n hand is strong!” She likes to say, this invisible bitch master.

Immediately Pugsly wants a belly rub. So she rolls onto her back, belly and tits exposed. After about ten minutes of panting in the dry Colorado heat and dry humping an imaginary male pug, exerting her authority on him. Just like ever other bitch, she was a domineering little fuck pug. But after a close inspection of its inner merit we find an animal that literally is so stupid it thinks its tail is a foreign object. And for this we should care for the little fucktarded pug. For it definitely does not know how to take care of it's self!

Seriously, Pugsly could subsist only on her own poop for weeks at a time. What a fucking retarded animal dogs are. With cats you get cool biker gangs like The Mothers of Nature and FRANK. Vicious little bastards who need no approval from Bitch Master. Just her food and cuddles. Damn they were horrible rotten selfish little animals. And for this we give a cat scratched thumb up for our feline compatriots.

Pugsly runs into the Bitch Master's room and searches under the bed. She spots her chew bone right away and heads for it. She gets to it and pauses. She growls at the inanimate object as if it were a threat. Then she bites at it and accidentally bites her tongue. And for this she thinks the bone has bitten her back. She recoils in fear and scampers away on its fat little pug legs, whining all the way to the couch. There she rethinks her plans and decides to teach that bone who's the Bitch Master of them all!

She runs back into the room and does not stop in time, she butts her head on the bone. She shakes this off and then barks at his mortal enemy. It does not bark back. Because it's a fucking cow's bone.

She wraps her dogey mouth around one end of the cow bone and drags it out and into the Bitch Master's sleeping thingy. A room? She probably heard one of them say that to her a few times. But she lacks the consciousness to either notice nor compute this vernacular into the right neural pathways. Making her pretty much useless for anything but being fed, loved, and walked. The Bitch Master liked walking her. But the Master with the human penis. She'd seen it, but again, she lacked the processing power to notice. His scent always meant that he wanted to fight her. And when he came around she would put her paws forward and bow before him. When he still made that mean scent she went to plan B, She rolled over, exposing her belly and baby feeders. For a dog this is the equivalent of about the most trust you can get from a dogey.

He would say “That's right! You bow before the William Shatner of evolutionary psychologists you bitch!” The he'd pretend to kick her in the face, stopping only inches away. She winces and yelps in terror and the Penis Master is satisfied. He kneels down and pets Pugsly around the ear. “That's a good dogey!” And he starts rubbing her belly, which she likes just fine.

In all truth he really pitied the poor thing. How would she survive if he left her stranded in the mountains of Estes Park Colorado? Can you imagine any which predatory animal snacking on Pugsly's guts? A cat at least has a chance if it's not de-clawed. All a small dog could do is run up to it and for God knows why she runs up to a coyote expecting it to be friendly like the other dogs in the park. Penis Master hated bringing her there. He wished those stupid dogs would just stop being so stupid.

But Pugsly, does he love her? Maybe. It's getting there. It's really all he can have since the Bitch Master is allergic to cats. But she loves them anyway. She will suffer the consequences to love and cuddle them adorable kitty cats. But she genuinely loves Pugsly, so he can't do shit to it anymore.

A pastime of Penis Master was to thunk Pugsly on the nose and tell it how horrible it was. It would whine and grunt and when it barked he smacked her across the head. She started biting at him so he choked her until she passed out. He had actually thought he killed her and threw her out into the back yard. But to his surprise the fucking thing just woke up and ran back to him, panting and bowing before him. That's when he would kick it in the face.

The cats watched in amusement at the abuse in which Pugsly suffered. To them it was like the Roman games where the man would slay the beast. But not right away. You had to make it suffer to gain audience approval. After all, you had to put on a show. If you did poorly and slayed the beast yet the emperor wasn't satisfied, the man would be killed in another battle to the death. Or something like that. Point being that this was awesome for the cats to watch. They all purred with delight.

Then it turned out that the Bitch Master doesn't like him treating Pugsly like a football. No matter how puntable he may be. Saddened, Penis Master still weld immense power over the little dogey. He would throw his fist at it's face and stop inches from it. He would also pretend to hug it but in fact really be choking it. And for what ever the reason may be, Pugsly still tries to wag her curly tail and pants with happiness at the sight of him. If he would have treated a cat like that it would have avoided him. Intelligence, knowing when to get the fuck out. As was the case with Puff Puff and Fido. They were being abused by a big old bully named Gary. He was a womanizer and he hated cats for the same reason the Penis Master hates dogs. He saw them as awful illiterate little creatures with little value. He would hiss at Fido then try to make it cuddle with him. What a bastard, Penis Master thought, unaware of the underlying meaning of it all.

That David finally was rid of him soon after. Gary being the pervert he was wanted to go out and sample the local offering of pussy and pussy related activities. Little piglets like their pig porn too. He worked at a porn store until he was fired for showing up drunk and arguing with the manager. As to where his last whereabouts were, who knows. The broken hearted College Master figures he sold his phone for crack.

Most likely.

“Gee George.” Pugsly looks up at Penis Master sitting in his Lay-Z-Boy, smiling like a dumbass. “Why are you sad George?” He picks her up but drops her because she weighs nearly twenty five pounds. He hurts his hand. He screams incoherently at the wincing dogey. Then he kicks it in it's ribs and sends it clear across the wood floor. She stands up, shakes herself off, and sits there panting like an idiot. “Gee George.” She smiles. “I love the way you hurt me, George.”

Rufio Wallace and the Spoiler

 Rufio Wallace and the Spoiler

By: David McGhee

She looked up at her master and begged with all her cute little pugness for a treat. The man in front of her, her master, was a mean person sometimes. Sometimes he kicked her or pinched her skin with a needle. Just to hear her whine it seemed. It made him happy. But she loved him regardless. He was a human and humans smelled like good things to be affectionate with. The pay off was great (These things make nummy nummy appear in your food bowl twice a day!) and all you had to do was taste their face from time to time. Although she knew it wise to wince when a hand comes near her face.

The master smiles. She knows what a smile means. Either he's going to be a good master and let her have some of the ham he's eating. Oh holy cock of Christ that would be awesome!

Or...

He's going to be a mean master and choke her until her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Although either way meant that the man would touch her. Her skin tingled every time it wasn't searing in pain from his thumb pressed down too hard on one of her nipples. Petting a dog or a cat is always an attractive offer for Pugsly and or Fido and Puff Puff, their kitty kitty cat cats, because both animals have horrible blood circulation throughout their skin. So by rubbing their skin and fur it actually helps promote blood flow.

He always was a good master when he was with her bitch master, Shelly. He would pet her and hug her (which most dogs hate because hugging is a sign of dominance that a dog just isn't willing to share, but Pugsly, named so because he is in fact a pug, loved the shit out of. No kidding, one time the little turd bomber shat herself while Shelly was rubbing her stomach. It just felt so good that shitting was the only way to heighten the experience. It was totally lost on Pugsly that such ghastly pleasures she partook in dumbly, were so vomit inducing to human beings. Most people don't eat their own shit.) and talk to her in pleasant tones. She liked the pleasant tones. When they were more shrill that just meant pain was coming. Master Wallace comes to her and reaches out his hand and makes like he is about to smack her across her cute pug face. Pugsly winces and draws back at the approaching human appendage.

Rufio laughs. “You're such a good dogey dogey!”

That was it. Her mouth dropped open, tongue descended, and she started panting with happiness. She ran up to the hand and was taken back back the sudden smack on the nose, which is a punishment for any dogey dogey. But as for what she had been punished for... Probably not even Rufio knew. He just liked to see her scared. Pugsly whined and retreated back into the comfort of being under the coffee table in the living room. Rufio whistled and said “Here dogey dogey!” And fool me once, shame on you. Fool me three hundred thousand and seventy three times... Whatever. Pugsly stupidly smiled and ran back to meet yet another whack on the nose. She whined but before she could run away again Rufio picked her up.

“I love my kitty cats with all my heart.” He told Pugsly sweetly, who was now happy again because he was projecting his voice pleasantly. As far as she was concerned he could be calling her the worst dogey in the whole wide world, but when he said it with a sweet saccharine laced melody she was putty in his hands.

It's no different than French waiters making fun of you while you order in their stuffy restaurants, Rufio thought. He held the dumb pug in his arms and walked with him into the kitchen and then into the basement. Once down the steps he let Pugsly touch the ground. As always her fat pug stomach was the first thing to touch the concrete. It felt cold. She frantically steadied herself with a flurry of feet underneath her. He always carried her down the steps because she was too pudgy and too short in the legs to make the steps without rolling down the stairs. In which doing so would upset the bitch master, Sherry. She'd done it a few times before and just shrugged it off with her stupid animalness, but just to be sure he didn't have to pay some fuck nut vet to fix a broken bone he had been carrying her down since then. The thought made Rufio snarl at his wife's dogey. Pugsly in turn took the snarl as playing and she barked back. Rufio knelt down next to her and snapped his teeth. Stupid little Pugsly snapped back and barked once more.

Rufio laughed and put his right index finger in her mouth. She playfully held onto it with her teeth and tried to take it away from Rufio. He laughed again and took his finger back. Then he led the dog across the dark trash strewn basement. It was a mess due to the remodeling. It was in a state of half construction. Soon it would be his man nerd cave. A most awesome expectation!

He found the hanging wire for the light bulb and yanked it, spreading a warm phosphorous glow around the shadowy room. It was supposed to become a recording studio but with all the work Rufio had had in the past few years he just couldn't break away to finish it. Pugsly knew the twists and turns of the loose wood work by heart. As much as Rufio liked to torture the poor thing in small ways he would never allow a person to actually lay a hand on her. In some ways he had grown to love the stupid little thing. The beast that was all instinct and dumb dogey smiles.

If it would just stop eating it's own poop we'd be in business, he thought.

There was a secret door in the wall on the right side of the room. It blended in perfectly with the surrounding Stucco. It was here that Rufio had grown fond of bringing little Pugsly. She smelled the sweet aroma whiff through her nostrils. It was the tangy sweet aroma of burned flesh. So tasty. Humans always had (and made) the best food stuffs. She ran first before Rufio could even bring himself to step into the door frame. Her stomach was dangerously low to the ground. Rufio was disgusted by her obesity. Pugs can be such fat ass dogs. She ran down the small seven by seven hallway, made of brick this time, that led to a metal door with a key card reader on the side of it. Rufio walked up the hall to where Pugsly was waiting impatiently for him to open the door.

Rufio laughed and scratched her ear. She started kicking in response.

“Dogey dogey!”

He ran the card. The door's pressurized valves on its sides turned and the door opened with a hiss of decompression. Pugsly ran right in and right at the foot of a man who now only had three toes and immediately attached her mouth to his half burnt foot meat.

He was a tall stout young man of twenty six. He wore glasses like Rufio, but his were decidedly more pretentious. Whereas Rufio's glasses said “Man with a plan,” this man's said “Durh! I'ma hipster!” 2000 called, Rivers Cuomo wants his style back! Who had incidently been asked by Elvis Costello for his look back. But no one was a bigger dick about it than Buddy Holly. He acted all like he made it cool. Well... He did. But still. What a fucktard!

This man with the ironic mustache had been the biggest thing to hit the Colorado blog scene in years, if not ever. He had won a “Best of Denver” award for his online blog in the best of issue of the Westword during the last go around, and he was in talks with Spin about a possible profiling on Johnny Depp.

The problematic aspect however was that this man and his popular online blog spoiled movies and TV shows months in advance. It was in fact him who leaked that Ben Affleck may be the new Batman. And lo and behold! Fucker thinks he's Parez Hilton or some shit. Some think that he uses his trust fund set up by his parents to bribe studio people into yabbing or perhaps uses other means to secure scripts (Rufio wouldn't put it past him to suck cock) of shows and movies way before the general public has a chance to see it. That coupled with his harsh critique and reaching influence make him a bad person in the eyes of the men who had put Rufio up to this. But he didn't mind doing it. They even paid him a little extra to make his death as slow as possible. Which he planned to do with gusto. Because torturing people is fun and exciting for the whole family!

If only Shelly was a homicidal maniac. That would be so hot!

Rufio was a man who loved his work more than he loved caramel on cinnamon sugar toast.

And he was a man who loved his caramel on cinnamon sugar toast.

Rufio took out a Werther's hard caramel from his pocket. He always kept a few on him. And plopped one into his mouth. He then offered it to the naked mane tied up in front of him. The blond man was no more than a kid in Rufio's eyes. He smiled and offered it to him again.

“May not get a chance to eat before tomorrow when I come back down here.” Rufio said as he put the caramel on the table before him. The man's feet hurt the worst. Rufio had set a blow torch to two of his toes the night before (and just plain cut another one off for shit eater to gnaw on). Burnt them up nice and good. Little old Pugsly ate at them despite the man's insistent resistance. For such a small dog it was mighty vicious. This, May very well be why Rufio has allowed the dog to live so long. It was trying to wag it's little snub of a curly tail but just wound up jiggling its butt.

Rufio took a pair of pliers from his box of bloody carpenters tools.

“You should really sterilize that man.” The blond naked movie spoiling little cunt said with a quiver.

Rufio held up the pliers to eye level, letting it shine dully in the dim light. His lips crept into a smile. He bent down and took a bit of the man's blond pubic hair between the pliers' tips and tightened his grip. Then he yanked it out, leaving the underneath part of the skin where the dermis and hair used to be. The man screamed. His voice already horse from yelling for help despite being in a sound proofed room. Rufio held the bit of hair at the man's eyesight and laughed.

Pugsly chewed selfishly at the man's remaining toes, which were blackened to the muscle by the previous day's blow torch fun. Pugsly bit off flesh in thick strips. They tasted like a mix between bacon and and beef. Pugsly was totally digging the charbroiled taste as well. Dogs loved their carbon just as much as the next man. Rufio patted her on the head. She dropped the piece of toe meat from her drooling mouth and looked up smiling at Rufio, panting with excitement. Then it was back to business. Pugsly ignored the piece of toe meat before her and ran for some of the still bloody bits of foot that were stuck to the man's foot bones. It was cute how she playfully growled while biting the flesh off a screaming hipster. If only he could make that into a meme.

Rufio pulled another bit of pubic hair from the man's nether region. He cried out for it to stop but Rufio was just getting started.

“Please sir.” The man begged. “I promise never to blog about anything ever again!”

Rufio liked this. “Unless you have fifty thousand dollars I am afraid that I'm going to have to cut off your penis.” He raised a pair of cutting shears to the man's eye level. The man screamed.

“Please sir! I don't have that kind of money! Can't you just say you got rid of me and we'll never speak of me again? I'll move back to Florida and legally change my name!”

Rufio warm heartedly pulled out another patch of pubic hair from the roots of the man's top padding above his penis. He writhed in pain and kept trying to kick at Pugsly, who was seeing the moving foot as a toy that she could also eat, and was always brought back down a peg with his toe stumps actually hit the dog. They left bloody marks on the dog's black and white face, which she loved to lick from the sides of her lips. It encouraged her to bite at the tasty thing even more. She had no idea how much pain and torment she was causing this poor young man. As far as she was concerned he was a tasty friend.

It was times like this Rufio wondered why he had such a hatred for the stupid thing. In all prospects, they were the perfect pet. As long as you petted them, walked them, and fed them, you could get away with all sorts of horrible shit and they will just love you all the more for it. For those with no self esteem they probably are man's best friend.

Rufio picked up a piece of chewed burnt toe and wiggled it in front of Pugsly's nose. She panted happily and followed the toe as he went from left to right to left again. She licked her chops and barked.

“That's a good dogey!” And Rufio threw it across the room. Pugsly ran after it with great effort; she was a fat thing. If she'd been running on the hardwood upstairs you could hear her coming from the kitchen to the living room from the second floor. She grabbed the human appendage and made a high pitched and very un-scary growl as it tore into it. She bit it and rocked her head from left to right and back and continued that awful high pitched growl.

It pissed Rufio off. So he kicked the dog with only a medium of effort. Just enough to knock the wind out of it. It must have swallowed the toe whole because she started hacking like she was going to throw up. Rufio smacked her across the face and she took a step backward but still hacked. Rufio advanced on her and she turned around but whatever was caught in her throat was at the moment a touch more important than what ever punishment the master can dish out to her. She coughed and hacked and felt her head flood up with blood. It made a tremendous pressure on her face and she felt as if her cheeks were going to explode. The worst pain of it all was that now her head pulsed with her heart. She saw the world grow white and heard the distant bark of her great grand bitch “Toogles”. She was licking her privates and telling Pugsly to come towards the dimming light. Pugsly, being the stupid thing it was, mistook this advance and happily shat herself.

As the world drew away she barked and ran towards the light, which was drawing further and further away. How would she ever reach her great grand bitch now? She stopped for an anus cleaning then started running, but the light sped away faster and faster and then she was aware of nothing.

Perfect nothingness. Much better than being smacked on the nose.

Then there was a pressure on her chest and she coughed the bloody burnt chew toe onto the concrete floor. She felt her face flood with blood again and the whiteness turned back into the familiar black and white the world always was. She looked up at her master. He was saying something in those nice tones again. She felt herself grow fuzzy with that sort of stupid I don't care what the hell you are but I love you more than I love fried chicken feeling. He smiled and she smiled.

“Blah blah blah blah” She heard him say sweetly. Then she felt him pinch her ear. It hurt so bad. Oh why would master do this to her? Ouch! He just kicked her again. She wondered why she never did get the chance to meet up with Toogles. That would have been bitchin!

He said something and ran his hand all the way down onto her face, where it softly landed and spread around her head in a blood flow inducing petting. She loved it when master petted her. He did it hard like he really loved her.

All was forgiven. Now for some more tasty hipster man foot.