Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Angry doodles and hairy asses. So, how was your Monday.

Imagine my thrill at being handed a small, paper number one (#01) by the medical receptionist, only to walk around the corner all smug to find they were on number fucking four.

I quickly learned there are perks to uncontrollable coughing fits because no one wants to sit anywhere near you – which was fine – because I was in a sea of unattractive strangers wearing hospital gowns. Plural. With the exception of the man wearing a hospital gown. Singular. Thank you for that. The image of your fat, hairy, zit-covered ass ass is now burned into my retinas for eternity.

So that was my Monday spent "in the system". I then drove the boys to Cole Harbour for hockey, and finally stopped to let the dogs take a crap in the park, only to have some big, stupid, uncontrollable Doodle named Ellie, take down my 10-pound Dottie – not once, but twice. There I was, chasing after my dog – coughing, peeing, coughing – thinking I wish I owned a gun so I could plaster Ellie all over the ball diamond, and thinking last year at this time I was on my way to Cuba for a week of tennis, sun, salad, and hopefully traveller's diarrhea – and how life can turn on a dime.

One day you are a standard poodle – already one of God's most despicable creatures – and the next thing you know you are being violated by an inbred golden retriever. Your offspring will then go on to suburban neighbourhoods across North America where, for $800 bucks, they will live in a crate until the dog walker comes and releases them for $25 bucks an hour, so they can attack or dry hump anything within a 2km radius.

I finally arrived home last night, rinsed the blood off of my dog's paw, then called for backup. I had no sooner hung up the phone when my neighbour arrived like a beloved St. Bernard in the snowy alps, carrying a handle of amber rum and a box of Neo Citran packets. It was like an assisted suicide. Just what the doctor ordered.

What the doctor really should have ordered was a ticket out of here. Maritime Travel have a deal to Mexico ($758 plus tax) where I could likely pick up a gun, so I could come home with a tan and blow Eliie's inbred brains out. The flight leaves Sunday, December 13th for the 4.5 star Occidental Grand Xcaret in the Mayan Riviera. If you haven't been to the Mayan Riviera, trust me, they have margarita machines and what else do you really need to know.

Nothing like a trip to the hospital though, as a reminder that things could always be worse. I could have been dry humped all night by the man with the hairy ass.

Or worse. I could have woken up to find my golden retriever and my poodle had puppies.


PS. Just for the record it was NOT Cindy Wheeler's dog Ellie that needs a kick in the hairy ass.
Check out the Hot Deals button at www.maritimetravel.ca.
Kim Cole & Lynn MacKinnon of Bark Busters will come to your home and train that fucking Doodle. www.barkbusters.ca