Love No Preposition
Do not, I repeat, do not tell Mark's girlfriend up there in the hills above Santa Cruz that I am torturing animals here in New Orleans. She never understood the necessity of my BB gun campaign against wild dogs so let's just assume that she would also totally not dig me torturing chained up animals.
I left my (Mark's) BB gun and my shotgun in Virginia because especially in regards to that shotgun loaded with hollow point slugs I was mentally exhausted from the mindset that would for any reason permit me to use it against another human being. I'm not saying I can't still see the reason why such a thing would be necessary but I just don't want to keep seeing that. I don't want to live with that freak that sets himself up in a vulnerable position and then says to the world of harm-givers--come fuck with me. This is a great place, New Orleans is, to live out that Charles Bronson fantasy but I'm thinking now that if there is a local bullet or two meant for me that I would rather be fantasizing about peace and love when it comes. In which case I only have to drop a preposition, and hope for the best.
Shortly before I left Virginia I was in an antique store outside of Sperryville with Mr. BC's wife and we split up and looked at the tons and tons of stuff we would never buy before rejoining for imminent departure and I was fingering the brown wooden handle of this really beautiful ten dollar machete and Mr. BC's wife suggested I was getting into my New Orleans mood and I said oh no, I have left that behind, and I'm not bringing it back with me when I return here in the spring. That's what I say anyway.
Sometimes he just won't shut up, and I know it's only a cat or a distant barking dog that sets him off, Killer that is. Watchdog hipped up long ago, good Watchdog. If I clank a pot in the kitchen it can set Killer off. I live here dammit, Killer. I live here. This is my home. I am a human being. Please shut up. And then I start yelling at him because he is so relentless in his barking. Twenty, thirty minutes straight he can go on. I have no doubt that some people have better success at pretending they are above evil thoughts but I gave up on that for good after that string of hallucinations I had when I was quitting my twenty-year cigarette habit a few years ago.
I'll put some downers in a piece of meat, here puppy.
No, I'll shoot him dead, dammit, why did I leave that gun behind.
I have to do something. Ignoring a problem is like the cigarette smoldering behind the cushions of your couch. So I go out the back door, which really sets him off, and then I hose the bitch down, using my thumb to make the water shoot farther. Killer shuts up. Success. Charges the fence, barking. Failure. I hose the bitch down again, wishing I could find that jet stream nozzle. Killer retreats, stops barking. Success. This process has to be repeated a few more times before I am convinced that, one: it was a good idea, or, two: I am enjoying it too much. Either way, Killer quit all his barking that night.
Last night, taking a break from the hopefulness of my new reading campaign, I am in the bathroom, dancing (like you don't do anything weird?), and Killer starts up. I go to my desk and slide the Winamp bar to 100 percent and then go back to the bathroom and dance through the entire greatest hits of Sly and the Family Stone, imagining just briefly that Killer is my date. I'm not going to get any more weird than that, today.
I don't know that I would call that torturing, but I'll not mention it anyway. The DVM's are a tough gang, and I would want to see anyone get hurt.
I know its none of my business, but I think you should put Killer on the back burner, and go ask out that auto shop girl. Forget the driveway-parking, can-I-use-your-telephone fantasy, why not jump right in at the burgers and milkshakes down at the soda shoppe stage? Vita brevis. carpe diem. (or whatever - I forget latin)
As I munch on my organic braised tofu steak I feel the need to make an observation or two... I think it is safe to say that Killer would rather be somewhere else doing someting else. He has been rather limited in his choices. Ahh for the world where Killer could join you dancing in the bathroom or perhapse recline on a deep feather pillow composing his latest poem:
In the yard I stand
All day I circle rain falls
I bark I bark woof
Chain pulls me downward
No comfort from inside now
I pull I bark woof
To dance free inside
No chain about my big neck
We bark we bark woof
But the reality is the non-stop mind numbing barking. The water "correction" may actually be effective as long the owners have left their BB behind...
this dog and bb-gun business is really making me sad. where's your inner buddhist? hey, jim, shoot me your email address (ooh, bad choice of phrase). I've got some stuff I want you to read. I'm thejacksons at yahoo.com.
On one of the tropical isles, I think it's Tahiti, they give you piles of rocks to take down to the beach, to throw at the wild dogs. What are you supposed to do, let'em tear your arms off? Jeez.
the original premis was that Jim was using a bb gun to keep the stray dogs from having his cats and kittens for lunch. that seems ok right? Besides we have all taken a bb hit to the person durring back yard bb gun wars. So we know first hand the degree of impact of this mode of deterrence. slight.
The feral dogs of NOLA are quite a sight for someone used to dealing with domesticated pets. These aren't strays. They're wild carnivores that run in packs.. If I was a cat in that neighborhood, I'd carry a sidearm.
Thanks d, I was fishing for your absolution, thanks Sally, good advice, I'll check with her husband, hey julie--email on the way, and thanks for the bb gun support guys--as I said I don't have the guns anymore--and to those who are still offended by the idea of bb guns aimed at animals, good for you.
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Do not, I repeat, do not tell Mark's girlfriend up there in the hills above Santa Cruz that I am torturing animals here in New Orleans. She never understood the necessity of my BB gun campaign against wild dogs so let's just assume that she would also totally not dig me torturing chained up animals.
I left my (Mark's) BB gun and my shotgun in Virginia because especially in regards to that shotgun loaded with hollow point slugs I was mentally exhausted from the mindset that would for any reason permit me to use it against another human being. I'm not saying I can't still see the reason why such a thing would be necessary but I just don't want to keep seeing that. I don't want to live with that freak that sets himself up in a vulnerable position and then says to the world of harm-givers--come fuck with me. This is a great place, New Orleans is, to live out that Charles Bronson fantasy but I'm thinking now that if there is a local bullet or two meant for me that I would rather be fantasizing about peace and love when it comes. In which case I only have to drop a preposition, and hope for the best.
Shortly before I left Virginia I was in an antique store outside of Sperryville with Mr. BC's wife and we split up and looked at the tons and tons of stuff we would never buy before rejoining for imminent departure and I was fingering the brown wooden handle of this really beautiful ten dollar machete and Mr. BC's wife suggested I was getting into my New Orleans mood and I said oh no, I have left that behind, and I'm not bringing it back with me when I return here in the spring. That's what I say anyway.
Sometimes he just won't shut up, and I know it's only a cat or a distant barking dog that sets him off, Killer that is. Watchdog hipped up long ago, good Watchdog. If I clank a pot in the kitchen it can set Killer off. I live here dammit, Killer. I live here. This is my home. I am a human being. Please shut up. And then I start yelling at him because he is so relentless in his barking. Twenty, thirty minutes straight he can go on. I have no doubt that some people have better success at pretending they are above evil thoughts but I gave up on that for good after that string of hallucinations I had when I was quitting my twenty-year cigarette habit a few years ago.
I'll put some downers in a piece of meat, here puppy.
No, I'll shoot him dead, dammit, why did I leave that gun behind.
I have to do something. Ignoring a problem is like the cigarette smoldering behind the cushions of your couch. So I go out the back door, which really sets him off, and then I hose the bitch down, using my thumb to make the water shoot farther. Killer shuts up. Success. Charges the fence, barking. Failure. I hose the bitch down again, wishing I could find that jet stream nozzle. Killer retreats, stops barking. Success. This process has to be repeated a few more times before I am convinced that, one: it was a good idea, or, two: I am enjoying it too much. Either way, Killer quit all his barking that night.
Last night, taking a break from the hopefulness of my new reading campaign, I am in the bathroom, dancing (like you don't do anything weird?), and Killer starts up. I go to my desk and slide the Winamp bar to 100 percent and then go back to the bathroom and dance through the entire greatest hits of Sly and the Family Stone, imagining just briefly that Killer is my date. I'm not going to get any more weird than that, today.
- jimlouis 1-13-2004 7:40 pm
I don't know that I would call that torturing, but I'll not mention it anyway. The DVM's are a tough gang, and I would want to see anyone get hurt.
- mark 1-14-2004 2:49 am [add a comment]
I know its none of my business, but I think you should put Killer on the back burner, and go ask out that auto shop girl. Forget the driveway-parking, can-I-use-your-telephone fantasy, why not jump right in at the burgers and milkshakes down at the soda shoppe stage? Vita brevis. carpe diem. (or whatever - I forget latin)
- sally mckay 1-14-2004 8:14 am [add a comment]
As I munch on my organic braised tofu steak I feel the need to make an observation or two... I think it is safe to say that Killer would rather be somewhere else doing someting else. He has been rather limited in his choices. Ahh for the world where Killer could join you dancing in the bathroom or perhapse recline on a deep feather pillow composing his latest poem:
In the yard I stand
All day I circle rain falls
I bark I bark woof
Chain pulls me downward
No comfort from inside now
I pull I bark woof
To dance free inside
No chain about my big neck
We bark we bark woof
But the reality is the non-stop mind numbing barking. The water "correction" may actually be effective as long the owners have left their BB behind...
- d 1-14-2004 11:20 am [add a comment]
this dog and bb-gun business is really making me sad. where's your inner buddhist? hey, jim, shoot me your email address (ooh, bad choice of phrase). I've got some stuff I want you to read. I'm thejacksons at yahoo.com.
- julie jackson 1-14-2004 9:05 pm [add a comment]
On one of the tropical isles, I think it's Tahiti, they give you piles of rocks to take down to the beach, to throw at the wild dogs. What are you supposed to do, let'em tear your arms off? Jeez.
- tom moody 1-14-2004 10:16 pm [add a comment]
the original premis was that Jim was using a bb gun to keep the stray dogs from having his cats and kittens for lunch. that seems ok right? Besides we have all taken a bb hit to the person durring back yard bb gun wars. So we know first hand the degree of impact of this mode of deterrence. slight.
- bill 1-14-2004 10:35 pm [add a comment]
The feral dogs of NOLA are quite a sight for someone used to dealing with domesticated pets. These aren't strays. They're wild carnivores that run in packs.. If I was a cat in that neighborhood, I'd carry a sidearm.
- mark 1-14-2004 11:18 pm [1 comment]
Thanks d, I was fishing for your absolution, thanks Sally, good advice, I'll check with her husband, hey julie--email on the way, and thanks for the bb gun support guys--as I said I don't have the guns anymore--and to those who are still offended by the idea of bb guns aimed at animals, good for you.
- jimlouis 1-15-2004 6:19 pm [add a comment]