Seriously guys! How is this mad man not in jail? By God, an old woman with alzheimers came to the house today, thinking it was her Grandson's house. She had spotty grey hair peppered like a mornings frost, and she carried a big old purse with personal items from the 1950's. There was this antique mirror with a crested cross on the back that was inscribed, “Everyone is Beautiful in God's Eyes”.
She knocked on our door, while I was eating burnt bacon that the Tart had tossed in a blind rage when the oil “jumped out” and “bit him”. It was comical until he grasped the iron skillet and threw the burning oil in my general direction. The flying spuds of globular oil flew from the pan like slow moving bullets and burn holes into my fur.
When I screamed, I think I woke up the tranny in the closet, because there was a loud bang and thud, as if he'd woken up in surprise.
The bacon I ate tasted gross because it had parts of my skin attached to it. It was one of the pieces that melted into my skin before falling off.
Anyways, this old woman is knocking on the door while calling out, “Sonny, Sonny! I called you twenty minutes ago, and you told me to come right on over. Now you've locked your dear old grandmother out of your house.”
After an hour of pleading to be let in, Chivalrous Tart opened the door. He was wearing a wife beater with grease stains that covered his entire front. It was like one giant sweat.
The woman was as elderly as they came. If God was merciful, he would have taken her before the Alzheimer's took her mind. She wore a faded pink dress that fell beneath her feet, and the bottoms were ragged because her feet grinded them against the ground no matter where she walked. Her hair puffed up like a white dandilon. It circled her head like barbed wire.
“You ain't Sonny,” she said. She squinted at him, and then her eyes popped open with a shot of empiphany. “You must be Sonny's life partner! I never hated you homosexs, and when Sonny told me his preference, it sure gave me the willys. But I guess Boys will be Boys...”
“ESPECIALLY IN BED!” Sonny yelled as he struck her in the head with a piece of feces. It mattered itself in the poor woman's hair, oozing through her thin blonde hair and onto her forehead. It looked like she suffered from head trauma, except she bled poop.
The woman put her terrfied hands up to her mouth, clenching her lips like they were stress relievers and let out a piercing scream that made the trapped hemaprodite squeak through the closet.
“I always knew you homosexs were deprived of dignity, but this...this is most horrendous.” The woman looked like she was trying to run away from her own forehead, trying to escape a surely putrid smell.
Chivalrous Tart turned his back away and walked away to get one of his more deadlier weapons. He kept a wall of rusty chain saws near the front entrance. Most of the weapons had dried blood on it. While you may think it was human blood, I can attest to the fact he only uses it to hunt the surrounding neighbor's dogs and cats. I'm not sure if that pacfies your mind or not. As a dog, I find it disturbing.
“Run you crazy bitch, run,” I shouted hoarsley, like I said, using my voice felt like stretching an old rubber band to it's limit, you never know when it's going to snap. The Tart walked past me, looked at me dissmissively before punting me into the living room. I flew several feet above the ground before landing in the stone fire place, next to some burnt mice skeletons.
The woman either didn't hear me or her focus was still on The Tart's feces which was now dripping into her grey irises. I saw her pupil dilate like whenever the Tart sticks himself with needles, but hers was purely from a shot of fear than anything else.
Tart grabbed the closest chain saw and revved it up. It buckled to life stubbornly, and it sounded like a kid who was too lazy to get out of bed. I screamed in my head and willed my legs up. I think several of my legs were broken because my stomach was distended and swollen.
As The Tart approached on the old woman, he raised the chain saw above his head like a baseball bat. The woman looked at him a daze, and she would have been cut down, if I didn't sink my human teeth into the Tart's Calves. If I still had my canines, I could've torn them out, but my teeth could only bluntly press down.
The chain saw flew askewed, and instead of cutting the poor woman in half, it sawed off the top of her hair. White fuzz scattered from the chain saw's blades, and it fell to the ground like thin flakes of snow.
The woman's fog faded for a second, and she realized her danger. She screamed and ran down the road, barefoot. I reckoned the woman forgot the entire incident a few minutes after she left, because the police never showed up. Her Oldsmobile was hauled away a few days later by the tolling company.
Chivalrous scolded me for my poor behavior, and said I had lost my teeth prilvages. He proceeded to pull out all of my teeth with pliers. Good thing for me, I managed to get into the Tart's copious supply of Oxy, so the pain isn't too bad. I apologize for my poor grammar. I am too high too care though. Have a good day, and someone should probably alert the police about this abuse. You don't have to, I guess, if you don't want to.
Love,
Fido the Talking Dog
