Troll’s Hole

The Mopdog is a ‘tard.*

She is cute as hell, but cute ain’t nothin’ to me.

(In my best Yosemite Sam voice) “I hates cute.”

And she really is a ‘tard. We looked up her species on the internet thingy and her whole breed is known for its lack of intelligence, like a West Virginian backwoods family with too few branches on the family tree. (“Hey Ma! Me and Cindy wants to marries just like you and yer brudder did!)

She woke us all up the other morning barking at a hat.

Yes, a hat.

She wants desperately to fight the Doberman next door. She has heart, she just does not have a lot of brains.

*I happen to love calling her a ‘tard dog. It gets the Mrs. mad at me and harms the dog not a whit. That’s one of the things I love about dogs. You can call them anything in a high pitched, sing-songy kinda voice and they love it and wriggle their rumps at you. I love telling Fexophenidine, “I am going to eat your soul. Yes I am. I am gonna eat it, puke it back up, and eat it again.” While she wriggles her ass and fidgets like a fat kid that has to take a piss. Fexo is a ‘tard too, but there is no point in me calling her a ‘tard because she is so much a ‘tard that she thinks being a ‘tard is a good thing. For her it is.

We were in the airport in Connecticut when the Mrs. stopped the man who had been sitting behind her and said, “Are you really Mike Ditka?”

He assured her that he is while she just stared up at him. She sat down again with her mouth open and her eyes big as saucers. She was star struck. She had just seen a football god. She got to ride on the same airplane as him.

I was very proud of her in the fact that she did not grovel or ask for an autograph.

She has a very special memory from her trip now.

Yes. I am in Connecticut visiting one of the ungrateful bastards and seeing the sights.

I am somewhat proud of the ungrateful bastard that got into the Coast Guard Academy. (I am somewhat proud of all of the ungrateful bastards, but I would never admit that out loud. Never.) I crammed my fat ass into a large powered aluminum tube with wings and endured a thousand years of putting up with other people in a confined space. Such is my dedication to the cause. I would not travel 3000 miles for just anyone.

The flight was full and I was in a middle seat. I am not good with this kind of confinement, but maintained an appearance of good manners. At one point I had to go to the tiny restroom just to get some space. It is not the confinement that gets to me; it is being confined with people. I know what an object or a device is capable of, but I never know what people can do.

Our Motel is a fine example of retro decay. Being just run down is one thing, but having holes in the wall because of out of control behavior and a door that has obviously been smashed in does not make me feel safe and comfortable. The wallpaper is peeling, the drains don’t work properly, and the TV does not work with the remote at all. I feel like I have checked in to some third world country and this is the best hotel in town.

This place is quiet though. We might be the only people here. Perhaps this is the residence of a serial killer that targets fat out-of-towners and sells their skin to wealthy degenerates in other countries to cover their overstuffed furniture. Maybe I am destined to become a cover for a throw pillow in some unpronounceable country in Africa.

Nope. I think it is MUCH more likely that I am in a place that is not very busy because it is a bit run down and not in a very active area. That is why it is affordable.

At least my imagination is working again. I need to get away more and get the brain and other organs functioning properly. Last night I had a dream in which I had Jennifer Lopez naked and in varying erotic positions. I did not pop a stiffy in my dream or in my sleep. That is pitiful. Maybe I need a little blue pill or some attachment for the vacuum cleaner. Tell all your friends; getting old sucks.

Sigh.

How does one go about asking hotel management for a vacuum cleaner?

It’s a bit chilly in Sanctuary this morning. Fall is in the air and I am in a good mood.

Wait….. did I just say, “In a good mood?” I know it’s chilly, but should I feel the floor to see if Hell has frozen over? (I did and it did not.)

What in all creation could possibly get me in a good mood?

A good nights sleep, a chilly fall morning, and the fact that I will escape the Asylum soon. This is like a whole new life for me.

On a down note, tomorrow I have to go back to the Asylum to deal with an EMERGENCY that should have been obvious weeks ago. This is an emergency on their part, not mine.

Thursday I took all my tools and materials from Asylum. I told them that I will come back when they are actually done. This of course means that something had to come up to drag me back for their usage. I knew this would happen; it was just a matter of what excuse they would use to get me back and for how long.

I guess this means that I have finally figured them out. I don’t see this as a good thing. I shall fight to not become like them.

Now that I am not under the stress of being in the Asylum I am hoping the muse shall hit me with her musestick and I can get back to something a bit more creative than bitching about Santa Fe.