Wednesday, April 26, 2006


THUG
Give me a gangstress, a bitch that don't take no shit. I need a gangsta bitch, a bitch that's armed and dangerous
- Yukmouth
I felt I needed to sure up security at the Bunker this week. Two pitbulls is a good start, but if you were to meet MY pitbulls, the last thing they would instill in you would be a feeling of fear or terror. Raised like I would raise a child (scary!) they are complete babies and the smaller one is scared of his own shadow. If you raise your voice and scream at him, he arches his back, sticks his tail between his legs, stands on his tip toes and shakes like a leaf. Literally shakes. His eyes become huge black orbs of fear and sometimes, like the time I smacked him with a paper towl roll on his butt, he hyperventilates. No joke. I have to pick him up like an infant and coo in his ear to get him to calm down. Sometimes you have to lie down on the bed with him and rub his belly. P-A-T-H-E-T-I-C.
Both sleep in bed with me, alternating who gets the pillow and who gets the feet. They usually start out on the couch in the living room (the couch they're not allowed on) and make their way into my room at some time during the night or early morning. I will wake up horizontal across my own bed with the dogs spooning each other and their heads on MY pillow. Bastards. I hate them 94% of the time. The other 6% we're fighting. The older one (he's three) is the REAL bastard in the house. He's brilliant and bad. A very dangerous combination. He's big on "retaliatory peeing" which pretty much explains itself. The little one (he's 1+1/2) is just stupid. SWEET as a pea in a pod, but stupid. REALLY stupid. Painfully stupid.
It always makes me laugh when I take the small one to the petstore and I see people scoop up their kids or grab their little dogs and head for the hills. Here is this little red nose pitbull, 44 lbs MAX, with the biggest damn smile on his face 24/7 just desperately trying to play with everything and everyone in sight. And people run from him. Once at the dog park some woman asked me "What are you gonna do when he freaks out and attacks you?" And she was serious. I responded "What are YOU gonna do when I freak out and attack you?" She stormed off. I threw my head back and laughed and laughed and laughed........
So you see, as secure as the Bunker of Secular Utopia might be, there is a way to break through ANY defense, no matter how good you think it is. And should such a breech occur, I don't think my dogs (either one of them) would rush to kill the intruder. In fact, I think they'd rush in the other direction. The little one would probably require an inhaler when it was all over (if he didn't die from a heart attack.) So I thought long and hard for about a week, trying to think up something ELSE I could purchase that would make me feel safer at night. Something that I could rely on to attack at a moments notice. And attack viciously. Then it came to me. What creature is more vicious, more violent, more bloodthirsty? What creature stops a mans heart cold with terror upon sight? What living creature is more deadly than a ........................KITTEN!
YES!!! Brilliant, I thought! A kitten is precisely what you need. A killer attack kitten. A fully armed, deadly venomous kitten. So I looked in the only place one would look for an attack kitten...the yellow pages. I looked under "Security" first and came up dry. Than I looked under "Alarm Systems" and again pulled a zero. So them I proceeded to search under "Guns and Ammo" and then "Home Protection" and was unsucessful with both those attempts. Exasperated, I finally flipped to the last idea I had. Although I knew it, too, would result in nothing, I gave it a try anyway. Licking my pointer finger, I turned rapidly through the yellow pages until I came to "Pets." I know, stupid thought, but I was out of ideas. Straining to see the small writing, I called the first place in the book called "Kittie City."
"Hello, Kittie City, my name's Andre, how may I help you?" came the voice on the other end of the line. "Andre, yes" I replied. "Do you have any kittens in stock?" There was a pause. Andre must have been looking through his inventory sheets. "Do we have an KITTENS in stock?" he replied, sounding a bit nasty I must say. "This is KITTIE CITY. ALL we have are kittens." Oh, kinda obvious. My bad. "Sorry. Do you have any attack kittens?" I waited for him to launch into his inventory of attack kittens. I wondered if they had any Siamese attack kittens. They're supposedly the worst. "Attack kittens? What, exactly, is an ATTACK KITTEN?" Jeez, did he have to be such a DICK about the whole thing? I guess they're not allowed to "tell" the "general public" if they have attack kittens in stock. Like when I call the head shop in the city and ask if they have any bongs. They always tell ya you have to come in and "talk to them." I got the point. "Ok Andre, I got ya. I'll be right down" and hung up the phone.
Arriving at Kittie City about 30 minutes later, I entered and saw there were kittens everywhere. I decided to walk slowly and make no quick moves which might invite an attack. I walked straight up and with my arms at my side, fingers curled up in a relaxed fist. I wouldn't want any of these attack kittens to take my fingers as a threat and tear them off my body. I must admit I was shaking slightly. I approached a young gentleman behind the counter and asked him if I could "see" some of the kittens in the store. "Sure" he replied. "Just pick up anyone you want. If you have any questions, I'll be over here cleaning out this cage." Brave fellow, I thought. Getting in there with those attack kittens and cleaning out their "house." Brave or insane.
Slowly, I approached one large cage of attack kittens. My breathing hastened and I felt a slight sweat break out on my forehead. The cage was about 5 feet high and about 4 feet wide. And it was teeming with attack kittens. There were about 10 of them in there, each trying to kill one another. They were all locked in combat and there was a lot of blood curdling "mewing." In the cage there were multiple "levels" or floors and on each floor were two attack kittens fighting to the death. On the bottom of the cage was a large, multi-hued ball of attack kittens all entangled and "mewing" viciously at each other. One or two were busy climbing up the side of the cage free style (aka no ropes or other form of mechanical assistance.) How daring!
Slowly and with great trepidation, I slid open the bolt that kept the door to this den of terror closed. All I could think of was one of these maniac killer creatures lunging for the door and ripping my throat out. I was sure Andre wasn't trained in treating a full bleed out. I paused. The "mewing" had stopped and 20 stone cold killer eyes were focused straight on me. The fighting seemed to have all paused mid punch, kick, bite, pile driver. Visibly shaking, I knelt down and peeked through the open cage door. The attack kittens were all solid grey or solid black. This must have been a mixed combination of two different litters. They had, I assured myself, killed their mothers and ended up in here, together. This wire cage was probably the feline equivalent of the "hole" at San Quentin or Pelican Bay. I was now eye to eye with 10 killers, sentenced to this "cage" for their vile crime of matracide.
By this point, Andre must have noticed (or smelt) my terror and came over to offer his "expertise" in handling such highly volatile and easily inflamed creatures. "Do you see one you like?" he asked, smiling? I guess prison guards smile too, sometimes. They get used to it. "Um, that little black one seems sufficient for the task at hand." I stood up and slowly stepped back from the gaping door of the "hole." Andre, brave beyond reason, reached his hand into the viper pit and grabbed for the black attack kitten which I had just pointed out. Right before he was able to grab it the attack kitten, sensing the end was near, dove over the side of the ledge it was perched on and landed, head first, in its water bowl. What a brave little fella, I thought. Choosing to end it all by drowning itself in its water bowl instead of meeting its end at the hands of Andre. I felt a sudden surge of respect for the soaking little black ball of fur. Cute as could be.
Oh my god, I thought. Don't let it fool you! That's how it works! These attack kittens have a magical spell they put on humans. We fall under their spell of absolute cuteness and then they take over our lives and destroy our homes! Breath breath breath! Breathing heavily and bent over at the waist, I slowly glanced up and saw Andre standing there holding the vicious trickster in his hands. I looked Andre carefully up and down, searching for the inevitable attack wound I knew he suffered catching and cornering the attack kitten. Miraculously, he appeared intact and blood free. The black attack kitten stared at me with these HUGE expressive green eyes. It's head was smaller than a golf ball. Oh my god was it cute. I felt my heart start to melt and my wariness begin to fade. Then I caught myself. "DON'T LET IT FOOL YOU, AJ!!" I screamed on the inside. "This son of a bitch would rather kill you than see you leave here with it."
Andre, bravely and valiently stroking the attack kittens head, quickly flipped it upside down and announced "It's a girl." Shit. Even worse. Women are totally bitchy (I should know, I am one) and a bitchy serial killer must be hell to deal with. I decided this attack kitten was simply too dangerous to take home and as I started to tell Andre he needed to immediately put that one back and select another, the attack kitten opened its tiny mouth and "mewed" at me. My heart melted. I felt it dissolve into a viscous mixture of blood and muscle and run into my abdomen.
On the way home, the little attack kitten sat boldly in my lap and stared up at me. The whole ride home I pictured her diving upward and grabbing onto my face with those razor sharp kitten teeth and tearing my eyes outta my head with her deadly "Nightmare on Elmstreet" claws. Thankfully, she remained seated and allowed me to pick her up when we parked the car and prepared to enter the Bunker.
Upon entry, after giving the required special secular knock and repeating 3 times "Rush Limbaugh is a drug addled freak," I placed the attack kitten in front of the older dogs cage. She sat there and stared in at him, a look of total contempt plastered upon her minute face. The dog stared back and then, slowly, started to sob. Increasing in both volume and tempo, the sobbing soon became an all out wail. Still, the attack kitten sat. Now THIS is what I was looking for in a guard animal. Sitting face to face with imminent death and staring it down. This kitten was a THUG.
Wanting to further test her "thugness" I knelt in front of the dogs cage and started hollering over his incessant wailing "SHUT THE HELL UP YOU DAMN FOOL! HOW ARE YOU POSSIBLY SCARED OF A KITTEN!!??" It WAS an attack kitten, I reasoned (over the screams) but this dunce sitting in a cage didn't know that. Or did he? Was that why he was screaming like this? Could he sense the murderous rage that was pent up in this little monster sitting directly in front of him and, more or less, staring him down? I decided to test this theory. I unlatched the dogs cage and cracked the door so he could see it was now open and that he could come out. He didn't. He just slid further back into the dark recesses of his protective lair. Punk. I would own the only two punk ass coward pitbulls ever born.
Then the attack kitten started to stir. She stood her little body up, arched her back, stretched and waltzed her tiny ass into the dogs cage. I couldn't believe my eyes! In she went. The sobbing stopped. Silence! Was the dog dead? Had this miniscule death machine killed the dog with one quick blow to the throat? Five minutes passed. Then ten. Still not a peep from the cage. Tears came to my eyes.
Oh how I loved that dog! How stupid of me to sacrifice him to the attack kitten. What a stupid fucking idea! Beyond consolation, I collapsed on the floor at the entrance to my now dead dogs cage. Tears were streaming down my face like a waterfall. I thought my heart had actually broken in half, and the pain in my chest only reassured me of this. Curled in a ball like a baby, I turned on my side and made myself face the inevitable. Where would I bury him? What would my MOM say? Oh my god, she's gonna kill me. She LOVES that damn idiotic urinator. Eyes clenched tight like a vice, I had to force myself to open them. Before light even registered on my optic nerve, I pictured the scene. My beautiful asshole dog laying in a pool of his own blood while that heartless, sociopathic attack kitten drank from the steaming pool with her forked tongue.
Then I saw it. The light struck my optic nerve and the vision was transfered from my eyes to my brain. There in the cage lay the dog, still alive and breathing. Curled up between his front paws lay the attack kitten who had her eyes closed and a very small, nearly inaudible rumble of a purr eminated from her 8 inch long body. The dog was busy licking her beautiful shiny black fur and his eyes were similarly closed. I was gazing in on an all out love fest. I was furious.
I felt like calling Andre at Kittie City and demanding a refund. They sold me a bogus attack kitten! That's a crime. Like selling someone a BB gun and telling them it's a 0.357 magnum. This was false advertising at its most blatant. And it was dangerous. What if I had relied on this attack kitten to protect me and my pitbulls from a Bunker invasion by christian fundamentalist freaks? Boy would Kittie City have been liable if such an invasion had occured and I had been forced to read actual passages from a bible. I quiver at the mere thought.
I picked up the now sleeping bogus attack kitten and placed her in the pink terrycloth kitten bed I had purchased her (hey, she's still a girl. And little girls need pink beds.) I read some websites and listened to some tunes then went to bed myself. About 3:30 am I head something stirring in my bedroom but wrote it off as one of the dogs. I went back to sleep but was awakened about a half an hour later by the sound of fabric being torn. My room was pitch black and I couldn't see squat. I sat perfectly still and listened. I could have sworn I felt hot breath on the back of my neck, but my dogs were nowhere to be seen. They must be out on their couch (the one they're not allowed on.) I lay back down and stared up into the blackness when suddenly a warm furry body landed on my face and grabbed each ear with a razor claw and wrapped two razor clawed back legs around either side of my jaw. I was wearing a kitten as a mask! I screamed but the scream was muffled by the bogus attack kittens fat little belly. Then as fast as it attached itself, it jumped off and disappeared into the darkness. SHIT! I forgot that kittens (attack kittens or not) are nocturnal. I flipped on the bedside light and stared, dumbstruck, at the destruction that stretched before my eyes. I had invited a beast into my home. What had I been thinking?
In the morning, after attempting to clean up the mess the bogus attack kitten had left for me, I signed my dogs up for guard dog training classes. One of these bastards was gonna protect this house, whether they like it or not. Well, to make a long story short, the little dog had some sort of a nervous breakdown on his first day and was excused with a "medical" and the older dog, hating being told what to do by ANYONE, refused to do ANYTHING the instructor told him (he wouldn't even look at the guy. It was ridiculous) and on the third day he peed on the instructors leg and was "withdrawn" from class. Maybe I can get a ferret. Don't THEY bite?