Bob the Dog – Private Dick

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Bob the Dog – Private Dick

By Bob the Dog

Transcribed by Russell Rosander

         Once upon a time, in a mythical place called Barra de Navidad, there lived a dog.

That´d be me, Bob the Dog.

And let me tell ya.  Livin´ in mythical Barra de Navidad is a good thing.  About as close to heaven as a dog can get.

I´ve lived here a looooooong time.  Long for dogs that is.  These days, so I´m told, I´m gettin´ kinda old.  I guess that makes me sorta an elder around here.  I spend most of my afternoons layin´ in a sandy spot in the middle of the street in fronta Hector´s Corner Bar in the sunshine while the cars and delivery trucks swerve around me.

A lotta my friends hang out at Hector´s drinkin´ beer and tequila and gabbin´.  I like ´em a lot ´cause they´re all such frequent…

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Ormazd´s Big Bash or The Farce of Life – Chapter 5

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Chapter 5

The monastery was perched on a steep hillside that was terraced by natural benches where picturesque rows of grape vines grew.  They were connected by paths and stairs that were cut into the rock centuries ago.

The monastery buildings were carved, high into the cliff and were as austere as the escarpment itself, offering little comfort to the people who lived there, although, it did have a great view of the valley below.

A brown robed monk climbed the, worn, stone steps wearily to his stark cell after toiling all day, in the vineyards, under the, sweltering, hot, sun.

He chanted, prayerfully and silently, with each labored step.  He had lived here for twenty years under a vow of silence, which he considered penance for not being good enough to be accorded a place among the angels.  He suffered in humiliation for not to be among the favorites of God.

Then, one day, while tending the vines, his eyesight had gone blurry, and he had a vision, in which Jesus told him that he loved him.

He´d passed a note to the Abbot during his weekly consultation where he was asked how he was doin´, describing the miracle.

“Don´t worry about it,” the Abbot had said, “The nuns get those all the time.”

He couldn´t understand it.  He was sure the Abbot would praise him in congratulation for his accomplishment.  Wasn´t it proof that he had become one of the favored?  Might he, one day, sit on the right hand of God?  God had, surely, realized that he was a better man than most for living such a pious and selfless life.  Didn´t he, at least,  deserve more than some flippant response?

He opened the door to his cell and looked around his impoverished dwelling.  There, on the narrow stone bench that served as his bed, he saw an envelope.

He opened it with trembling hands, and removed the gold printed card from inside.  His lips moved with the words as he read them.  When he was finished, he turned his eyes towards heaven.  “Thank you Lord!,” he said out loud. “A sign, at last!”

Bob the Dog – Private Dick

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Bob the Dog – Private Dick

By Bob the Dog

Transcribed by Russell Rosander

         Once upon a time, in a mythical place called Barra de Navidad, there lived a dog.

That´d be me, Bob the Dog.

And let me tell ya.  Livin´ in mythical Barra de Navidad is a good thing.  About as close to heaven as a dog can get.

I´ve lived here a looooooong time.  Long for dogs that is.  These days, so I´m told, I´m gettin´ kinda old.  I guess that makes me sorta an elder around here.  I spend most of my afternoons layin´ in a sandy spot in the middle of the street in fronta Hector´s Corner Bar in the sunshine while the cars and delivery trucks swerve around me.

A lotta my friends hang out at Hector´s drinkin´ beer and tequila and gabbin´.  I like ´em a lot ´cause they´re all such frequent laughers and that´s music to my ears.

Every once in a while someone will walk out in the street and say, “Bob. Whachadoin´ out here layin´ in the middle of the street, you idiot?  Doncha know that one of these days one of those delivery trucks isn´t gonna see ya and flatten you flatter than a pancake”

“Well,” I think, “It ain´t happened yet, so wadda you know.  You gotta crystal ball or sumpthin´!”  Then, I just keep on layin´ there, enjoyin´ the sunshine and warmin´ my old bones.  I know it exasperates ém, but, you know, a dogs gotta take pleasure where he can.  Fortunately,  Dogs don´t get sunburned on accounta their fur, so I can lay out there for hours with no ill effects.  We dogs don´t worry much about the future.  That´ll bring whatever it brings, there´s no way of knowin´.  Not worryin´ is sorta a specialty of mine.

I try to tell my friends not to worry too, ya know, pass on a little of my wisdom, but whadda they hear? “Woof, woof , woof”.  Their ears are just not attuned to dog language ´cause it´s too telepathic for ´em.

But, ya know, there´s no doubt about it.  Life in mythical Barra de Navidad is wonderful.  The good people here that I love put out bowls of water for me and pat me on the head once in a while.  Every now and then I go home with Heather and she gives me a bowl of Gravy Train and pulls off any ticks I´ve accumulated durin´ the day.  And I´m allowed to be as lazy as I wanna be.   I love it.

A lotta people would consider it a little tedious and boring to lay around takin´ naps whenever I want to and never doin´ much of anything,  but at my age, I don´t really feel much like doin´ much of anything.  All it´s ever got me was into trouble anyway.  I´m just not up to it anymore.  Most people don´t realize it, but I´m just not layin´ out there in the street, I´m meditatin´.   I´ve taken up zen meditation in my old age.  I find that makin´ my mind a blank slate comes sorta naturally to me and provides hours of blissful oblivion.

You might be tempted to ask me, considerin´ all the wisdom I´ve accumulated over the years, what exactly is so “mythical” about Barra de Navidad.  And my answer to you would be, “What?  Are you some kinda idiot?  You´d ask a dog a question like that?  I´m just a dog, what do I know about scientific stuff like that?  I should be askin´ you.  “Mythical” isn´t even in the dog vocabulary.  To us, everything is just what it is.  Garbage trucks are for chasin´.  Gravy Train is for eatin´.  Pats on the head are for love.  Just pat me on the head and don´t ask me any more questions like that.  Believe me, Barra de Navidad is mythical.  Things are just the way they are and that´s just how it is.”

So, anyway, let me get on with the story.  That´s enough philosophy.  So I´ll shut my self up and start tellin´ it.  I don´t tell stories that often, so this may be your last chance to hear one.  Listen up.

One night, in the middle of the night, I woke up ´cause the waves down on the beach were makin´ one, big, hell-of-a rukus.  It seemed to me that they were especially pissed off about sumpthin´ for some reason.  Most people think waves are just things, like rocks and such.  They don´t believe their ears when they hear ´em talkin´ and think it´s just a buncha wave noise.  But let me tell ya, there´s no doubt about it, these waves was angry.  They was shoutin´ to high heaven.

When I got up in the mornin´, I went down there to see what the fuss was all about.  “Ho-lee cat poop!”  I said when I saw it.  It looked like someone had ripped the fronts offa half the buildin´s, and then, to top it all off, they had stolen the whole dang beach!

“How do you steal a beach?” I thought, but the proof was right there.  It was gone.  Someone musta snuck down there in the middle of the night and took off with it without anybody seein´ them.

The cops were just standin´ around scratchin´ their butts.  Not only was the beach gone, but their little hidey hole down on the malecón was tipped over into the ocean.   Well, a lotta people thought it was their own dang fault.  What kinda vigilance had they been keepin´ in the night, anyway.  They didn´t notice a thing and the thieves got clean away with it.

No wonder the waves had been raisin´ such a ruckus.  Waves are sorta like watch dogs and it´s their instinct to sound the alarm when sumpthin´s not right.

The first thing I did was to get down there and start sniffin´ around for clues.  The cops were obviously too stunned to do anything.  No wonder we dogs like to chase their cars.  I sniffed all around along where the beach used to be.  I sniffed every rock, stick and seashell.  Apparently, some one had towed it out to sea.  It was the only direction you could go with sumpthin´ that big.  But since I didn´t have a boat, and I can´t follow a scent in water, there was no way to follow them except to swim.  We dogs swim, but not that good, so I wasn´t even gonna try it.  The only clue I found was a strong “fishy” smell.  But that´s not that unusual down there.  To tell ya the truth, it always smells a little fishy like that at the ocean.

I thought about interogatin´ the pelicans, but pelicans, bless their hearts, aren´t very brave and generally fly off whenever they see a dog comin´ .  ´Sides, they always go back in the lagoon whenever the waves are havin´ one of their wild parties, so that prob´ly where they were and they didn´t see nothin´.  Well, with that piece of investigative work out of the way, I headed back to Hector´s to go lay down.

Durin´ the next couple of weeks, the guvermint sent a bunch of politicians and experts down here to look into it.  They tried to blame it on the poor innocent waves.  Yep, blame the messenger.  Sorta makes you wonder if they weren´t in cahoots with the robbers, doesn´t it.  Fortunately, it would have been useless to arrest them, let alone, put them in jail.  Wave can just flatten out and run right under the door and back down to the ocean.  They never asked the dogs what we thought.  They never do.  They think were dumb. It makes me sick.  Never mind that we didn´t have anything to tell them.

The whole business was kinda was pissin´ me off.  I’d always liked runnin´ on that beach and playin´ in the waves.  I´d been doin´ it since I was a puppy. And now, someone´s come along and stole it. Dang!

Anyway, around Hector´s the rumors were flyin´.  You wanna hear conspiracy theories, that´s the place to go.  I heard one guy say that the United States C.I.A was behind it all.  Sumpthin´ about nuclear submarines comin´ in under the cloak of darkness and towin´ it off ´cause they didn´t want anyone to have any fun.  What!  Has he got sonar or sumpthin´?  Well, you never know when you live in a mythical place.  Anything is possible, but personally, I´d like to see the tapes…if  he´s got any.

But whatever.  What could I do about it anyway.  I don´t even have a boat.  Come to think of it, I don´t own nothin´.  I used to try to keep a few bones squirreled away in the dirt, but to tell you the truth, I forgot where I hid ´em a long time ago.  So, I decided to just go back to meditatin´ out in the sandy spot in the middle of the street in front of Hector´s.

I´d been layin´ out there for most of the afternoon and the sun was goin´ down, when I felt a little whack and I let out a grunt.  Then a voice started whisperin´ to me. “Ask the moon, dinglebrain!”  it said.

I opened one eye, but did´nt see nothin´, and asked, “Ask the moon?  Well, she´s a nice old gal, but don´t she live pretty far away?  Who are you, anyway?”

“Never mind who I am.  It´s not that important.  But, who are you, a dog or some selfish danged cat.  Just get out there with your dog buddies tonight and go howlin´ to her.”

“I haven´t howled for quite a while, ya know. I´m getting´ kinda old for that sort of juvenile behavior.”  I told it.

“Oh for Pete´s sake!  Never mind how old you are.  I know you´ve still got it in you. Just do it!”

So that´s what I did.  Me `n´ a buncha other kay-nines went down to where the beach used to be and howled our heads off.  Tell ya the truth, they did most the work.  I got tired and spent most of the night snorin´ and fartin´ and dreamin´ about bein´ a puppy and runnin´ on the beach.

Some of the humans started yellin´ at us to shut up ´cause they were tryna sleep.  The next mornin´, one of ´em asked Heather if that was me they heard down there.  “I don´t know what´s gotten into lately,” she told him, “Maybe he´s upset ´cause someone stole the beach.”

“Well, duh!”

We went out howlin´ for three days.  Finally, Heather threatened to lock me up unside the house.  So that night, I just laid on the front porch listenin´ for anything suspicious until I dozed off.

I woke up again when I felt sumpthin´ tappin´ me on the noggin.  Then I heard “Hey Bob.”, like it was some kinda spell.  It was a moonbeam tappin´ me on the head with her light wand.  I believe “Hey Bob” is one of their favorite spells.  The humans try to copy them, but it don´t work.  They just don´t have the same tingly inflection a moonbeam has.

Anyway, this was a cute little Pekinese moonbeam and she had a fine set of wiskers and a pretty little sniffer.  She circled around me a couple of times and took a sniff at my butt.  “Whew Bob. Whatta you been eatin´!  You smell like you outta cut back on the Gravy Train!”

“Huh?”  I said.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk,” she clicked, “and you used to be sucha great detective.  What´s become of you Bob?”

“Retired.”  I told her.  Most moonbeams are pretty friendly, but this one seemed to be a little intimidatin´.  I figured it was best to tell her as little as possible.  I´ve learned over the years that it´s best not to take offence when your bein´ intimidated.  Bitin´ ´em almost always gets you in trouble.  It´s best just to play dumb.

The moonbeam said, “The boss sent me down with a message for ya.  She says she didn´t do it.”

“Well, of course she didn´t.  The moon is way to far away, she´s got a great alibi.”  I said.

“Ya, but she makes the tides.  Tides are meant to be beneficial and alotta creatures along the shore depend on ´em for their existence.  She´s afraid they´ll blame it on her ´cause the tides are always goin´ in and out.  Fact is, she don´t need another beach. She´s got plenty of ´em aready along the sea of tranquility.  ´Sides, her gravity ain´t strong enough to pull one up there.  It wasn´t her.”

“Got any idea who it was?”  I asked.

“Nope.  Ya know, she turns a blind eye towards alotta  stuff that goes on down here when she´s full.  She wants you to try to sniff out the culprit.”

“Well what can I do.  I´m just an old dog.”

“Think about it Bob.” She said and then she vanished.

I looked up in the sky and saw the dog star crossin´ the night sky.  “Dang!,” I thought “I owe it to my ancestors.  I have a duty and an honor to uphold.  But, what could I do?”

The next mornin´, I went out and laid down in the street to think it over, like the moonbeam asked.  ´Cept I usually don’t do much thinkin´ out there.  Heck, I usually don´t do much thinkin´ anywhere.  Zen meditation don´t count ´cause it don’t involve thinkin´, which is why it´s so befittin´ to me.  It´s mostly an existential experience.

Well, it was clear.  If no one else was gonna save the town´s bacon, that left it up to me.   “Mmmmmmm,” I thought, “Bacon!  I wonder if I could get Heather to get me some.  Naw, she´d never do it.  She´s always yammerin´ about me gettin´ too fat.  But, maybe Clive….Hmmmm.”

All day I hung out around Hector´s tryin´ to pick up on any gossip.  Somethin´ that might lead me to the “perps”  I heard all kinds of theories and goofy ideas, but my zen trainin´ helps me keep an open mind.  Dog minds are usually pretty open anyway, but mine is honed to maximum openness.   Every once in a while, I´d move in a little closer so I could hear better or get a pet or two and maybe a drink of water if someone was offerin´.  Most of what they were sayin´ was over my head.  Most humans, tall by dog standards, are over my head ´cept for the kids.

There was all sorts of scientific mumbo-jumbo about currents and water flow outta the lagoon and stuff like that.  Some were openly blamin´ the developers who built the malecón for some mysterious reason.  I didn´t hear anyone blamin´ it on the moon though.  They seem to realize that Lady de Luna was a creature of habit and the tides hadn´t changed at all for a long time.  I´d have to get word to her somehow that she was in the clear.

By the end of the day, I hadn´t learned anything useful, except that the beach must be hidden somewhere close by, prob´ly under water.

I decided my next step was to go undercover.  I only know of  one way to disguise myself, but I haven´t used it in years.

After the bar closed, I walked down Tampico street lookin´ in the empty lots that led down to the canal.  That´s where the fishermen tie up their pongas.  I could smell it before I saw it.  There it was layin´ in the weeds.  A big pile of half rotted fish guts.  “Peee-yew!” I thought.  And to think that when I was a pup, this smell was like ambrosia to me.  I musta picked up a few human attributes during my long association with them.

I laid down next to it and held my breath.  “One, two three…and I rolled right into the mess.  “Yuck!”  How was I gonna live this down.  I´d be lucky if anyone would talk to me or give me a pat on the head for a month.  Well, there was no help for it.  I had a duty to perform.

I headed down to the ocean, takin´ my secret short cut so no one would get too close to me.  I hunkered down among some broken pieces of foundation that used to hold up the fronts of the buildin´s and settled in to wait.

After a while, I nodded off despite the smell, but later on, the ocean started actin´ up and I was getting´ wet.  “Oh well,” I thought. “Wet dog don´t smell any worse than what I´m wearin´,” so I decided to stick it out.  Maybe the extra scent would give me even more protection from whatever was out there.  I know I don´t look much like a dead fish, but maybe no one would want to get close enough to notice.

Pretty soon, I was startin´ to get dizzy from my own odors.  “Well,” I thought, “We all gotta make sacrifices sometime.”  And then I saw sumpthin´.  There were a buncha ghostly shapes comin´ outta the waves.  They was carryin´ buckets.  They were fillin´´em up with sand and then goin´ back into the waves.  Back and forth they went, carryin´ off what was left of the beach.  There were hundreds of  ´em.  I laid as still as I could watchin´ ´em.  None of  ´em noticed me ´cause I had the same fishy smell they did.  Then, a couple of ´em came pretty close lookin´ for more sand.  Jesus-B-Wiskers!  They were mermaids and mermen!  And not ordinary ones either.  These were mutant mermaids and mermen.  They were all crooked and misshapen.  The scales were fallin´ off their tails.  I musta been from all the crap that the humans have been throwin´ in the ocean! I hear some of it´s even radioactive!  Their faces were all scrunched up kinda pissed off and sad lookin´ at the same time.  Well, I guess I´d be pissed off too if I got mutated.  They looked just miserable.  What a shame!  They didn´t look nothin´ like that pretty little statue they got out on the malecón showin´ them as delightful, fabled beings the way they used to look.  No wonder they were angry!  They was prob´ly takin´ the beach away to get somebody´s attention!  Hopin´ to convince them that they outta cut that shit out so they could mutate back into the way they used to be.  And it looked like the waves were helpin´ ´em, lettin´ out a thunderous cry every time they crashed up against a buildin´.  It was a heart renderin´ scene.  One that I´ll never forget!

I got home just before sunrise, stinkin´ to high heaven.  Heather was still sleepin´, but that didn´t last long once she got a whiff of me.

“Bob, Bob, Bob.  What have you done!  What the hell have you gotten into Bob!” and then she got out the soap and water and started scrubbin´ me down.

Actually, it felt kinda good.  I felt good about assertin´ my doggyness too, but then, I realized I had another problem.  How was I, Bob the dog, gonna convince anybody of what I had seen with my own, soft, buttery, brown eyes!  After all, I was only an old dog and people don´t put much credence in what I say.  “Woof,” is all they hear!

So that´s why I got all this written down.  I asked a friend to help me with the spellin´ ´cause I never went to school, ya know.  So now the story´s out and I hope people will pay attention.  “Quit throwin´ your danged crap in the ocean, you idiots, so the mermaids and mermen can mutate back to the good bein´s they were before, and bring back the beach!”

Well, I´ve done my part and I hope you´ll do your and please pass on the message.  Not bad for an old dog – eh?

Well, salud, I love you all, and if there´s a last thing I wanna say in my life, it´s:

“SAVE THE MERMAIDS!”

“SAVE THE MERMEN!”

Ok, now I´m gonna go work on Clive about the bacon.

 

 

Praise for `Bob the Dog – Private Dick´:

            “He expects me to buy bacon for him?” – Clive.

Las Cantatas de las Palomas

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russellrosandershortstories

In the newly born light

Slow, lilting notes,

Spherical and solemn,

Arising from the depths

Of an ancient presense.

Lifting on the vapors of the night,

Lilting sonorously

Into the emptiness

Of an unknown day.

A hollowness echoing plaintively

In a newfound dawn,

Singing melodies

From the mists

Of bygone dreams.

The multifarious lamentations of doves

Proclaiming their white-winged essence

In undecipherable phrases

Of primal song.

I wonder,     I wonder,     I wonder.

To my friend Gail for her friendship

And allowing me to read my poems and stories

At her house, and because the cadence of her voice

Reminds me of doves.

With love,

Russell Rosander

Barra de Navidad, 2014

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Las Cantatas de las Palomas

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In the newly born light

Slow, lilting notes,

Spherical and solemn,

Arising from the depths

Of an ancient presense.

Lifting on the vapors of the night,

Lilting sonorously

Into the emptiness

Of an unknown day.

A hollowness echoing plaintively

In a newfound dawn,

Singing melodies

From the mists

Of bygone dreams.

The multifarious lamentations of doves

Proclaiming their white-winged essence

In undecipherable phrases

Of primal song.

I wonder,     I wonder,     I wonder.

To my friend Gail for her friendship

And allowing me to read my poems and stories

At her house, and because the cadence of her voice

Reminds me of doves.

With love,

Russell Rosander

Barra de Navidad, 2014

Omazd´s Big Bash or The Farce of Life – Chapter 4

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Chapter 4

         Ormazd and Marilyn were watchin´ the funny little TV set on the veranda.   Ormazd was fiddlin´ with the knobs, tryin´ to get in the official Iranian television station.  He moved the gold antenna ears a smidgen, and the picture suddenly cleared.

The Iranian President was standing stiffly behind a podium at a news conference, with armed guards on both sides of him.  The backdrop was a huge TV screen filled with scenes of rioting in the city.

“This is irrefutable proof,” he snarled as he held up the invitation, “of the treachery of the west, and their puppet dogs, the CIA!”

“The CIA, thinly disquised by the pseudonym, CIU, has sent this, disgusting, invitation to our holiness, the Ayatola, in an attempt to lure him into the clutches of western decadence.  Who else, but these vile servants of the Great Satan, would devise such a heinous plot!”

The scene behind him segues into another, showing masked and helmeted policemen, who were, in fact, the Presidents most trusted henchmen and torturers, roughly shoving a crippled beggar into an armored van.  “We have apprehended their messenger, a spy, posing as an innocent beggar.  He has confessed, and been sentenced to death, in accordance with our holy law!”

A mob, surrounding the van, is shouting epithets, and spitting on the, poor, emaciated man.  They shove each other, vying for attention before the cameras, lifting their fists and shouting angrily, “Death to America!  Death to the CIA! Death to the Great Satan!”

“Oh my Ormazd!  You´ve done it this time!  That poor man has nothing to do with this!  You´ve got to do something!”  Marilyn gasped.

Ormazd stood and sighed wearily. “I´ll be back in a minute.”

When the van arrived at the prison, the beggar was gone.  The only thing found inside the van, were two of the policemen, fast asleep, with their pants down and their fingers up each other´s butts.

Chapter 5

The monastery was perched on a steep hillside that was terraced by natural benches where picturesque rows of grape vines grew.  They were connected by paths and stairs that were cut into the rock centuries ago.

The monastery buildings were carved, high into the cliff and were as austere as the escarpment itself, offering little comfort to the people who lived there, although, it did have a great view of the valley below.

A brown robed monk climbed the, worn, stone steps wearily to his stark cell after toiling all day, in the vineyards, under the, sweltering, hot, sun.

He chanted, prayerfully and silently, with each labored step.  He had lived here for twenty years under a vow of silence, which he considered penance for not being good enough to be accorded a place among the angels.  He suffered in humiliation for not to be among the favorites of God.

Then, one day, while tending the vines, his eyesight had gone blurry, and he had a vision, in which Jesus told him that he loved him.

He´d passed a note to the Abbot during his weekly consultation where he was asked how he was doin´, describing the miracle.

“Don´t worry about it,” the Abbot had said, “The nuns get those all the time.”

He couldn´t understand it.  He was sure the Abbot would praise him in congratulation for his accomplishment.  Wasn´t it proof that he had become one of the favored?  Might he, one day, sit on the right hand of God?  God had, surely, realized that he was a better man than most for living such a pious and selfless life.  Didn´t he, at least,  deserve more than some flippant response?

He opened the door to his cell and looked around his impoverished dwelling.  There, on the narrow stone bench that served as his bed, he saw an envelope.

He opened it with trembling hands, and removed the gold printed card from inside.  His lips moved with the words as he read them.  When he was finished, he turned his eyes towards heaven.  “Thank you Lord!,” he said out loud. “A sign, at last!”

The Theory of Relativity – The twelfth Dotty Story

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The Theory of Relativity

The twelfth Dotty story by Russell Rosander

Reality is a hard thing to define.  If you look at it closely, it dissolves into billions of atoms, spinning in space like little solar systems, just pure energy and nothing solid.

It only seems to be what we call real when compared to the imagination.  Somehow, that seems even less definable.  In the end, perhaps it´s all illusion, but what is this thing I call me?  Who is the one who imagines; who is seeing the illusion?  Is it all just some kinda trick?

I was out on the patio one afternoon, when I saw Dotty, my imaginary wife, reclinin´ on a soft, fluffy cloud, diftin´ by overhead.  Then, she rose up and floated gently down into the chair across from mine.

“Whacha doin´?”  she asked.

“Nothin´ out of the ordinary.  Just writin´.” I answered.

“Ya know,” she…

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The Theory of Relativity – The twelfth Dotty Story

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The Theory of Relativity

The twelfth Dotty story by Russell Rosander

Reality is a hard thing to define.  If you look at it closely, it dissolves into billions of atoms, spinning in space like little solar systems, just pure energy and nothing solid.

It only seems to be what we call real when compared to the imagination.  Somehow, that seems even less definable.  In the end, perhaps it´s all illusion, but what is this thing I call me?  Who is the one who imagines; who is seeing the illusion?  Is it all just some kinda trick?

I was out on the patio one afternoon, when I saw Dotty, my imaginary wife, reclinin´ on a soft, fluffy cloud, diftin´ by overhead.  Then, she rose up and floated gently down into the chair across from mine.

“Whacha doin´?”  she asked.

“Nothin´ out of the ordinary.  Just writin´.” I answered.

“Ya know,” she asked, “I´ve always wondered .  Do you suppose that he writes the same things as you?”

“Who?”

“Well, the guy who´s writing this story, of course.”

“I´m the guy writing this story.  We´re the same person…aren´t we?”

“If you say so.  I´m just wonderin´ if what he writes in the real world is the same as what you write in the imaginary one.”

The question confounded me.  How the hell was I supposed to answer a question like that.  Of course, the character is the story is the same person who´s writing the story.  Then I thought, “Well, wait a minute. Who is writing it?  How could a person know?  Was my character writing the story or was I?”

“Maybe my brain´s not highly enough developed to answer a squishy question like that.  I always thought we were the same person, that I just visit the imagination while you and Charley and Moonbeam are permanent residents.”

“I just wondered ´cause when we go on adventures, he keeps writin´ while you play.”

“Well, he…….  You know what Dotty?  Let´s talk about somethin´ else that´s less confussin´.”

“If you say so.”

Whenever Dotty says “If you say so,” it´s always a clear indication that she doesn´t believe a word of it.  I suppose, havin´ an imaginary wife might seem a little weird to some people, but so what?  Everybody´s a little weird  in one way or another.  I doubt if there is such a thing as normal.  It seems, these days, that just about everybody has some sorta “syndrome” or “complex” or whatever you want to call it.  That he and me are the same person, just seems sorta obvious to me.  Why would she not believe me?  Have I ever told her a lie?  Oh, there´ve been times that I´ve said something that wasn´t true, but it was usually because I believed it was true at the time and didn´t know it wasn´t.  Maybe my syndrome was tryin´ to be honest all the time; still tryin´ to be a good boy for my mama.  That didn´t make it a bad thing to be though.  There are a lot of reasons to try to be as honest as possible.

I looked up from my reverie and Dotty was gone.  There was a mosquito sittin´ on my right pinky, poised for a poke.  I swatted with my left, but I was too slow.  My left jab never was that good.  “Well, if the mosquitoes had found me, I might as well go inside,” I thought.  So I got up and headed for the trailer door.  Maybe I would work on a Sudoku.  At least that was a sort of puzzle I could solve.

I opened the door and was just about blasted into a dozen back-flips off the steps.  I peeked back in and saw that my little dining room area had been expanded to about six times the size of the whole dang trailer.  There was an old black and white TV in the corner, blastin´ away at full volume.  There was a throng of kids sprawled out on the rug in front of it in various impossible positions.  The floor was littered with popcorn, Cheerios and army men.  Then I noticed that all the children were kids I know, or have known.  Some were buds of mine when I was eight or nine years old.  And there were my brothers, Scott and Ken, as little kids.  My own kids, Tai and Faith were there too, and then there was Charley and Moonbeam, curled up on an, old, thread bare couch with anti-macassars on it under an old framed print of an old woman feeding duck by a pond that used to hang in my grandfather´s house.

The TV was flippin´ through programs at lightnin´ speed.  Old cartoons and comedies, like the “Honeymooners” and “I love Lucy”.  Cowboy shows too and Tarzan yodelin´ through the trees in the jungle.  “What the hell, Dotty?”  “He he he HEY HEE….., he he he HEY HEE…..,” Woody Woodpecker laughed.

“I would appreciate it if you didn´t cuss in front of the children!  You´ll set a bad example!” Dotty yelled over the cacophony of screaming and laughing children and the over amped TV.

“But, What……?”  I asked.

“It´s a surprise birthday party for you,” she yelled. “We´ve got German chocolate cake and Neapolitan ice cream too!”

“But my birthday isn´t until June.  This is January.”

“You mean it used to be January.”  Dotty answered.

“What. The month or my birthday?” I asked.

“Take your pick.”

Woody Woodpecker´s manic laugh was still assaultin´ my ears. “He he he HEY HE…..!”

“Turn it down!”  I yelled. “Where´s the clicker?”

“These old things didn´t have clickers.”  She said, and then it was quiet.  The whole tableaux froze in mid moment..

“I thought you´d be surprised.”  She said.

“Well, I am.  It was just a little chaotic and overwhelmin´ is all.”

The room turned back to normal.  Dotty was sittin´ calmly at the table in my ordinary dining room space.  “Normal” I thought. “I guess normal is a pretty relative term.  “Good Gawd, Dotty?  What the hell is goin´on?”

“Oh, just wanted to show you sumpthin.”

“But what´s a weird flashback like that got to do with anything?

“Weird? I thought it was pretty normal.”

“Normal?” I said. But then she was gone.  I sat down and suddenly realized I had no interest in doin´ a Sudoku.  I looked around the room.  There was my guitar, leanin´ against a shelf.  There was the clutter on my table.  There were the books from Beer Bob´s Book Exchange, sittin´ on a book shelf.  All pretty ordinary.  “Normal – Ordinary – reality.”  I guess pretty relative words.  Just whatever you get used to.  “Hmmm.  I wonder if I´m still sixty-six?” I thought.

Maybe weird is just whatever happens so suddenly we don´t have time to get used to it. Changes that seem bizarre and un-real because they don´t fit in the ordinary.  Well, here I am, sittin´ at my table writing again and it seems pretty ordinary and real.  Come to think of it, there have been times in my life when the chaos and confusion of childhood was familiar.  It seemed normal enough at the time as well, but now, it was just an old memory, and here I was peacefully sittin´ at my table writin´.  My real self too!   “Well, let´s see here now:  new paragraph – indent- capitol letter M-I-C-K-E-Y, M-O-U-……Damn you, Walt Disney! What have you done to me!”

The next morning, I was out waterin´ the garden.  The sun had only been up for an hour and it was shapin´ up to be a fine, warm, winter´s day in Mexico.  I stuck my thumb over the end of the cut off hose to make a spray and wet down a bunch of seedlings.  Cosmos, Zinnias, Four-O´clocks and others from seed a friend brought down from up north.  Then I moved on to the main garden.  Beautiful, wild, blue sweet peas, hibiscus´s palms that woulda been in pots up north, colorful rubber plants, several types of birds-of-paradise and more.  What could be more real than all this vividity.  I felt cool drips of water, runnin´ down my arm, off my elbow and onto my sandaled toes.

Suddenly, there was Dotty and Charley in bathing suits and Moonbeam snappin´ at the spray.  “Squirt us wog!” they yelled and I did.  They were laughin´ and jumpin´ around it the spray, havin´ fun.  What could be more real than this!  Hmmmmmm.

Then, in a flash, the next thing ya know, we´re all in a canoe, driftin´ into some rapids.  Dotty in front, Charley in the middle, Moonbeam on the bow with his tongue hangin´ out, and me in the back, holdin´ a paddle instead of a garden hose.  I glanced around.  Where were we? Looks like -Salmon River, in Idaho.  I haven´t been here in years!  Then I noticed everyone was wearin´ life jackets but me.  “Hey Dotty!  Where´s…….”  Just then, we slid down a funnel of water and into the spray.  “Whooo Wheee!” they were yellin´.  Then, we flew up in the air and came down with a jolt and we were off…racin´ on the waves.  I was holdin´ on for dear life.  We spun and twisted and flew though the air, and then, we were tippin´on a swell besides a big rock.  The next thing ya know, we were tumblin´ in the water until we reached the end of the rapids and the water got calm again.

I blew water out my nose and looked around.  There was Charley, swimmin´ like a fish, pullin´ the canoe towards shore with Moonbeam dog-paddlin´ behind.  Dotty was on the shore wringin´ the water out of her hair.  I headed for them and, soon, we were all on the shore, drippin´ in the sunshine.

“Dang, Dotty!  You outta give a person a little warnin´ before takin´ ´em on a trip like this.”

“Me?” she said, “I didn´t write this into the story.  Didn´t you?”

“Well, well,…..I musta.”  I said in a puzzled voice.  “Who else coulda done it?”  But I didn´t remember writin´ a word of it.

“How come you guys had life jackets and I didn´t?” I asked her.

“I don´t know.  Maybe it´s ´cause your real and we´re imaginary.  We could drown in the imagination ´cause this is our real world.  Technically, you´re not really even here.”  She said.  Ouch, that stung.  “Nice spot, ain´t it?”  she added.

I looked about.  The sun was goin´ down over the rim of the canyon wall.  An eagle was glidin´ high in the sky above us.  Charley was buildin´ a campfire in front of a tent next to the overturned canoe.  “Damn!” I thought. “If I´m not really here, I sure wanna be.”

After we had our fill of marshmallows and hot dogs and singin´ around the fire, we all climbed into our sleepin´ bags and went to sleep.  I layed awake for a while, listenin´ to the coyotes howl thinkin´ how wonderful it was.

When I awoke again, I found myself still standing in the garden, waterin´ the cantaloupes.  “So it was just a day-dream after all.”  I said to myself. “Sure seemed real……weird.”  Well, there are a lotta `Twilight Zone´ moments when you hung out with Dotty.  Maybe my syndrome is just an overactive imagination.

I went inside and fixed myself a bacon, lettuce and tomata sandwich with a little avocado thrown in and sat down to eat it in silence.

After lunch,  I took my guitar outside and plucked around a bit.  “Loney Tunes” I thought  “Why did I always feel a little nutty whenever I hung out with Dotty, Charley and Moonbeam?”  Wasn´t it normal to have an imagination?  Wasn´t it an ordinary and important part of the human make up?”

Just then, Charley rode up on his bicycle with Moonbeam trailin´ behind.  Dotty suddenly appeared sittin´ in a chair clappin´ her hands.  “Nice tune you´re noodlin´ there wog!”  “Thanks for the canoe trip!” beamed Charley.

“What?” I asked. “Oh that.  But it was nothin´ Charley, just a day-dream.  Completely imaginary.”

“Of course it was! What else would it be? Real?,” asked Charley. “I don´t even believe in reality!”

Dotty frowned at me. “Wog, do you remember the birthday party?”

“Sure, but that was….”

Dotty finished for me. “Your imagination tryin´to show you sumpthin that played a big role in makin´ you who you are.”

“Naw, it was just part of a story I´m writin´.”

“Really?  When did you write that part, before or after?”

“Well, I musta wrote it……well, …..how else…..?”

“HE wrote it wog!”  and with that, they all disappeared.

I sat there, holdin´ my guitar.  “What the heck?” I said to myself as I leaned it up against the table.  I sat there for awhile, thinkin´ about the whole business.  It was sorta like a Sudoku puzzle where you´re stuck.  There are a lotta empty squares and you can´t figure out what numbers go in ´em.  Then I heard Dotty´s voice. “A two goes in that one,” and a square lights up in my brain.  I put a two there, but I´m still stuck.  Then I heard a sigh.  “Did that come from me?” I asked out loud.

I sat there tryin´ to figure it out.  Back to the original question: “Was he, me?  Who´s writin´ these stories anyway?”

Finally, I gave up and headed for the door of the old ´71 Landyacht.  I looked at the painting I had painted of Dotty on the door, with a mirror pointin´ back a me from her hand and another on her forehead with other shards all over it.  I opened the door and looked in. “Yikes! There was somebody there, sittin´ in my chair!”  It was sorta a Goldilocks déjà-vous, ´cept I wasn´t a bear.  I looked in closer.  Then he turned and looked out as he was lookin´ straight through me.

IT WAS ME!!! “He didn´t even notice me!  What a pickle.  Where was I gonna live tonight!”  ran through my head.

I turned around and walked away.  Past the garden and down the road , then I stopped and just stood there starin´ at nothin´.   I don´t know how long I stood there, but after a while, I had to pee.

I pulled down my zipper and started goin and kept starin´ into the nothingness, tryin´to make sense of it.

Then. I felt somethin´, so I looked down.  It was then that it registered.  I finally got it!

I WAS PEEIN´ ON MY OWN FOOT!!!!

The Three Wise Cows – The Second Dotty Story

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The Three Wise Cows
The second Dotty story by Russell Rosander

 It was late at night and I was yawnin’ and noddin’. I was pretty much wilted and thinking of bed. I was just about ready to go lay down and snuggle up with Dotty and drift on over to the other side of the clock.
I was sitting in the parlor of the ’71 Airstream LandYacht when I hear a commotion outside. Things were bangin’ around and tippin’ over. I thought maybe someone was out there, drunker than a skunk, or maybe some sorta wild animal like an javalina.

I looked up at the screen door and I could see several big white shapes like dish towels flappin’ against the screen. At first, I thought of the big white moths, bigger than your hand, that bang up there from time to time looking for the light, but I doubted they were capable of knockin’ over buckets and chairs.

I grabbed my flashlight and pointed it out, and there, to my surprise, were three white brahma cows, starin’ back at me. It was their big floppy ears flappin’ against the screen that got my attention. My flashlight was shinnin’ right in their eyes.  I felt like a cop.  “Have you been drinkin’ this evening, Sir? Would you please step out of your vehicle?”  “Sure officer. But let me hide this beer between the seats first.”

My light startled them and they started movin’ back, knockin’ over another flower pot. I yelled at ‘em to get outta here and watched them leave, stumblin’ over everthing on the patio. I went out behind them and watched them disappear into the darkness. The stars were twinkling’ brightly over head.

The next morning, I went out to see it they were still hangin’ around, but they were nowhere in sight. Just some knocked over stuff and not a single cow pie.  The water bucket by the well was knocked over and empty too.

Dotty poured us a glass of orange juice and I put some coffee water on. After the coffee was ready, we sat down at the table and started speculatin’ about the whole affair. I said, “ They were probably just some cows that got out of wherever they were supposed to be, and the vaqueros will probably be comin’ around soon looking for them. Cows are valuable animals and wouldn’t go unmissed for long.”

Dotty said, “Remember yesterday when you were thinking about the word ‘imagination’ and you noticed that the word ‘magi’ was in it? Maybe the cows aren’t ordinary cows but ‘Magicows’, The Three Wise Cows comin’ to give you the gift of magination so you could write this story.”

I was tryin’ to think up some tactful response when she said, “You know what I think? I think they ARE Magicows. I think they were following a communication satellite all the way across Mexico to Barra de Navidad, lookin’ for a newborn baby to bless. It could even be that the baby is the reincarnation of Pancho Villa. It’s true that Pancho Villa did some bad thing, but when he got to the river Jordan, The charioteers made him take a bath with that catharsic soap they make everone use to wash away their sins and cleanse their souls so they’re all clean before they give ‘em the white robes. God gave John the Baptist the recipe cause he figured Jesus was muckin´ around and takin´ himself too seriously and wanted him to take a bath and they’ve been usin´ it ever since. Dr. Bonner tried to make some for people on earth, ‘Dr. Bonner’s Castille Soap’, but it only works on dirt. The real stuff makes you laugh a lot and like to play with little rubber duckies and think kind thoughts about everone.”

I tried to imagine the “Three Wise Cows” following the light of a communication satellite to the manger of a ’71 Airstream LandYacht comin’ to give a dumb little kid tryin’ to write a story a helping hoof.  It seemed a little far fetched to me, but I’ve got into trouble before,  disputin’ Dotty’s wild ideas.

“ This time Pancho is gonna be a girl and their gonna call her Panchita and she’s gonna pick up the banner of the Virgin of Guadalupe and save Mexico from corrupt politicians and narco-trafficers.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Dotty has a way of leaving me dumb-struck that few people are capable of.

“You shoulda invited them in instead of chasin’ them away. You shoulda givin’ them a drink of water or somethin’. We coulda said that we helped the Three Wise Cows on their journey to find the baby Panchita.”

Two shouldas and a coulda. Way over the top for me. “For your information, they drank all the water in the bucket by the well before they came to the door. Where do you get crazy ideas like that?”

“Well, It’s obvious. What else would three Magi-brahma cows be doin’ comin’ to a town called Navidad which means Christmas, afterall?”

Dotty gets wild ideas sometimes. Well, of course she does.  She lives in the imagination.  Her whole theory seemed about as possible to me as cows jumping over the moon, but she wasn’t finished.

“Besides, isn’t Brahma the Hindu creator of the universe? She’s probably the one who sent them.

“How do you know Brahma is a she?” I asked.

“Well of course she’s a she. Just look it up in the dictionary.”

I pulled out my old, tattered, 1941 Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary.  The one  I had bought thirty years ago in a thrift shop. The definition didn’t mention gender, but there was one of those little line engravings next to it showin a statue of Brahma sitting lotus style, on a little platform being held up by a duck. There was a crowned head with not one, but four faces, all the same. They did look a little feminine but it was hard to tell. There were four arms stickin’ out holdin’ things. One was a flower, but I couldn’t make out the others. Then I noticed that the figure had large breasts.

“How’d ya like to snuggle up to them cushion, Bubba?”  pointed out Dotty.  “And four arms to hold you. See, I told you. All of us sucklin’ on the nipples of creation and 1t’s definitely a she!

It brought to mind a friend of mine years ago who’s phone number was listed under the name “Harriet Krisha”.    I could see I wasn’t gonna win this one and decided to go for a walk. “What’s the deal with the duck?”, I thought, too late for the repartee.

I walked down the back road towards Barra and turned off on a side road I’d never been down before. I didn’t see any Magicows, but I did find a pasture where there were regular cows and I sat down under a tree.

I don’t really know much about cows, other than what I’ve read in Western novels and what I remember from the cowboy movies I loved as a kid.

There was a cow once that belonged to my neighbors in Idaho that got into my vegetable garden. The cow’s name was “Hamburger” and when it´s time came, Earl and Iona gave me a box of beef to replace the lost produce.

Watching the cows, I could see they spent most of their time eatin’ an’ makin’ cow pies. I seem to remember something’ about cows having seven stomachs, shich may explain how they make compost so fast. Occasionally, one of them would let out a plaintive soundin’ moo. I suspect it’s an expression of some kind of distress like bein’ made to go somewhere they didn’t want to go, or callin’ a calf that was cavortin’ too far away or lettin’ him know she needed him. “Gol-dang-it, Junior, get over here and suck on this thing afore it explodes.

After a while, I headed for home cause it was getting’ kinda hot. I stopped at the store and got somethin’ to cook for dinner. I didn’t buy beef cause I felt a little squeamish about it at the time.

On the way home from the store, I passed the emergency room of the IMSS hospital. I noticed the maintenance guy was sweepin’ up cow turds in front of the door.

“Aha, of course,” I thought. A baby wouldn’t be born in a manger these days. Even really poor people just go to the emergency room these days.

“See, I told you so.” Dotty said the minute I got in the door.

“Dotty,” I said. “All I know is that the cows were here and they were over at the hospital too. The rest of it could be just a bunch of hooey.

“Well, at least my theory offer hope.” She rejoined, “What does your explanation offer? With that, she wouldn’t talk to me for the rest of the day.

I tried to write more of the story but I outta ideas for the present. I was stuck. Even if Dotty was right and there was a Panchita Villa out there, it would take years for that story to unfold.

After I cooked and ate some vegetarian stirfry and noodles, I sat back and read for a while before going to bed.

Just before I nodded off, I heard the water bucket being knocked around. I got up again and looked outside. There they were. I went outside and got the drip bucket from under my icebox and gave that to them too.                                                           Then I went back to bed thinking, “Damn, Being rational and logical can sure be boring. I was asleep five minutes later, gone back to the other side of the clock.

That night, I had a dream. I was down the road under the tree by the cow pasture. I could see the cows, still grazing in the silvery blue-light of the moon, but something strange was going on. I could hear them talking to each other, not in human language, but one that I somehow understood.
The cows were communicating with each other, not with words and sound, but telepathically. I was witnessing the secret life of cows. The cows began gatherin’ and circling in the center of the pasture. They were having an Epiphany. An old word that use to mean:  “The celebration of the coming of the Magi.”

They were passing information to one another, from cow to cow, pasture to pasture, all the way around the world. They were sayin’ that a special baby was about to be born. They were to choose three emissaries, the Magicows to carry a message to some poor, unsuspecting, innocent baby. They were to get as close as they could to where the baby was being born and speak to the baby in Magicow talk which even infants can understand. They were supposed to plant the seeds of dreams that would grow as the child grew up until it would be able to fulfill it’s special destiny.

I watched as the cows circled the three Magicows and broke off towards the fence in a line. They crowded around a weak fence post and pushed on it until it fell over.

I watched from under the tree as the three Magicows stepped over the broken fence and out of the pasture into the road. They started comin’ down the road towards where I was standin’ and as they got closer, I could see they were being led.

What was leading them was white as snow in the moonlight. I watched the procession move slowly closer until I could see that the Magicows were being led by a waddling, white duck.

They passed me and kept on goin’ down the road and I watched them disappear around the bend.

The next thing I knew, I was awake holding a glass of orange juice. Dotty had gotten up before me and poured it as I sleepwalked to the table.
She knew all about the dream. After all, we share the same brain.

I don’t know where the Magicows went to, who was born or what destiny he or she will fulfill, but I have a hope that it really happens.  I do know that there are some babies out there who will grow up to do things that will amaze us, things that will help all of humankind, so maybe it does.

Later that morning, I was out waterin’ the garden and pullin’ weeds. A vaquero came down the road riding high in the saddle with a lariat tied to his pommel.

He halloed me and I halloed him back and I could see it was the patron of a family of vaqueros that are my neighbors. He told me he was looking for three missing white cows.

I told him they had been here during the night.
He tipped his hat and said “Gracias amigo.”, turned around and headed back down the road.

Ormazd´s Big Bash or The Farce of Life – Chapter 3

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Chapter 3

         The Reverend, Bobby Jackson sat in front of his dressing room mirror while a pretty, young, cosmetologist tried to tame a stubborn tuft of hair sticking out of his pompadour.  He was convinced that she was tryin´ to seduce him, `cause she kept leanin´ in close, and her pretty breast kept touchin´ his shoulder.

At the moment, it was more of an annoying distraction than a pleasure.  He needed to be at his pulpit in front of the cameras for his weekly telecast, usin´ all his concentration on the delivery of his sermon, in five more minutes.

He supposed, that the devil must tempt him more than most men, because he had been in the business of savin´ the souls of ignorant men and women for more than forty years.  He closed his eyes for a moment, and prayed for strength.  He was tempted , to just tell her, to cut the damned thing off, but he was afraid she might make the mistake of thinkin´ he was talkin´ about his penis.  Well, that thought gave him a chuckle!

He believed, with out a doubt, that he was among the favored of men of God, for his long devotion to the Lord.  He received sacks of mail from his T.V. listeners weekly, telling him what a good man he was, and sayin´ how much they admired him and sendin´ five dollar bills and bigger.  He had come to believe, that he was, truly, God´s chosen, and suspected that, in fact, he was the long awaited Messiah,  although God had never told him as much, because he wanted him to remain a humble man.

He wished God was a little more conversant with him than he was.  Sometimes, God gave him little enough guidance.  His wife was currently out of town, visiting their grandchildren in Memphis.  He wanted God to tell him what to do about her.  She had become a priggish woman as she had grown older, and he thought it was rather unbecoming.   Even though she fawned on him, he found her most unsatisfactory.  Divorce was out of the question. How would that look to the congregation?  And then, there was  the matter of money.  He had amassed a fortune doin´ God´s work, and how do you divide up the church he had built?  Women to the left and men to the right?  It was clearly impossible.  If he only had the courage to slip a little arsenic in her orange juice, but that was surely the devil talkin´. If God intended for him to bear the burden of her, then he would have to bend to God´s will.  Honestly, lately, it seemed like, every direction he turned, the devil was temptin´ him to commit another sin.

Take this invitation to some party he had found on his breakfast table this mornin´.  His body guards had told him it was delivered by some, flea ridden, stinkin´ bum, who had, somehow, managed to get inside the compound.  They had tossed him out on his mangy ear.  This was, surely, a note from the devil himself, proclaimin´ to be the opposite.  He was a sneaky bastard, invitin´ him to take part in, God knows what, debauchery.

Well, he´d certainly pass on that one, and stay right here, enjoyin´ the pretty cosmetologist.  What was her name?  God was certainly generous in offering her to him.  He must be mighty pleased with the work he´d been doin´ spreadin´ the Lord´s word.  His love for him was, truly, a wonder!

“I think I´ve got it,” the young woman said. “I´m pretty sure that wild hair will stay down now.  Thank God for Pomade!

“Good.  It´s time for me to go lead the worship.  Be sure to be here when I get back to help me get this make-up off.  It makes me fell, downright, sissified wearin´ it.”  He said.

“I´ll be right here, at your service!” she replied cheerfully.

“That´s what I like to hear!,” he grinned at her.  “Yep,” he thought. “she definitely wants me.  I wonder if she goes for rough sex?  I could teach her a lot.  Pointin´ out her wickedness, could, very well, save her from damnation!”