The Dog

My Dog got run over by a
fucking truck today.

It was real bad. All his bones were smashed
beyond repair, so he can’t stand on his own. Most of his internal organs are
now hanging outside his body, protruding from various orifices, natural and unnatural.
The Vet is working on him, but it looks real slim. Plus, hundreds of ticks,
fleas, and other parasites keep his immune system so drained he just can’t
quite get what he needs to recuperate. Sensing his demise, the maggots have
infested him from one end to the other. It looks pretty grim. I told the Vet to
go ahead and put him to sleep, but the Woman said, “NO!” With enough drugs, he
will be perfectly able to live a long life, she said. It would be evil and
wrong to put him down she says. I says, He can’t eat, He can’t move, He can’t
fight, He can’t fuck, Hell, He can’t even take a shit anymore! She yells at me,
“What a cruel and inhuman brute you are!” “How dare you suggest that the
quality of one’s life should have bearing on whether you should want to live or
die”.  Before I knew what was happening,
the Judge served me with a court order to cease and desist in my attempts to
have my old hound dog put to sleep. “We have ways to deal with fascist assholes
like you”, he says. So, I get booted out of the Vets’, they tell me if I come
back I’ll go to jail, and they have impounded all my assets to pay for the dog’s
treatment. Ain’t that some shit you say, and by now, if you haven’t figured out
this is a metaphorical tale, I really am wasting my time. The point is that
America has been run over by a fuckin truck, and no amount of fixin by Barack,
by Hilary, by Dick, by Sarah is going to make this fucker work. This dog just
can’t hunt anymore. It should be put down.