Being and Nothingness and Fleas: Part 1
The Gerret hasn't been writing much lately. I been going through one of those existential dark-night-a-the-soul things. Been listening to a lot of Nietzsche, Camus, Sartre, Snoopy et al. on audio books. Not much help. With the exception of Snoopy they all seem more concerned with human existence, and we all know how that turns out.
I was thinking it might be my mid-life crisis, but Chigger just snorted and said, "Keep going on like that and it'll be an end-of-life crisis for your sorry butt. It ain't a mid-life crisis you little turd, it's about a sixteenth-of-a-life crisis and that don't count for nothing." Then she farted one of those really bad old-dog farts. Gross.
So okay, maybe I'm just having some teen angst. Or maybe it's heartworms. But hey, at least I used to get just a little respect around here.
I mean look at The Gerret in that photo at the top - happy, relaxed and way cooler than doofus Maggie sitting next to me. That was last summer, when I pwn'd Maggie and she was basically my size. I ran, she followed. I barked, she cowered. I barfed, she licked it up.
Now look at this picture from just recently. It's like the doofus has been on DGH or something. It's a freak show. It's just not natural how big she is.
[Maggie: "To paraphrase Norman Desmond, 'I AM big. It's The Gerret that got small.'"]
How can I tolerate this humiliation? She eats my lunch. She drinks my milkshake. She knocks me over in front of guests. (And she still licks up my barf.) I even heard Chigger refer to us "Kip and Lafawndah" the other day.
Kip and LaFawndah! I mean when did Chigger ever sit through Napoleon Dynamite? She's like 86 in dog years. She's blind in one eye, she don't hear so good and she let's those terrible old-dog farts. And she's disrespecting me with Napoleon Dynamite references? Next thing you know she'll be writing "all your base are belong to us" in the mashed potatoes. Sheesh.
To be continued