The Scout Chronicles: I Effing Hate Dad

If I die before I finish this blog, tell the world my story. Feel like my guts are going to fall out of my ass at any moment. It all started innocently enough with Dad whispering to me at 5am, “Scout, come on boy, let’s go!”. He seemed really excited and The Scoutmeister, trusting fuck that I am, decided to follow the cheery bastard. Once downstairs in the pitch black Dad is tapping my water bowl imploring, “Scout, drink some water. Come on boy, water!” Okay dude, what the fuck are you on about? I’m 4 years old, I can figure out when I do and don’t need water. Can we get on to whatever special treat you’ve drug me out of bed for so I can get back to it? This is usually the time of the morning when Dad goes off to his slap-ass party at the gym and the Ol’ Scouter stakes his rightful claim in the big bed, which he was unceremoniously evicted from last year. To my surprise Dad went not to the treat cupboard but instead leashed me up. We’re going on a walk? At 5fucking30 in the morning? I don’t even have to take a dump yet, what in sam hell are we doing here? Let’s all just calm the fuck down and let cooler heads prevail and go back to bed. No reason to be heroes when no one is even watching. I mean, I love him and all, but Dad can be a real jackoff sometimes. I should have known something was amiss when we got outside and Dad rubs my head in a really fucking patronizing manner and says, “Alright buddy, you ready to do a 10K?” Sure, why the hell not, I’m ready to do a 10K. What the fuck’s a 10K? Is that some fresh dance? Is it some new club drug all the kids are talking about? If yes, fire it up, bitch. The Scoutmeister will blow 10K smoke right in your grill.

Apparently it isn’t a club drug, because we just start running. Not chasing a ball or a frisbee mind you, but just mindlessly moving forward at a faster pace as though we need to be somewhere really soon. I’ll check my Blackberry to confirm, but pretty sure I don’t need to be anywhere up the street at 6am. But yet we head there.

Mile 1

Alright, 1.5 blocks is about enough here asshole. I’m going to shut this thing down before it even begins with a dump and a piss.

Nope, now he’s running…..with a bag of shit in his hand. Sweet dude. Chicks are totally going to dig us, running for no reason, carrying a swinging bag of poop.

Whatevs, I can run so much faster than this mutherfucker it isn’t funny. Struttin’ my stuff, little gallop, drive-by tree sniffings, kind of show-boating it a bit out there. If I’m awake at this hour being led around by an insane asshole, may as well let the neighborhood know The Scoutmeister is up and at ‘em and ready to kick some ass.

I hate to beat a dead horse here, but this is fucking stupid. Why are we out here? Can we go home yet?

Mile 2

We seem to be drifting further from home. I don’t like this, I don’t like it one bit. I haven’t the foggiest what a “10K” is, but I’m starting to catch a whiff of something that is not very pro-Scout about it.

SQUIRRELS!!! Bark bark bark bark bark! You want a piece of The Scoutmeister mutherfuckers?!?! Bark bark bark bark! Get some! RABBIT!!! Bark bark bark bark! Goddamn rabbit just gallivanting about the yard with squirrels! Bark bark bark bark. Y’all are fuckin’ lucky, lucky the Ol’ Scouter is on this leash. Be nothing but clouds of gray fur floating around this yard if he weren’t. This is Scout’s town. King Kong ain’t got nothin’ on me!

Don’t like the way that rabbit reacted to me going batshit on him. Don’t like it one bit. Just stood there staring right at me, chewing grass. Didn’t budge. Like he knew something that I did not. Very unsettling. Don’t care to ever see him again. Creepy fucker.

Goddamn it are we still running? It would seem that we are. This is like infinity boring. I’ve had more fun licking my balls. To be honest, licking your balls is always fun, but you get the idea. I think we’ve proven our point to the world: We’re dicks. Can we just go the fuck home now?

Mile 3

I’m losing my patience with Dad. And I’m not feeling too sprightly right about now. I’ve made myself very clear on this point; I’m a sprinter not a distance hound. I’m aware of this jogging nonsense that fat white humans are into, but to be honest I think it is masochistic and weird. We could totally be watching TV and eating sweet potato treats right now.

I’m panting my tits off over here and Dad doesn’t seem to give one shit. In case they didn’t teach “animal” over at State School U, Dad, dogs can’t sweat. They stick their tongue out and pant. And if you don’t slow the fuck down I can’t even do that. I could die here!

I haven’t even had breakfast yet but here I am like some goddamned canine Prefontaine, without any fuel in my body. At minimum, could dad throw a tennis ball in front of us every block? I don’t know what’s worse, the physical anguish or the complete and utter boredom. Humans just go out and run around in no particular direction just for the hell of it, huh? And dogs are stupid?

Mile 4

Still running. Still going fucking nowhere. But still running to it. Having a coldie when I get home, don’t care if it isn’t noon yet. Crash out in my kennel. This is hell.

Did this ever get anyone laid, ever?

I’m too hot for this. And I don’t mean temperature; I’m gorgeous. I get stopped every time I leave the house to be told how hot I am. It isn’t bragging, it is fact. This is fucking up my hot running around like an assclown with my tongue out in a panting deficit.

I am biting and/or pissing on Dad when we get home, if I even make it home alive. Who knows where exactly this Bataan Death March may lead? The Scoutmeister’s early grave is certainly one possible endpoint.

Mile 5

If the Ol’ Scouter could give you any advice, it’s that when your Dad tries to mysteriously force water on you at the asscrack of dawn; drink the fucking water. There hasn’t been one doggie water stop on this entire highway to hell. Not one. I’d drink my own piss if I hadn’t already pissed at the beginning of this sadistic voyage.

My paws feel like fucking concrete blocks. Speaking of which I think my paws are bleeding. If I make it home I will call PETA so fast it will make your fucking muzzle spin. This is textbook animal abuse. The heat-activated keypad on iPhone is a bitch when you have paw pads, but I will enlist my Little Sister’s help. I hope they put Dad in the human kennel for like infinity days.

I’m wracking my brain and I can’t think of what the hell I did wrong to deserve this. My Little Sister fucks up 20 times a day and I don’t see anyone dragging her sorry ass out here at grandpa o’clock in the morning to be paraded through the streets like some kind of farm chattel. Nothing is fucking fair for Scout ever!

Mile 6

Been dizzy for blocks. Vision blurry. I think I can see my mom. Kinda miss that bitch, wonder what she’s up to? Haven’t seen her since about one day after she kicked me off the tit. Those were the days, man. Suckin’ tit and snarling at my siblings. The Scoutmeister was the ALPHA in that litter. Twice the size of my siblings. The Ol’ Scouter RAN SHIT in that newspaper filled pantry! Now look at me. Playing second fiddle to a bitchy little human puppy. Didn’t ask for this.

We’re about to cross the ped bridge over the freeway. Gonna try to break free from this abusive fuck I’m yoked to, climb the fence, and jump man. I’ll find a Mexican-looking van and just jump right on the top of that low rider. I want to go home with a Mexican family. Mexicans let their dogs do whatever the fuck they want dude. Listen esse, you wanna go out in the back yard, chase a rooster, eat half a burrito out of the trash and then nap all afternoon on an old mattress in the yard under the sun? Carpe diem, lil’ perro.

Dad actually looks like he’s having a good time. What a complete dick. You wanna suck at life, that’s fine. But don’t drag Scout down with you. You’re sweating for Christ’s sake, you look like an asshole. Wipe that fucking smirk off your face! Quit tugging on the fucking medieval prong collar and saying “Come on Scout! Come on buddy, you can do it!” Fuck you! You patronizing bastard. I can do it, thing is I don’t want to.

Scout’s as good as dead. Just leave me on the side of the road, man. Swell up in the sun until a posse of raccoons burst my bloated belly and feast on the The Scoutmeister’s innards.

What an ignominious end to what could have been a huge life. Fuckin’ pathetic jogging death. Should’ve been in dogmericals my whole life like all the strangers on the street have said since day 1. I’m fucking hot goddamn it! But nope, mom and dad have their heads so far up their asses

The last .2 miles

Fuck Dad. Fuck him to the bottom of his dark, black soul.

Now I know what a 10K is. It is the bullshit of all bullshits. Everyone who runs one is a loser. L.O.S.E.R. LOSER.

I see home. Could be a mirage. Maybe the Ol’ Scouter is just going to the light. Would like to say “At least I’m enjoying the ride”, but read above.

“Atta boy Scout! Good job! Good boy!” Eat shit. Don’t care. Gonna lay in front of this a/c vent and die in peace. 1 miserable, pathetic treat to show for 6.3 miles of torture. Go to work asshole, we won’t miss you here.


About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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