The Scout Chronicles: I Think Someone is Trying to Pull an “Inception” on my Ass

Although I can’t be 100% sure, I think I’m being Inceptioned. And if the movie taught me anything, it’s that you don’t even know you are being Inceptioned. What I do know is that if I wake up at any moment and see Leonardo DiCaprio, I will bite that handsome son-of-a-bitch into next fucking week. The Scoutmeister is not going to be played for a fool. I haven’t actually seen DiCaprio, but this is how I think it went down: I went to Higgins Animal Clinic, which is a pretty normal occurrence for me. My homegirl Dr. Barcyzk gave me a shot–and this is where I think it all went wrong. I am only speculating, but I think when I wasn’t looking DiCaprio actually snuck into the room and administered the shot. Now I don’t know what is real or what has been dreamscaped just to fuck with Scout. I’ve checked my treat cabinet about 100 times, and it appears that no one has stolen my sweet potato treats. That was my original suspicion. But now I’m starting to think that something much more sinister is at foot. While I was knocked out on goofballs administered during that shot, presumably, the perpetrators brought Ellen Page into my condo to do some of that mental architectural rebuilding of my surroundings. Speaking of Ellen Page, is she hot or not? Sometimes I want to hump the ever living shit out of her leg. Other times I’m like, “eh, I’d let her pet me”. What the fuck is the deal with her? Anyway, she has been slowly dreamscaping my condo and now I don’t know which way is up and which way is goodamned loose. Everything is helter-skelter and the Scoutmesiter is fit to be tied.

-I come home one day and the desk in the living room is gone. Apparently dreamscaped into the bedroom. “Well Scout, the desk is still in the house, what is the big deal?” you say. Let me tell you what the big deal is asshole–I used to lay under the desk in the living room and monitor Seward Park out the window as my duties of “Guardian Angel” dictate. Now I have to worry about shit falling on me from above. Kind of stressful, so cut me some fucking slack here.

-Way bigger problem: My goddamned day bed is gone. I used to spend half my day on this thing. Worse yet, it didn’t get moved somewhere else. Fucker is gonezo, outright. Up and vanished like a fart in the wind. And in its stead is some weird thing I cannot identify. It is sort of like a bed, only smaller and enclosed on all sides. I mean there are spaces between all the slats so I can look in, but I lack the height or jumping ability to actually get over the railing and onto the mattress to see what it is all about. My only guess is that it is a bed designed for tiny humans, and it would seem the intention is that they not be allowed to escape. Doesn’t look too fucking comfortable if you ask me.

-My favorite chair in the living room, also totally gone. I’ve looked for it everywhere; in the trash cans, in the bathtub, in the sink, under the sofa…..nowheres to be found. I spent another quarter of my day on that chair. And I also liked to look at myself in the mirror behind, which has moved to a new location to make room for….

-A useless set of fucking drawers now sits against the wall. The drawers are chocked full of tiny assed clothes. Ummmm, clothes don’t fit mom and dad, and Scout doesn’t wear clothes. Seems like a pretty sensible item they had Ellen dreamscape into my condo. Bravo assholes. The drawers are also full of these water bottle thingys, that according to the photos on the package, you drink milk from. Another huge waste of resources. Just wait until your mom and dad are finished with their cereal and lick the milk out of the bottom of the bowl. Works just fine for me, but if you want your fancy water bottles then go for it.

So the Scoutmeister has reacted to this Inception’ing the only way the Scoutmeister can: I started chewing the fuck out of things. Mostly I’ve focused on all these new books that have suddenly appeared as well. They have a central theme; all feature a cover picture of various minuscule humanoids, all of whom are bald and shirtless. Some are in pink underwear, others blue. Don’t ask me, I just tell it like I see it.

One positive is that Ellen Page dreamscaped me a dog bed from Orvis. This thing is the cat’s ass. The bed is memory foam. I’m pretty sure some cedar or poly fill would have sufficed, but if it’s no sweat off Ellen’s dream architecture nuts to create me a yuppie dog bed at 4 times the cost, I’m certainly not complaining.

I’m going to ride this storm out and see what happens. You never know, maybe I wake up and everything is back to normal soon. However, and I can’t be any clearer about this, if shit doesn’t quit getting weird-and fast-I reserve the right to bite every mutherfucker involved in this Inception, from DiCaprio right on down. Riddle me this Ellen page: If you are in a dream within a dream, and I take a dump right in the middle of the floor of that dream, can you dreamscape that off the floor?

P.S.–Don’t tell mom but her belly has gotten HUGE the past few months…..what the fuck is up with that?

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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4 Responses to The Scout Chronicles: I Think Someone is Trying to Pull an “Inception” on my Ass

  1. Anonymous says:

    Brilliant. I knew he had a lot to say given recent events.


  2. Anonymous says:

    1st person memoirs of a dog are genius. Nicely done. I often wonder what the hell is going on in Zoey's mind.

  3. Anonymous says:

    Poor guy. Just wait until his daylong man time is interrupted by three people who can hardly speak English.

  4. Pingback: The Scout Chronicles: They’re Gonna Kill Scout, Aren’t They? | What Sux Now

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