The Scout Chronicles: Someone Fucking Take me Outside Now

This is the bullshit of all bullshits!  It is snowing like a goddamned son-of-a-bitch outside.  And what is Scout doing?  Sitting in this fucking condo with two infants and the chick who is in charge of wiping their asses all day, with my dick in my paw like a sap.  Staring out the window at Seward Park just watching the snow pile up.  To those who aren’t in the know–Scout is a snowhound.  Love to roll in it.  Love to eat it.  Love to run in it.  Love to chase snowballs.  Love to growl at and/or snap at any other dog who comes close to me while I eat a snowball.  I just fucking love snow; bottom line.  And here I sit all broken hearted, tried to shit but barely farted.  Evolution really crammed it in ol’ Scouter’s ass with the not having opposable thumbs bullshit.  This is key, and here’s why.  The front door to this condo–I absolutely know how to open it.  Stand on my hind legs, put my front paws on the handle, let gravity take it down.  Effectively door is open.  But fuck you Darwin!  Scout has nothing with which to hold the door handle while he walks backward.  Oh woe is me!  If I had opposable thumbs, I’m out that door before the babies or their minder can even yell “Scout, NO!”.  I’m down the hall, and the next step is a piece of cake; jump up and paw the down button on the elevator.  Hit 1 once inside (and fuck you to anyone who says dogs can’t read numbers.  you know what they can do?  hit every single fucking button and then wait to get out of the elevator once it opens on the one that looks like where I exit the building to go shit).  The inside door in the Lobby, as well as the front door to get to the vestibule…..easy breezy Japanesey y’all.  Just a push button and the doors swing out.  Scout is tearing up snow and barking at mutherfuckers that get close so fast your head will spin.  But since the humanoids have the thumbs I have to wait for their stupid asses to get home, make stupid ass faces at my sister, read about how many times she ate liquid food or took a dump throughout the day, pretend like they don’t see the Scoutmeister, and then maybe….maybe I get to go outside and start pounding snow.  C’mon fate, can a brotha get a thumb?  Just one thumb.  I’m not even asking for two.  With one lousy, ugly, fat fucking thumb, just think what Scout could do.  Open the door and go out in the snow and do whatever the fuck I want without dad’s stupid ass yelling ”NO!” when I eat goose shit (delectable btw).  Open the treat cupboard and crush the sweet potato treats.  Open the drawers they stick the bones and elk antlers in once they feel it has reached the point Scout might bite a mutherfucker over it.  The sky is the limit.  But without the biological key to this puzzle, Scout lays on his memory foam bed with his postcard view of the world he is locked out of.  FML.    

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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