Sharkboy and I push open our front door and are face to snout with a slim man standing in our alcove, his miniature Daschund sniffing round the inside of our front door suspiciously.
You must know that in our neighbourhood, our front door alcove is right at a streetcar stop which people use to get out of the rain or wind while waiting for their ride. No problem. However, some use the alcove as a smoking room which stinks up into our apartment. Some use it as a washroom. Nice.
When Sharkboy said “I hope he doesn’t pee here!” he might have been a bit pushy but he was just voicing a valid concern that our doorway refugee might not had realized about our predicament. We walk on. About 10 seconds and a few metres away, we get “YES! Yes he’s going to pee!” tossed at our backs.
Whatever.
As we’re walking along Carlton, we’re passed by a streetcar and the slim man’s face is stuck out the window. Remember kids, its dangerous to stick things out the window of a moving streetcar, but this dolt had a mission. Sharkboy and I are in disagreement as to what he actually yelled, but the highly feminine slur was the same: Sharkboy thought he yelled “(something something)…You two girls!” and I thought I heard “You two Queens!” We both agreed we heard the sibilant long sssssss after.
Why he thought that attacking our sexuality was important because we suspected his dog of urinating on our doorstep is beyond me. People like this just tire me.
Now we’re walking up into Gaytown, Church and Alexander. Where we’re all equal and free and able to live our lives equally with pride and bla bla bla. And you guessed it, there he is, his precious fucking mutt in his arms because he really needed to look like Paris Hilton, sashaying right passed us, his face twisted in hope we don’t recognize him.
Here’s where Sharkboy and I agree on what happened next. Simultaneously we verbally lash out at Dogface:
Sharkboy: “Well, well. It’s HER again.”
Dead Robot: (slow, deliberate, loud) “Sssssssssssssss!!”
And all Dogface could say was “Yeah. Well!”
We laugh as she sticks her haughty nose into the air and continues on with Fluffy tucked in her arms.
Obviously this fucktard didn’t realize that attacking our sexuality was probably not the brightest thing to do, especially if he was so blatantly gay himself. And before you start flooding my comments with “Well how did you know he was gay?” just ask yourself how many times you’ve seen a low slung, buttcrack-showing jeans wearing manboy with Kate and Ashley sized sunglasses pushed up on their “Stupid Girl” face, wandering Church street and said to yourself “Jeepers. That person’s sexuality certainly is in question”. Human brains are pattern recognition machines. We are designed to judge. What we do with our judgment separates the intelligent from the animals.
14 thoughts on “The Ballad of Dogface”
Pingback: Dead Robot » Dead Robot
thallank you.
Ballad. It’s ballad
(well, someone had to tell him!!!!)
Sorry, I’ve resisted all day.
i think the hardware store downstairs from you sells coyote urine — you could spray it all over your alcove. it should scare off the dogs, but you’ll probably just wind up attracting humans. as a species, we’re stupid beyond belief.
scrap that idea – someone would no doubt figure out where you live from the pictures and hunt you down all stalker like.
Che-che-che ha-ha-ha….
You should start a hidden camera project to get pictures of your stoop lurkers that you can post on here and we can all crucify – since easter is coming.
Neither bitch left anything on our doorstep. We were expecting something, though.
So who actually did the peeing the Dogface Queen or his queen faced dog?
I saw your post on I Always Win mentioning “Rendesvouz with Rama” – and you’ve inspired my story for Childhood Trauma Tuesday tomorrow. Arthur C. used to live next door to us when I lived in S.L as a child….and do I have a story.
I would have…they are actually really smart dogs, daschunds…My mutt is 16 years old this spring…sigh. But his senior moments are getting to be hilarious. Sometimes he waits at the neighbor’s door to be let in…He’s learned sign language because he is completely deaf now and he is going cloudy eyed and bumps into stuff. The cat is in love with him and I’m loving him more everyday…He is the dog I taught the command “LATER” to, as in we’ll go for a walk LATER…Sorry, I can’t talk about dogs too much. The inevitable is harkening in Roo’s near future.. (he is a whippet and looked like a baby kangaroo…)
I use to have a daschund when I was a teen. I felt sorry for Dodface’s mutt.
You know that since that Lord of the Rings stupid musical, Toronto’s gone to hell and is flooded with SSSSSSS-spitting golum-wannabes in sun glasses…
(You should have rescued the dog, however. Poked her in her Paris Hilton and made off with the mutt…)
When I encounter b1tchez like that, I like to remember my favourite scene from The Upside of Anger, when Joan Allen glowers at her daughter’s daddy-aged boyfriend and daydreams that his head explodes all over her dining room.
Life would be a flat, dull and boring place if we couldn’t go around judging.