Marital Wiretap.
Mood:  chatty
Topic: The Tao of Ben
In this entry, I'm going to be somewhat derivative, which should come as no surprise to you because I'm always stealing stuff from people -- shit, were it not for Douglas Adams, I'd hardly even have a rap, much less a world view.

This time, though, I'm not stealing from him for a change; I'm stealing from Miss Doxie and her hysterical conversations with her sister Ziz. Now, of course, I don't have a sister Ziz. I do have a sister, but I don't talk to her that much; I love her, but about the only things we have in common are our parents and upbringing. No, I am thinking of the conversations I have with my darling Ben.

This morning, we were discussing what we would ever do with our evil dog Nicky if we were to take a trip, since usually the only hotels that allow dogs are vile indeed. And so the subject arose of leaving Nicky with someone:

G: We could take him to Sandy's house.

B: No! He would bite those little shih tzus of hers in half.

G: Yes, but she's used to dogs pissing and shitting all over her carpets, because hers do it all the time.

B: That little fuck. Yeah, he's a "shit zoo" all right.

G: Don't talk about my dog that way. I love him.

B: I would love him a lot more if he wasn't pissing and shitting on our carpet.

G: He does it because we don't pay enough attention to him. He's emotionally needy. We are not fulfilling his needs.

B: What he needs is a swift kick in the ass.

G: Don't kick my dog. You'll hurt him.

B: I want to hurt him. Stick a cork up his ass.

G: Okay. We've got some of those synthetic corks from Bonny Doon in our kitchen drawer. Which of us sticks it in?

B: I can't stick it in. That would be gay.

G: Oh, okay, I get it. Because if I stick it in it would only be bestial, whereas if YOU stick it in, it would be both gay and bestial.

B: That's right.

G: Shit. Can I use tongs or something?

B: Rubber gloves.

G: Hmm. I think he will bite me the minute he feels me start to stick something up his ass.

B: Hmm. Well, we may just have to kill him.

G: But I don't WANT a dead dog.

B: He wouldn't piss and shit on our carpets, though.

G: But what fun is that? What're we going to have, Weekend at Bernie's Dog? We prop him up next to the fireplace?

B: I will even rig up a tape recorder to bark every once in a while.

G: We can attach him to a leash, and drag him around the neighborhood.

B: That's the idea.

G: Don't hurt my dog. I'm sorry he poops.

B: Or Winnie the Pooh Dog. You know, like Winnie the Pooh is always eating honey, but he has no alimentary tract.

G: That's right! What's up with that? Where does the honey go? He has no rectum. He has no anus.

B: Remember that time his ass got stuck in Rabbit's living room? Because he had eaten too much honey?

G: Right! And Rabbit was all freaked out about having a bear's ass trapped in his living room, but NOT for the obvious reason --

B: -- which is, given how much Pooh had eaten, that ass should have been SHITTING ALL OVER THE PLACE.

G: But Rabbit didn't care about that! He even grew to embrace the ass. Remember, he put a frame around it, and painted a face on it, and put antlers on it.

B: Talk about gay.

G: That must be why Rabbit is such a fussy little fuck! Because he's a fairy. A mean one!

B: Yeah. Come to think of it, Pooh's probably relieved he has no anus.

And so on and on. This is why I love my husband -- we have conversations like this every day. Come to think of it, this also explains a few things about our sons and their vocabularies.

But it doesn't explain where all the honey goes.