Saturday, July 28, 2007

so yer dog pisses on the rug, eh?


Never, never, never, would i recommend to anyone, even to somebody i despise(like the president) a pet like mine. My pet is nothing but trouble- she yowls, howls, growls, screeches, throws a fit at the slightest discomfort. My pet is quite large. She has to stay out back, which she protests constantly, as the rainy season is upon us. (I have a titanium chain i found on e-bay) And her stools are prodigious, worse than a squadron of baboons could ever manifest.
The absolutely most deleterious trait of said pet is its diet. I found Noam's culinary preferences curious, even entertaining at first... You see, my pet does not masticate kibble or grass or even the occasional rodent. Noam eats books.
Apparently, prose = flavor to Noam. And she is voracious; seemingly insatiable. This used to be a house packed to the rafters with volumes of philosophical tomes. But since i took in this wayward creature, we are reduced to a smattering of Ursala LeGuin, Judy Bloom and Stephen King . Thus, a pall of gloom has descended upon this humble cottage.
So when my pet sensed her food was becoming scarce, she became a royal pain in the ass. "WAAAAAAAGGHHH!" Neighbors started abandoning their homes. But it gets worse.
I guess it's all my fault, ultimately. I should have known better. Did I mention that my pet has absolutely astonishing olfactory capability? Noam can sniff out a Bertrand Russel essay a mile away.
Howtaputit? I, as well, have a literary appetite, though of a different propensity than Noam's, and one day, after having surveyed the selection of our sacked shelves, decided to go to Barnes n Nobles to purchase something to read.
Me got back to the house with satisfying booty of Orwell, Nabakov, Dillard , T.C. Boyle, cartography by Gerardus Mercator. I hadn't thought to bring anything back for my pet. Vaccuous, i be. Cuz when i went out back to check on Noam, coo and reassure the stupid beast, she smelled where i had been without her.
Not only did my bane of a pet ascertain that i had books- the equivalent of a tsar's five course meal, to her palate- she figured out; sniffed out, the source.
That goddamn titanium chain is worthless. Woulda done as well with a leash of twisty ties, given the antedeluvian wrath that insued!
Oh by the way, Noam looks kind of like the photo prefacing this posting, when she's ornery. I feel so so terrible for all those folks at Barnes n Noble, innocently shopping , to have to go through Noam barging in like that... The doors were too small for her. She stomped, wild-eyed, jaws dripping tendrils of frenzied froth, to the philosophy section. Barnes n Noble no longer has a philosophy section.
And me? Me gots a very hungover pet dinosaur in my backyard. Looking remorseful, guilty, miserable, puking tons of cenozoic bile and confetti.
"BAD NOAM! BAD BAD DINOSAUR! DADDY IS NOT HAPPY WITH YOU! DO YOU WANNA GO TO THE POUND? WELL, BAD BAD NOAM- YOU ARE ON STRIKE TWO!!!"

2 comments:

DCup said...

This is brilliant.

pygalgia said...

Yeah, Noam is out of control. I've been hoarding my Camus, and I'll just say "sartre" any tine Noam leans in my window.