A Dog’s Day

Valentine Stagbour saunters out of the hotel lobby, ballooning bosoms and swaying hips, wrapped with a tight pink number that makes her seem all legs. Her platinum blond bob bobs along with her boob job, framing a sexy oval face pasted with the sour expression only the rich have. Four inch heels elevate her to a daunting height of five feet, but don’t let that fool you. Her eyes are the green of hundred dollar bills and she has straight, small incisive teeth, a temper that flaunts these qualities with a quick sneer or a drawling snarl of ruby lips. A lashing larynx. She has business in town. An engagement to break. It is what a heiress does, after all.

She trots hot to strut, flanked by large muscular men in suits and sunglasses awkward in their haste to accomodate her pace. Just out the heavy swinging glass doors she ratchets to a halt, her fun parts almost defying gravity… but they settle joggedly. She turns back, lips rounding into an O. A fusillade of yips fills the air like rotten perfume, lightly accented with greased squeaks. Miss Stagbour bends down and affords unwary bystanders an enchanting glimpse of her assets. Bare like the bulbs that flash by from a busload of passing Japanese tourists. Konichiwa! A dog is caught in the door. Not just any dog, mind you. Her dog. A chihuahua, to be accurate. But yet, that description is not accurate enough. It is a chihuahua with wheels. And a handle.

“Poor Robocop!” Scooping the dog by the handle nestled against its back with a snug fluff covered vest she spins his darling little wheels (tricked up custom-made Tru Spinners), crooning as she glares up at a bodyguard. “Bad Cristo! Bad, bad boy!”

Cristo on her left pales and his bicep twitches. Flashes of studded leather and copious amounts of big black rubber. Last time he was bad, it was embarrassing, to whip out an inflatable donut when he had to sit. And she had made sure he would sit. Often, and in quite public places. The cash that padded his bum just wasn’t soft enough. To add insult to injury, he’d had that donut for a solid number of years. Armani, on her right snickers, a-haha! Cristo growls silently. That fucking dog.

The heiress catapults her assets into an acrobatic act that constituted walking. The dog, nestled in her crook of arm, pants and its wheels spin idly. Robocop was the recipient of a charity drive undertaken by Miss Stagbour that catered to dog amputees. Her love for all things Peter Weller was surpassed by the woes of limb challenged canines. Even naked lunches. She saw hearts on sight, him dragging his arse around, tail a-wog, like a little widdle spermie. She just had to have him.

By now she is yet again crooning to the cyborg chihuahua: ‘Yo Quiero, Robocop-o. Yo Quiero Robocop-o! With extra brass!” She giggles and looks at her bodyguards, who laugh through their shades. With effort. The dog silently snarls, but when she’s not looking, for the four-legged, whoops, two-legged also know what good they got going for them. Valentine Stagbour swings Robocop-o, fur purse extraordinaire, by the handle and struts hot to trot while Cristo and Armani scramble to accomodate her pace.

Alley right: digging in the garbage, a mangy mongrel with sexy smells and lava wet cunt.

A bark. A strangled cry. A glint of heliographing light.  A tattoo of frantic high heel footwork. A-haha! A-ha! A-haha!


6 responses to “A Dog’s Day

  1. are you planning on publishing all your short stories some day? 🙂
    i am amazed how you can write like this.
    maybe i need to take some lessons from you. 🙂 i always admire those who can write well. and you are impeccable.

  2. crikey, i don’t know. The process of publishing seems so daunting, and I feel that my body of work isn’t strong (and sufficient, as well) enough. As for lessons, I think that there’s only as far as a person can be taught: it’s all inside you.

    You may learn how to properly structure grammar (or how to deconstruct it) and rhyme and all that jazz, but in the end, its your very own experiences you draw upon to output your words. Just keep on writing. Open the floodgates of the mind as long as they dare to open. There will be trickles. There will be typhoons. If you want it hard enough, it will be said.

    I appreciate the support, and that goes for you all other readers. 🙂 Until a couple of months ago, I never realized I was writing for an audience.

  3. PS I find Kerouac’s List of Essentials interesting enough to take seriously.

    Belief & Technique
    For Modern Prose
    by Jack Kerouac
    List of Essentials

    1. Scribbled secret notebooks, and wild typewritten pages, for yr own joy
    2. Submissive to everything, open, listening
    3. Try never get drunk outside yr own house
    4. Be in love with yr life
    5. Sonething that you feel will find its own form
    6. Be crazy dumbsaint of the mind
    7. Blow as deep as you want to blow
    8. Write what you want bottomless from bottom of the mind
    9. The unspeakable visions of the individual
    10. No time for poetry but exactly what is
    11. Visionary tics shivering in the chest
    12. In tranced fixation dreaming upon object before you
    13. Remove literary, grammatical and syntactical inhibition
    14. Like Proust be an old teahead of time
    15. Telling the true story of the world in interior monolog
    16. The jewel center of interest is the eye within the eye
    17. Write in recollection and amazement for yourself
    18. Work from pithy middle eye out, swimming in language sea
    19. Accept loss forever
    20. Believe in the holy contour of life
    21. Struggle to sketch the flow that already exists intact in mind
    22. Dont think of words when you stop but to see picture better
    23. Keep track of every day the date emblazoned in yr morning
    24. No fear or shame in the dignity of yr experience, language & knowledge
    25. Write for the world to read and see yr exact pictures of it
    26. Bookmovie is the movie in words, the visual American form
    27. In praise of Character in the Bleak inhuman Loneliness
    28. Composing wild, undisciplined, pure, coming in from under, crazier the better
    29. You’re a Genius all the time
    30. Writer-Director of Earthly movies Sponsored & Angeled in Heaven

  4. Hi zxvasdf,
    Thank you for good advices. To be honest, I am not trying to be a great writer like you :). My blogging (writing) is just a small diversion of my daily life – I’ve been always fascinated with language/words so it is my meager attempt into the world of writing. Very often I find words very limiting of what I truly try to express largely because of my lack of writing skills (but in my defense, English is not my first language). But it is OK. I have access to so many great pieces of writings in this blog sphere like yours…so hopefully I can learn by just reading them.

    I like the list. I have to remember it. Thank you for sharing 🙂

    p.s. what does your name mean? I meant to ask you that for a while. 🙂

  5. Well, people have their reasons for writing. I’m not sure what mine are, really. Am I writing for an audience (which assumes to be the case when one blogs their thoughts) or am I writing from some inherent need to do so? It doesn’t matter. As long as you’re doing what you want. If you find you want to write, you’ll do it, and get better at it the more time you spend doing it.

    zxvasdf? Well it was borne out of a bid for simplicity. I had gotten tired of thinking up of new usernames every time I signed up for something. I quickly found out asdf wasn’t readily available, so I opted for Undo, Cut, Paste (which is more aesthetically pleasing than Undo Cut Copy Paste zxcv), and zxvasdf was born. I’ve stuck to this for quite a bit now.

  6. I think I am going to start calling you “Z” if you don’t mind. I can never remember(spell) your name without copying it. 🙂

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