Altogether Falling Apart

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Well, the first results are in. Most of you agree with me that the worst among those pets listed would be a headless dog with forks for feet. Not only would it scare friends, it would ruin wood floors. It's food would have to be pre-masticated and then funneled into it's open throat. That's just altogether horrible. Anyone who voted that a talking human finger or a gorilla who sings Judy Garland songs would be worse, clearly knows something that I don't. I could make friends with either of those pets, but the headless dog? REALLY?

I bought a rabbit at a pet store. The young girl there told me it eats cables, "So, you have to lift your cables, or cover them somehow." I asked them if there were any other issues. "No, not really."

Hey, you know what? It also eats wooden furniture, plastic toys, the buttons off of remote controls (try finding "menu" with nothing but jagged nubs for buttons), book covers and pages, strands of carpet (imagine tiny holes where the carpet used to be) and anything foam.

You know what else it does that I LOVE? It jumps on my freshly baked trout when I set the plate down on the coach for a second.

Oh, and it bites my mom sometimes.

You know what else is sweet? All the tiny rabbit poops under my bed.

Oh, here's something. Rabbits have an extra stage in their digestion. They eat their food, then they poop out these little things called cecotropes. No, not those cute little vitamin-like droppings you see scattered here and there. No, no. This is something else. Don't worry. You've never seen cecotropes. And you haven't seen them because the rabbit eats them straight out of its own ass. You think I'm making this up because it is the most ridiculous, nightmarish thing you have ever heard, but, I'm not making this up. I could never think of anything quite that bad. So, anyway, the rabbit eats it's food, then a little while later it decides to poop out the partially digested version of that food and enjoy it in a whole new way. Then it poops out those little perfect balls that look like Sixlets without the candy coating.

Also, my daughter loves the rabbit, who incidentally is named Hiccups (the rabbit, not my daughter) so it isn't going anywhere. Sometimes I imagine Hiccups sailing out of the eighth story window of our apartment. Ah, what a peaceful silent journey. "It's been real Hiccups. It's been so very, very real. Say hello to your cecotropes for me, would you?"

My friend at work was in the bathroom, sitting in a stall. He saw my shoes in the other stall, but they looked silver. He said, "Are your shoes really fucking silver? I don't remember them being silver." And someone said, "What?" And then my friend realized that it actually wasn't me and that he was talking to a stranger in a bathroom stall about his shoes.

That fool at work is still putting his pubic hair on the top right-side of the urinal. I wish I knew who he was. I would follow him and when he wasn't looking I would leave a note on his desk that says, "I know about the pubic hairs." But, maybe he would like that. Maybe the note should say something like, "I'm going to make you a pillow stuffed with all that pubic hair." But, why the hell would I write that? That makes no sense. What is wrong with me?

I went for drinks after work with a friend and his girlfriend tonight. We were sitting outside on the sidewalk and suddenly everyone gasped and turned. I turned too and saw a panicked cat zig-zagging across the street in heavy traffic. The cat had already been hit by the time I saw it, but managed to get to the other side of the road. There was a girl next to me who kept her head in her hands for at least five minutes muttering things like, "Omigod. The night is ruined. I can't eat." The guy across from her looked at another guy at their table and said, "Happy birthday, dude." The "Dude" said something like, "Ohmigod." He sounded like Fred Schneider from the B-52s. It took ten minutes, but they were eating again, even after the couple I was with returned from across the street and reported that the cat was dead. I asked, "Are you sure?" And my friend from work nodded his head, quite sure, and replied, "Oh yeah." I suddenly realized that the prosciutto I was eating tasted like wet dog. I covered it with a napkin and we all told stories about pets that died when we were kids.

I'm currently working in a small office building on Sunset Blvd. Every day around the same time someone is deliberately threshing and haystacking their pubic hairs on the top-right side of the urinal. Who does that?