Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Sunday, February 26, 2006

My Cabbie is a Dog Named Goat

Last night I was chillin in my cage talking shit to the peacocks and being bored when off in the distance I heard the "La cuca rocha" jingle getting closer. An old yellow van appeared and parked in the street outside the fence. I knew what to do. I slipped out of the cage (they never actually lock it), jumped the main fence, and climbed on top of the van. I waved to my jealous primates as we drove away, and they frantically flung poop in the general direction of the street in protest. They're haters. (it should be known that I got over the poop throwing issue as a youngster, no worries)

The van's driver is a close friend of mine. He's a little cantankerous dog named Goat. We go out almost every weekend to various local pubs or just roll around and see what we see. We both get pretty complacent in our everyday doldrums, so these excursions are crucial to both of our sanity.

Goat lives in a crappy, rundown effeciency on the west side of town. He writes obituaries for a bunch of fledgling newspapers across the country, and tries to swindle people through different on-line pyramid schemes. He drinks Mad Dog 20/20 every night until he pukes himself to sleep, and smokes (but more like just chews on) Backwood cigars which have rotted many of his teeth away. He remains heartbroken over a hoodrat teen named Kiki who left him two years ago. She was, and likely still is, gangster as fuck, which is why she even messed with a dog in the first place. She used Goat to get drunk and high all the time, and ran off one day with a gun runner. He's never been the same since.

He picks a lot of fights when we're out at bars. He's the classic shit talkin' little guy with quite literally, a monkey on his back. He hates the show Family Guy because of how it portrays the acceptance of an intelligent dog within our society. "Brian the dog, is a fucking farce. It's not like that at all. People aren't cool to intelligent dogs. We're the bottom of the food chain in this society. Even the big fucking ape here has it better." He rants about how at least I'm an exotic animal who people expect to find in a cage and where all my primary needs are met on a daily basis. "I have to eat fucking cat food some nights. CAT FOOD! Do you know how degrading that is?" he'll ask fighting back tears. I've offered to move him in to my cage but he thinks that just sounds too weird.

He's a pretty good guy underneath though. We usually have a good time, and I can get him laughing sometimes. I'm trying to build his confidence up enough to talk to more women, but it's tough due to his severe emotional scarring.

We returned that night from our bender...wasted. I think I made an ass of myself again at the tavern, and may have even been banned for good this time. I have some strange bruises on my hands and my fur smells like grilled cheese. Goat and I tuned in a little in the cage when we got back, and tried discussing some permanent escape plans.

We always talk about me taking him back to Indonesia with me, but we both know it'll never happen. I can leave the cage for a while, but I can't go too far. Let's be honest, I've got it made here. Sure I'd like to see Moms and dem again, but a 3000lb. orangutan has a hard time just slipping through security at the airport. I tell Goat, "You being a dog, can travel abroad a lot easier without me. If you just act like a regular dog..." He always cuts me off at that point and says he refuses to conform to society. He is a dog of his principles and I'm not gonna stand in the way of that.

So that's Goat. If you ever see us out one night, say something nice to him. He sure could use it.

Until next time.

Mojokong - the passenger not the driver


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