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1:40 p.m. - 2001-10-02
Revenge of the Gay Poodle
I got accepted into the "Humour diaryring" today. Yippie! Now I belong to two rings (see below). The "I like to say stupid random words. Ploop!" ring was easy to get into. You don't even have to prove that you like to say stupid words. They believe you. (Suckers)

The humour ring demands that you be judged by a panel consisting of Ms.M alone. She is the one who runs the ring and therefore is where the buck stops. Lucky for me, she thought I was worthy of admittance. Lucky for her too, because as I mentioned before, I have a list of "crushees" just waiting for when I get my riches, and there's plenty of room left on it.

What fate awaits these cursed souls on the list of the damned? To answer that we must first take a voyage back in time. Back before the days of October 2001. Before September. In fact, let us travel all the way back to the days of April 2001, when our hero heckafresh was working as a carpenter in the city of San Francisco...

It was a nice day in springtime. I was working on a small foundation repair job in the heart of the Castro district, a predominately gay neighborhood. The job was in a basement that had stairs descending from the sidewalk to a small entrance. I used these stairs a great deal, they were the only way to bring in the tools and materials needed to do the job and in this case, that included about 1800 lbs. of concrete among other bulky items.

The doorway was tiny, even I, at a height of 5'4", had to duck to get through it without dinging the ol' coconut. The difficulty was compounded by the fact that I was trying to negotiate 1800lbs of concrete down the stairs at the same time. (That I was moving 1800 lbs. of concrete has no relevance to the story, I just like to bitch about my fucking job. Working is for saps.)

I was just returning from dropping off a load of concrete from what seemed to be a self replenishing pile up at the street level, (bitching again), and was starting up the stairs when I saw it.

Being about half way up the stairs, my eye level was around one foot above the level of the sidewalk, and there, starring me dead in the face was a fluffy, manicured toy poodle.

The poodle was cute, but would not be anything to take notice of were it not for the fact that it was dressed up. I mean dressed up. It was sporting pink spandex pants with a black tiger stripe design and a patent leather jacket accented with metal studs and a huge count dracula style collar. Leather studded bracelets on all four ankles completed the ensemble. Dressed up.

He just looked at me, it was almost as if the snobby little shit was judging me, and I suddenly felt very unfashionable in my overalls and workboots. At this point, all I could see was the poodle and the leash trailing upward. I wasn't yet able see the owner who was still out of view, blocked by the doorway. I couldn't wait.

In this city, you get jaded pretty quickly. I've seen allot things, from two men walking down the street connected by a chain between their nipple piercings, to any leather accessory imaginable being worn with out the clothes they were originally meant to accessorize. But looking at this outlandish dog, I could not imagine who was on the other end of this leash, and how they opted to dress themselves.

What I saw as I ascended the stairs was shocking. There, walking the most incredibly dressed dog in history, was a man wearing a bland J Crew catalogue style wardrobe, brown rockports, GAP looking sweater, old guy baseball cap with leather bill, and a look of complete boredom on his grill. No fabulous freak with died hair and piercings, stomping around in knee high boots. No flaming effeminate half dressed attention whore, waving their hands around yelling "honey" this and "honey" that. No seven foot drag queen with pink pants and leather jacket to match the puffy pooch.

Just a dude.

I didn't get it. Why would this man go to all the trouble of dressing this dog up to be a living rainbow flag, only to style himself like a soccer pop?

To this day I don't know.

One thing is for sure though, this experience spawned one of the most fiendish plots ever hatched in the human mind. It has transcended the category of amusing thought, and has become a driving force behind my ambition to be filthy rich.

Imagine, if you will, you have offhandedly offended me in some way, shape or form, and then casually have gone about your business as usual, never suspecting that the seeds of resentment you have planted in my heart will ever bear fruit. Perhaps you have suggested that is my own fault that my haircut looks dorky or you have called the idea of Healthy Cigarettes "ridiculous".

You go on with your daily life, working your way up in your respective field until one day, you receive a memo informing you that your company has been absorbed by Heckafresh Inc. and your services will no longer be needed.

"Well," you think. "That's a hell of a thing!", and you pack up your stuff and hire on with a competing company. But then the news, Heckafresh Inc. has merged with your new company and you have been axed again.

Over and over, the same story. You find a job with a new company, only to have it taken over by Heckafresh Inc, and the result is your termination.

You become desperate, but every job in the want adds is now a position for some arm of the Heckafresh corp. All, that is, but one. No experience necessary, it says, apply in person.

You arrive at the address listed to find a huge mansion with a circular driveway. You can hear the calls of peacocks and other exotic birds from a not so distant aviary. Fountains trickle in the yard and there is the sweet smell of roses in the air.

You walk up the marble steps to the front door surrounded by gargoyles and stone statues. "Here goes nothin'" you think as you raise the expensive looking antique knocker.


The door open and there I stand, wearing a silk robe and slippers, puffing on a Healthy Cuban Cigar. On my face, a smile, because in my hand I hold a leash, and on the end of that leash is the gayest looking dog in all creation and your new job my friend, is to walk it! Ahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Ahahahahahahahaahahahahahahahahahaahahahahahahaha! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHA!

By the way, you may have noticed a new lack of spelling errors in this entry if you are nitpicky. (Mom and Agent Honeydew!) Janey learned me how to use Word to spellcheck stuff. Since it is not too worky I'll probably do it most of the time but rest assured that I'm still a bad spellin' genius.


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