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Mr. Cute

Mr. Cute

Mr. Cute

Oh, he's sooo cute!" the lovely lady coos.

Here we go again. If only she knew that DJ, my aging Welsh terrier, is a complete cad. Perhaps then she'd fuss and fawn all over me instead. I've grown envious of my dog, and that's sad.

So sad.

But such is life; we succumb to pettiness, accumulate regrets, and never ever learn from our mistakes. I'm speaking for myself and maybe you, the guy in the pink cable-knit sweater. 

What can I say about the pathos of comparing myself to my dog? At least I'm not as attention-seeking as him, a narcissistic pooch addicted to kisses, cuddles, and savory treats.

"Yes, you are," harangues my mother, barging into my head as usual, uninvited and unwelcome. "You always were. What do you think those nursery school tantrums were about?"

"Milk-and-cookie time. I was lactose intolerant. Remember?"

Actually, right now I'm more concerned about these voices in my head. Is this the onset of schizophrenia or dementia?

Or both?

They're coming to take me away
Ha ha
They're coming to take me away

"Very interesting, very interesting indeed, however, quite normal," interjects Sigmund Freud, gracing us with his presence. 

"It is a manifestation of the Oedipus complex," Herr Sigmund postulates.

"So I'm not crazy, Big Sig!" I tell the iconic coke fiend, but his mind is elsewhere; as in watching naughty movies on his phone.

"For clinical research," he says.


"No one said you're crazy, David!" the Mother still loitering about in my head states. "A little mixed up, maybe."

"Maybe? Yeah...No! No way," I object in vain. No one ever listens to me, even the voices in my head.

"Way," Mother says, scrunching up her face like a six-year-old girl. Why doesn't she just chant, Nana nanana and stick out her tongue?

Amidst these musings, I experience a lack of control over my own thoughts. I should dictate what transpires in my mind, yet I falter.

I'm free
Free falterin'

"Out! Get out of my head, Ma!" I don't think this breaches the Ten Commandments #4, "Respect thy parents, do thy days...yada, yada, yada."

Thou shalt do this, thou shalt not do that. How about this: thou shalt not invade my head.

"Begone," I sayeth, "and don't come back no more."

No more, no more
No more, no more
No more, no more

Dad doesn't invade my head; he understands the concept of privacy and also how reverse mortgages work.

"More like he won't get off the couch," Mother says, (which does have some truth to it).

Enough is enough, so I throw a bucket of water in Ma's face. She turns into a bat and flies out my ear. Pretty trippy, eh? Ah, the inside of one's mind, where everything is possible and insanity reigns supreme.

Lock me up in solitary confinement and as long as I've got my head, I've got entertainment, better than any stupid ripoff streaming service I never watch but always get charged for.

"Can I pet your dog?" the comely fashionista asks.

"Of course you can," I reply, wondering what intoxicating perfume she's wearing. Eau de Make-Me-Crazy?

What's with women anyway, preferring cute dogs over couch potatoes like me? Do they never run off the street to pat my head? Is it because I'm bald?

So superficial.

DJ starts rubbing against Miss Knock-Out's gym-toned-tanned legs. I've seen my mutt do this a thousand times before.

"Oh, he's soooo cute!" Miss Universe repeats.

One more "cute" and I hope he pees on your leg, Miss Universe.

Yes, I'll admit it. I'm jealous of my dog, a more pathetic sentiment than it seems. Meanwhile, the goddess cuddles DJ, who shoots me a mocking wink.

He's got them moves like Jagger
He's got the moves like Jagger
Take DJ away, take him away
Or I ain't gonna stay

Moment of epiphany:

I should rejoice. My dog isn't merely socially well-adjusted and a babe magnet; he's a star. I've succeeded in raising a wonderful canine being who brings joy to countless people, especially smoking hot babes, (which irks me to no end).

That said, my friends, perhaps it's healthy to envy your dog. It means you don't simply regard him as a sidekick, but rather, as an equal.

It might sound absurd, but deep down, I think there's truth in that. Ultimately, it's all about the sanctity of life on Earth. Humans aren't superior or inferior to other earthly cohabitants; we're all interconnected, from the humble slug to the majestic tiger, to my gassy Uncle Gus. Infinitesimally tiny parts of the majestic mosaic of life.

Something I can spend the remainder of my days contemplating.