07 Dec THE GREATEST STORY EVER TOLD : THE BOOK OF LOVE

 

 

 

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Chapter 1.

”If you ever leave me I’ll scream rape and call 9-1-1. I’ll tell everybody that you beat me and raped me, then I’ll turn you in saying you did this for our entire relationship.”

She was absolutely serious, and, she was absolutely insane.

What was I supposed to do in this situation? I’d just met this female a few months ago.

Let me back up for a minute.

Have you ever wondered what life could be about? If there was actually a purpose to our earthly experience?

Ever wonder why extreme situations happen to some while less-dramatic situations happen to others?

Ever wonder if there’s a higher purpose behind our experiences and, regardless if that notion is true or not, ever wonder how we  could confirm either way?

Does everything happen for a reason, such as when and where we were born and who we were born with?

Is our origin the design of destiny or was it just the freewill of our parental creators?

Would freewill just be thought creating action? And would luck be something we could create just by believing in or would it be pre-destined?

I’m sure most adults have met at least one “crazy” in life, that one who they knew deep down inside not to fuck with.

Everybody who meets this crazy knows to avoid them when they come around because everybody understands this sick individual is class-A piece of work.

Now I’m not talking about the old, “Hahaha, yea you know that person’s crazy”, spoken with a sarcastic tease.

I’m talking about the old, “Oh god, seriously get the fuck out of here”, type of crazy. As without hesitation, all personnel proceed to the nearest exit opposite the crazy, in order to completely avoided them like the plague.

Maybe you haven’t had the luxury of meeting such a quality individual in your life, and if not, I’m sure you’ve at least heard of such a character through media or film.

Everybody’s heard of that sick male who traps a female in his basement. Tortures her for months or years before she dies or escapes.

How about when some female kills her baby and leaves it in the dumpster, or buries it in the backyard?

There’s always that sick teen who skins a cat, or sticks a guinea pig in the microwave.

We’ve all heard of these disturbing humans and their character is no stretch of the imagination.

It’s almost common to hear about such an incident every so often these days.

Some people actually get off on raping others, and I’m not talking strictly about physical rape.

Some humans pretend to enjoy emotionally raping those who are vulnerable.

For some reason there are those who enjoy promoting fear, and feel like they have to have control over others.

Why, and who are these twisted individuals?

What possess somebody to do extremely evil shit to somebody else?

Is there a god or devil influencing them, or are they just fucked up when making conscious decisions?

Was it from birth these decisions were destined to be made or did something occur in their life that triggered this behaviour?

Could we actually confirm if there was a blueprint mapping out destiny, if such a thing even existed?

Are some humans destined to be poor, depressed, lonely or crazy, while others are seemingly locked into abundance, family and happiness?

Why do only some have intimate run-ins with sociopaths that create life changing events and others don’t, and who’d be in charge of these experiences if it was destiny?

Seriously, a god, devil or spirit?

Maybe karma is luck, fate, chance, power of thought, or doubt in self? Is karma consciousness?

What about plants, animals and minerals, would they have their own destiny or would they simply exist by the natural process of creation, existence, then expiry?

Would a rock have consciousness?

I can tell you that if I place a plant in one direction where the leaves are facing away from the sun, the plant will turn its leaves toward the sun. Now did the plant consciously think to do that on its own for its own good, or was that just a coincidence?

A tree grows and dies like a tree but was it always meant to be alive for that exact duration of time, or was it just also a coincidence the day it perished?

How could we know either way about the truth of our existence, and if there’s a purpose to what we could consider, madness at times?

“Modern science” has a lot to say about our existence but who’s actually in charge over there?

Science would say it’s just chance when somebody gets hurt, makes it rich, or collects good or bad luck?

If everything was created only by thought, how come some of us have certain desires accomplished while others, having similar beliefs about striving towards their goals, seem to be unable to achieve the same outcome?

Is there a block preventing their circumstance from evolving, like living or financial situation, skin colour, sex, race, or any other unchangeable attribute uncontrollable from birth?

Why are we who we are?

Let’s say from birth, the two scenarios of abundance and lack have been installed in the mind frame.

Two humans put forth the same mental effort by believing, then the same physical effort by trying, but one ends up succeeding while the other just doesn’t have the same “luck”.

Why is that?

3.

A rapist sits in the bush and plans to attack the next random female who walks by.

The next individual to pull the arm on the slot machine is a winner.

There’s a drunk driver at 5:55pm on the highway.

If you don’t know this and leave your house at 5:50pm, and it takes you 5 minutes exactly to get to the highway, would you engage in, or be able to avoid an accident based on your belief?

Some humans consistently follow the practice that thinking positive only creates positive outcomes.

This can be delusional because how can there be positive without negative?

There cannot be one without the other, how is there dark without light? We need one to understand the other and if life was only sunshine we’d never know sleep or rain.

Therefore, can we factually say that thinking positive influences our experiences, especially those as drastic as getting in an accident or winning the lottery?

These are life changing events.

So if you believe life is strictly positive and only positive things happen, can you avoid all accidents throughout life no matter what? Never even stub your toe?

Is the power of thought that capable?

Can you seriously believe yourself into winning the lottery? I mean how many people try so hard to believe that on a weekly basis, and where’s all the trillionaires?

On the real, nobody plans on getting into an accident, so what are their thoughts of those that do?

Did they believe they were blessed with “bad” luck which was what consciously caused them to leave their house at 5:50pm and :55 seconds, so that they precisely aligned with the exact timing and location of the accident, at the exact moment it happened, or was the whole incident just completely by chance?

It surely wasn’t the positive thinker who got in the accident, right? If a human gets into an accident, was it always meant to be? Could the accident had been avoided by better believing in luck?

If it was destiny and there was no way to avoid the accident, then that would be potential evidence it was consciousness that aligned every thought throughout the day so both drivers could synchronize to create intersecting halves of the accident.

Everybody loves a good hero story.

During the climax of the movie the hero shoots up the club and gets away with the cash. Karma is the plot even if it means the real or fictional commits a crime.

Nobody is on the sidelines cheering for the rapist or kid who stuck the Guinea Pig in the microwave because if they did, they’d be considered a sick fuck too.

I personally don’t believe the “bad” seeds want to win in the end.

These humans are obviously sad and do these kinds of acts because they don’t feel good.

Mostly, but not always, these “bad” seeds lived shitty lives, raised by shitty families and hung out with shitty friends if they had any at all.

Rejection can be painful as a mother wound but it’s never a justification for extreme behaviour towards others in my opinion.

The lack of care one human might’ve received could grant some understanding as to why that individual might’ve done fucked up things to another.

They might’ve felt hurt by an incident and want others to hurt just like them? Because they’re lonely in their pain and don’t understand why it’s them who thinks and feels the way they do.

If they understood their experience a little deeper, maybe they wouldn’t be so sad and angry?

4.

It’s terrifying being lonely though, and if a human doesn’t understand how to deal with their emotions that fear can eat them alive.

Some humans don’t understand this because they’ve never felt alone, because they were born into family, friends and abundance.

But beyond environmental loneliness, there’s an even-more sinister human who comes from the origin of good.

This individual has had a positive lifestyle and enjoyed abundance in all things but for some reason remains malicious through trying to hurt others and destroy lives.

Why?

This is the human who’s always had everything they’d ever wanted. Family, friends, money, food, shelter, yet somehow they’re still a psychotic lunatic who enjoys causing stress and discomfort.

Why?

You might be familiar with these types of characters in real life, they’re the ones always starting shit, talking anything but glory behind your back.

They have nice superficial things and often smile when they see you but that’s just a disguise for their disgust, as their true human emotion has no kindness in its heart and their display is just a facade.

Not to me, only to themselves of course.

These lucky humans come from decent homes raised in elegance and having enough of everything they’ve ever desired, but instead of gratitude they’re actually miserable and take their unhappinesses out on others who come in direct contact with them.

You can guarantee these characters would never admit to feeling so poorly because they only portray perfection which is a strategic move used in an attempt to pull the wool over anybody’s eyes who might not be watching and paying attention.

They’re truly misleading but only to themselves even though they try to act like they’re not, and most normalized humans can quickly identify their awkward vibration.

On this note please pardon me because these naturally born characters don’t always turn into raging psychopaths either. Sometimes these humans are content playing minor league trolls if anything at all.

But the question is why do they act this way when they have everything they’ve ever wanted?

Is it boredom? Not enough attention at home? What’s their excuse behind having evil intentions? They have no sadness or misery so what makes an individual vindictive and hateful?

When these types of characters expose themselves they go down and they go down hard. Everybody cheers!

Everybody gathers in the town square to watch the local pedophile get hung and everybody gathers around the T.V. to witness the child murderer finally get his or hers.

Nobody likes these characters but why do we have them on this earth? Why are some humans this way and most are not?

What I’m about to get into is a story that I’ve created from my dreamworld that’s based off some archetypes who walk this place we call earth.

This isn’t a story about blaming or pointing fingers at “bad” individuals. This story isn’t about the revenge plot through exploiting evil-doers for their actions.

This is a story about the possibility of universal justice, if you believe in such a thing?

A story about the evil intentions of one which quite possibly turned out to be a blessing in disguise to another?

A story to demonstrate that everything might happen for a reason, and that all humans are potentially connected to a higher purpose?

This could be a story about luck, or the ability of thought, or the power within as in good-god or bad-devil, and either/or, and or neither/nor, as destiny would have it? It’s really for the reader and listener to comprehend in their own mind.

Or in all fairness this whole fable could just be some Bullshit I made up about random events that are purely coincidence? Regardless, I’m just writing as it comes out.

Don’t we all want to be happy in life though? Like truly happy and comfortable in this experience we call life?

Don’t we all want to feel good as humans even if our situation is harsh or bitter, and don’t even those who feel bitter and harsh want to feel good?

This story could demonstrate that everything might be of good reason no matter how fucked up the situation, or human, might seem? And all experiences could be a part of a greater purpose that’s beyond our conscious awareness, for now at least?

This story could possibly answer some of life’s riddles as to why negative circumstances happen to good individuals, and why negative humans seem to have sometimes positive luck, and maybe why we might see such disgusting behaviour in others?

What’s the purpose behind a human’s nastiness if any?

5.

This tale may not answer any of the above statements but at least I share this with the intention to have fun while maybe creating some writings that could help heal some who might’ve felt tricked or trapped, afraid or fucked over in this existence because of evil.

For those possibly, who’ve searched for answers as to why drasticness had to happen to them. Maybe for those needing a new perspective behind the purpose of their hurting situation?

Those asking themselves, ‘why was it them who had to deal with such heartache and sickness?’

“Why me?” The human asks themself over and over. Why was it them that had to experience this trauma?

This is a terrifying story but told from the perspective of truth and by the grimmest of light.

A dark tale that was hard to put together but some human had to do it. There’s one of us for every detail, this is part of my contribution as I believe we all have our role. From the egomaniac down to the tiniest speck of dust that accumulates in the desert.

This could be evidence towards proving the human race truly needs every portion of existence to make it all go round?

Finally this story is not intended to offend anyone or anything despite any comments made. I only tell this story as I recall it from my dream that I can’t seem to separate in my mind from either being a waking nightmare or simply a hallucination, regardless I only intend this deliverance out of pure goodness.

Now sit back, relax, and listen up because I got a motherfuckin’ story to tell.

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Chapter 2.

It all started long ago in a far off land where I was doing some internet dating at the time. Everybody can comprehend the potential excitement of internet dating these days.

You log on, check your mailbox, shop through profiles of who’d put themselves on display while you judge their face, body and slogan to see if they’d fit your most cherished and desired criteria.

While this is all fun and games, the online shopping-spree is intended in all seriousness to potentially meet a life partner.

Once introduced over email the next step could be to meet for a coffee, some drinks, or a fun night of promiscuous sex?

If things didn’t work out, at least this meeting could provide some further understanding into what the seeker appreciated and didn’t in a significant other.

I was comfortably scrolling through the personals off a well-established site, talking to many females on the daily about their likes, dislikes, priorities and concerns, all while narrowing down the chosen few I’d thought might be reasonable to go on a simple date with.

6.

At this time in life I’d prefer to give others a chance when meeting them. If we’d make it past my initial screening process of comparing chemtrails to contrails, then perhaps we could progress into phase two of actually meeting for a first date?

I’d try not to judge at initial contact unless I needed to honour the obvious imbalance that’s sometimes immediately apparent, but as long as we were on the same page, I really intended to be as open as possible on the first date because it was important to me that the other could feel comfortable showing and proving who they truly were.

I was a conscious motherfucker so I had tendency to get nervous or intimidated, therefore I didn’t feel the need to judge others because they might’ve been feeling the same.

I’d understood we all couldn’t be on our best performance every moment of every single day, especially when meeting for a first time.

There’s a reasonable potential to be off beat within the self and up to that moment I’d dated enough to understand confidence isn’t always at its peak potential first time ‘round, so I liked to remain very chill in allowing the females to demonstrate their mind, body and soul.

I wanted to date all the females I could at this moment not because I was a man-whore but because I simply loved sampling their individual qualities and flavours of beauty.

I wanted these single-females to show me what they were truly made of because I was looking for that “one” and I didn’t want to miss out on anyone’s true potential because of nerves.

Maybe this was my downfall?

Now to correct this story before it gets twisted, I wasn’t having sex with every female I’d meet, or tolerating their ignorance towards what I considered “real” issues.

I’m just saying at this time I was very open toward every encounter, and my experiences were resulting in a higher awareness that was helping me understand more of myself and my personal desires.

This awareness was giving me a sensation of feeling alive which only added to my confidence that I’d slowly been building since a young youth.

After being hereditarily blessed with depression that was a gift handed down from both my parents and generations prior, I’d experienced an upbringing that included a-less than ideal living situation  so I’d spent the majority of my early life feeling next to zero self-esteem.

These dating encounters were starting to alter my mentality into one that was more of how I’d always wanted to be. I always saw myself as brave and unique character but never knew how to access it.

Needless to say, a lot of potential relationships crossed my path.

I’d met up with females who had children, no children. Females with education, lesser education. Some were vaxxed, some were not. Some were plus size, some a little boney. Some, a little medium-rare, where juicy was always my favourite kind of meat because that usually meant they liked to eat and take care of themselves.

I’d become acquainted with quite a few females who were more of an “alternative” breed that was common to my area, and I’d grown overly familiar with this type of character who was typically around the town I’d lived in, so instead of chasing the same old same old, I’d decided to set my sights on a new connection with something different.

Now, this town I lived in wasn’t just any town as much as it was more of a meteor-sized hole in the ground.

A black crater that was dug out of the earth after prehistoric lightening crashed into it and blew the land open, leaving this dark and dingy hole to be exposed for centuries to come, well until after the dinosaurs were extinct.

Following the mass extinction colonies of Bugs, Reptiles and Mammals began to make their way inside the crater to set up camps.

These camps turned into permanent residence and these permanent residence eventually turned into a tiny town.

It wasn’t all cuteness and rainbows though as clouds gloomed over this town that existed inside this crater on a 24/7, 365 basis, and also including the extra day on the leap year.

From these clouds never fell any fresh rain and if anything did fall from the sky it was merely your neighbourhood eco-friendly acid wash that conveniently included a marvellous concoction of aluminum, titanium dioxide and barium strontium that was absolutely delicious.

Never was there a chance of any fresh rain, never a chance snow or sun, and an absolutely 100% solid chance of grey, drab clouds, all the fucking time.

There was one massive hill that towered over the town that lived inside this crater,  and it sat on the edge of the hole overlooking the dark crater from a distance.

On top of this hill sat a garbage dump, and as these grey, drab clouds blew over the town consistently, they drug with them the fresh lingering odour of green garbage that was being dispersed over the town daily.

Because of this non-stop sour green haze relentlessly barreling over town, we’ll reference this depressing slumber as Garbage Town.

Now, Garbage Town was mainly home to one distinct Animal who had a coat that matched the exact characteristics to that of a dark grey, and drab cloud.

When herds of these Animals would gather together and assemble formation, they’d uncannily resemble the god’s honest truth of one undistinguishable neutral pastel.

Their combined size and shape was puffy and fluffy but actually had little to no substance, and I could never tell these fuckers apart just by looking at them.

Their grey drab had no depth or individuality. When I’d look at them I couldn’t tell if it was an optical illusion because they’d all appeared to form one inseparable sheet of grey.

Grey sheet, mutable drab, and because of their indistinguishable connection we’ll reference these classical characters from Garbage Town as simply, the Sheep.

And let me tell you these silly Garbage Town Sheep were boring as fuck.

Sleepy, confused and always distracted by their walkie-talkies, they had serious focusing issues from being overly exasperated by their Sheep-shift, or from over-indulging in too much cautiousness, which can truly be very taxing to the spirit within the one that’s trying to evolve into a peaceful state.

What do I know?

These livestock were always voluntarily herding themselves in one direction or another, always trying to appease a potential farm owner passing by their field, or some other Animal besides themselves who they might think would be impressed by their highly-skilled following ability. “Look at me following the leader!”

It didn’t matter if the Sheep were flocking North, South, East or West, they were always huddled close as one cohesive unit.

Never straying too far from one another and always comfortably following nose to tail, endlessly, all day long.

They loved to travel in circles and as a herd they loved keeping extra close on journeys to and from their prestige Sheep-shift.

This made travelling for myself amongst the Sheep very, very agonizingly slow and terrifyingly dangerous because the Sheep didn’t realize what a hazard they’d become in their blind following and false pride.

Most of them thought this was the good life and they were travelling at the speed of light when in reality, it was a stunted age in time and evolution was mind numbingly slow.

Daily the Sheep would attend their fixed duties around Garbage Town then return home to their barn on a precise schedule where they’d live out the majority of their structured “free time”.

That’s all that existed for the Sheep was going to their Sheep-shift to collect peanuts, travelling slower than Snails to and from their shaggy barn where once they’d return from their outing, they’d be happy to sit, stay, and appreciate everything that they had, even if it was just a few peanuts for dinner.

It was important to never complain because that would be confused with being negative, and being negative would break rule #1 in Garbage Town which the Sheep made for themselves, and that was to forever and always, shut the fuck up.

The Sheep voluntarily told themselves to be happy and thankful for all they had, and to shut the fuck up because if one of them didn’t, that Sheep wouldn’t be able to go and collect peanuts the next day, because they’d be infecting their precious positive town with the diseased bug of negativity.

So disgusting and therefore they were programmed to never udder a word to their field Master or each other because if they did, ooohhhh if they did, that’d be considered uphappy and would go against their grain of ignorance that they’d eat for breakfast every morning mistakenly considering it as bliss.

The Sheep literally thought they were happy living in the best circumstance any Animal had ever lived in, in all of existence.

They’d loved their routine and they’d loved their idea of freedom because nothing could go wrong with collecting peanuts then returning home to sit quietly in their mind.

Generations upon generations of Sheep dedicated their lives to sitting around and collecting peanuts.

It was a perfect life because everything was easy and they didn’t have to think. Thinking was also kind of disgusting to Sheep, because the effort it took to think actually hurt the brains of the Sheep.

Like muscle growth it hurt to exercise the brain so it felt easier to turn and follow each other in endless circles carelessly while maintaining positivity and a shit eating grin that was white and extra sparkly.

They were happy Animals to follow the one in front of them and honestly how could any of them had turned this lifestyle down?

What the Sheep didn’t realize while they were busy following each other in endless circles for their entire existence inside the dark and drab crater of Garbage Town, was that it was being destroyed with them inside it.

Their evolution to think had ceased to exist and they’d became extremely poisoned from the toxic fumes tricking down by way of the tower above.

7.

They couldn’t see the nanoparticles they’d been breathing but they were huffing toxins without their normal cautious concern for such things as travelling safely and making sure every peanut was exactly perfect. This was the great life, air was not an issue.

I, being a Dog, wasn’t a big fan of the clouds in Garbage Town.
I didn’t like the routine of going out collecting peanuts everyday just so I could return to my barn.

I didn’t see the point in that and I didn’t even like peanuts because they were
all genetically modified.

And I certainly didn’t enjoy engaging my body in efforts that weren’t paying off for my personal benefit.

“What, the, fuck, am I doing this for?” I’d inquired of myself often. “All to survive into the next day just so I can do it all again?” This didn’t feel right.

I’d wondered if something was wrong with this life but I didn’t know any better. I was a farm Dog born with the heart of a Horse so I only knew how to work hard then run home ducking and dodging Sheep by the thousands.

During my organized free time I’d liked to enjoy the sun and beautiful females that flocked from their dens when the sun came out on beautiful days. Which must’ve been a memory from a past life because in this realm I couldn’t remember the sun.

I liked roam free in the fields for hours before going to eat giant bowls of meat with fresh fruit and vegetables that I picked myself, followed by some home-baked cookies for desert.

Of course my favourite was a big bag of fresh greens, ripe from the mother plant and ready to roll, smoke, then relax with while sitting in the bright burning sun watching all the beautiful females strut their stuff.

This Garbage Town was full of nothing but Sheep shit and the stench of stale garbage. The repetitive visual of grey clouds mixed with grey Sheep circling each other as if they had somewhere important to go was making me feel ill.

The town stunk and I knew deep down in my ever-running heart that I needed to get out of this dump as soon as possible.

I didn’t know how or when, or where I was even supposed to go? I just knew someday my time was coming when I’d be able to experience something outside this hopeless routine trapping me inside this desolate and dreary place.
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Chapter 3.

Sheep or not in Garbage Town, I’d loved all females equally. I thought they were the most beautiful things to ever grace this giant, round planet and that’s what kept me occupied during my time while I was wasting away in the bottom of this pit.

I’d always be gazing at the fare things. Staring, unable to focus on peanut collecting because I’d be fantasizing about who they might be underneath their Sheep skin.

All I wanted to do was talk with them about how they were doing and give them pleasure, but not necessarily sexual.

I’d be happy just to listen to them and understand what it took to care about their needs, this was because I enjoyed pleasuring their hearts.

As a Dog, I was naturally loyal. Always available to lean on, play with, and lick, taste, or put my Dog anywhere a female wanted.

I’d do it for her enjoyment as well as mine, and I’d do it for the experience of having fun in our shared moments because I was playful like that.

I’d chase toys then return them on command.

I’d make dinner wearing nothing but an apron to provide a little tease while I’d prepare her favourite meal which was, you guessed it, steamed fuckin’ peanuts.

This was all for a laugh and smile of course.

I was that Dog who’d listen for hours on end while a female took the necessary space to chew off an ear about how stupid Sheep at the peanut plant were, or how annoying her family was, or how fat, ugly or bloated she’d felt that day, or any day for that matter.

Or how about when she had a headache, or mental issues, or just needed to be held if she was able to communicate that much.

I was accepting of the female where she could be succeeding or not succeeding. Bleeding or not bleeding. Or even have hair-hip length or even possibly hair-line receding, I didn’t care.

That was my love language, listening to and understanding the female, so it’d satisfy me to be there for her in her time of need.

I was all about enjoying the moment if I could, and making love in that moment.

I’d felt like I could make love to any female for hours if we had a genuine connection, not necessarily needing to have a life-long love affair to accomplish ecstasy.

It was fun for me to share and the female Sheep and I could always share passion even if it wasn’t meant to be forever, or even if it wasn’t sexual.

On a smaller scale communication could be considered making love because it’s an exchange of energy that’s shared without restriction.

Honest communication can result in an explosive climax at a certain point because of the mental stimulation, and similar to sex, communication can be deceitful just like faking an orgasm.

I’d always tried to be honest and had shared many loving experiences with many loving females but only had I actually been in true love with a few.

It’s valid that sexuality and communication are important to any relationship because truly a happy wife is a happy life, therefore I’d made it my priorities to make sure any female I was ever around felt happy in her sexual, emotional, physical and spiritual aspects of life.

Being abundantly satisfying is what I’d strived for as a Dog where it wasn’t just about one thing or another, it was about putting in a solid effort to all concerns a female required.

This was expected to be a two-way street of course.

8.

Backing up to the example of a psychotic male who’d caged his partner or random stranger in his basement.

We’ve all heard of dungeons that contain helpless victims who’d been held captive for days, months or years without food, water, or even clothing, and we understand this can happen in real life.

But in the modern day have you ever heard of the opposite where a male is being held captive in the basement of a female?

Where instead of using a physical overpowering since we live in the modern day of consciousness, the female exercises a more psychological tactic that would say, involve the manipulative persuasion of extortion?

This word extortion is explained in the English language as the wrongful use of intimidation to threaten another’s livelihood.

Now, would anybody be familiar with another wrongfully using intimidation to fuck with their life?

Why can I hear the yes’ in the background?

A method where a female intentionally sets a mental trap claiming if the male’d ever leave her she’d huff, and she’d puff, and she’d blowwwwwwwwwwww the barn down!

Seriously, has anybody ever heard of a situation so drastic where the female says, she’ll take the kids? Dad will never see the babies again.

What about the classic, “I’ll tell everybody that you cheated!” “You’re gay!” “You’re an abuser. Bigot. Asshole. Sexist. Racist. Dickhead. Peace of shit.

I’ll tell everybody. I’ll tell mom, grandma, uncle, baby cousin. I’ll tell your work, neighbours. I’ll tell fuckin’ social media.

I’ll tell every-fuckin’-body you did this…, that you are…, if you don’t…” Blah, blah, blah, bitch shut the fuck up. I wish I could say that.

Does this ring a bell though?

Let’s up the ante and talk about a very disturbing yet ultra-intelligent form of psychological warfare becoming very popular these days where a female claims she’ll tell everybody that dad molested the children.

Is this a far stretch of the imagination, that a female becomes some perverse in her mind that she uses her own children as pawns to claim they’d been touched?

If a character could be so sick then would it be possible that character might appreciate some attention from such claims as being raped? They’d claim their own kid was raped why wouldn’t they claim they’d been raped?

Would a female scream rape even if she wasn’t being touched? Wouldn’t that be fucked up?

She says something like, “I’ll scream rape and tell everybody you raped me and then I’ll file a report orchestrating a story behind you doing this.”

The abuser continues in exaggeration by threatening the male to put him away, “Rape, please help!” Stating with authority she’ll ruin his life, his name, and everything the male’s ever tried to accomplish if he ever tries to leave this almighty yet hard done by female.

What does a character do in this situation, besides swallow their entire life in one gulp of fear?

Somebody said once something like, ‘hell has no fury like a female’s scorn.’ At one moment in my life I’d thought I’d heard the forecast of hell’s storm brewin’ in the distance.

Then I saw the clouds rolling in as they used to do before the shield of grey matter took over, lightening and thunder relentlessly dominated the horizon. I became instantly terrified as an adult-male at what I might’ve thought I saw coming.

Seriously, how do you explain to a character on the outside you’re in this situation? Would somebody even believe a female could handicap a male to such extent?

And what would you say to somebody who’d presented you with such a unique situation?

It’s hard to believe any character would actually be in such a position due to another’s illness unless it’s known that that other character who’s doing the threatening is a complete sociopath.

The question becomes if nobody is around  the tree, how can they prove it made a sound when it fell to the ground?

Of course the fucking tree made a sound, let’s us reasonable thinking. Even if the tree was 2 feet tall it made a tiny amount of sound. It wasn’t fucking silent!

These are all completely plausible situations that could literally be happening at this very instant especially with instigations influenced by current social movements that rhyme with pee-poo.

Maybe that’s just me thinking again though, being my super-friendly Husky self who’d never, EVER, think of saying some Bullshit like that about another character, to another character. Or let alone fabricate anything remotely close to such an extreme depiction of another no matter what the other did to me.

Definitely not if it was just because they didn’t want to be my partner anymore, that would be their choice and that would make me very disturbed.

Now let’s talk about this scenario one step further if we can stomach it.

What if a female was in a relationship that she’d coerced through her desperate tactic of using ultimatums to preform the illusion of mind-influence and, as she’d enjoyed a joyous bike ride home to her relationship coming from her daily Sheep-shift of collecting peanuts, not being the most athletic of all the Sheep, because of her inverted hooves and all, fell off her bike skidding her lanky leg on the gravel, buckling her weak knees on the way down, kissing the ground with her coursely-haired face.

What would you imagine such a little scoundrel who threatened other‘s lives could conjure up in such a circumstance with such a poisonous mentality?

Periodically for some, life brings about an opportunity where the only option left is to run.

It’s time to get the fuck out of dodge and not look back because hurling down the runway is a monster so hideous, ferocious and out of control within themselves that there could be no stopping the one-way collision course they’re on with disaster. That’s the victim, their disaster.

Their lies, greeds, misery’s, stories, fibs and fables are not going to go well for one of the two.

Most characters understand that sadness can be disguised as rage before turning into abuse, which can make good characters run for their life if they’re faced with such atrocities.

Abuse can make good characters believe they’re the problem, and abuse can make good characters kill themselves.

Sadness can easily turn into a contagious sickness, loneliness can too.

The conception of a male running is sometimes misconstrued to be believed as, he who runs obviously did something wrong, when that just isn’t always the case.

A sick female who threatens a male’s livelihood could easily use her mental ability to manipulate those who are the so-called protectors of the planet.

Those protectors who have a plethora of weapons and keys on their belt that are readily available and intended to beat, electrocute, shoot, injure, kill, choke, chain, lock or silence any of those who are believed by 51% of their intelligence to be trouble makers.

If the protector is a little slow, then guess what they might believe?

The protector has the ability to place the true victim inside one of their concrete cages, and sometimes that true victim never escapes alive.

This is not to say all protectors intend ill-will with the use of their magical belt but some of these modern day heroes can act like Monkeys at times who submissively run around dancing for females who sing them silly love songs about perverted fantasies.

The psychotic female dances alongside the Monkey while throwing rose peddles in the air and burning toxic incense to help her increase her influence of manipulation.

She recites a song over and over again about how her male victim was given an ultimatum to stay or leave, and as the Monkey happily sings along to the song titled; Motherfucker Will Stay Or Else, he makes a decision on what battle weapon is the best choice to use on the male victim once apprehended for his alleged bad behaviour.

The female blasts her song directly into the front temporal lobe of the Monkey and it temporarily goes blind and paralyzed from the shrieking siren. The Monkey looses all ability to think and therefore falls into submission of the female’s spell.

The Monkey stays paralyzed as the female circles town in the middle of night singing her song louder and louder, stopping to play in front of the males family’s and friends homes, along with planting a bomb to detonate on his social status where all of the above would obviously raise a cause for concern from any character listening.

The Monkeys do a follow up performance with an encore presentation of their own by doing some due-diligence in searching all of the male’s acquaintances so they can formally apprehend the evil culprit and take him down to the Concrete Jungle where he and his filthy, raping penis rightfully belong.

So what does somebody do when they’re being held against their will by a sick fuck?

It’s truly a very unique situation that not all characters get to experience. Why do some get the gift of these joyous experiences and others don’t?

What’s the solution to the problem if somebody is trapped? Tell the abuser, “Fuck you”?

Tell them to say what they will because there’s no proof except hearsay, or maybe try to remain positive while being raped or trapped against your will?

Leave maybe if there’s somewhere reliable to go, but what if the victim has no dependable family or friends, what’s the next situation for a character in an abusive situation?

Would you leave everything you’ve ever owned behind if it meant freedom?

Is suicide ever an option?

With the severity lurking some characters reasonably couldn’t just say, “I’m out of here”, then move their belongings into a truck before heading off into the sunset.

The abuser and this type of desperation would never let that happen. So what does a character do who’s terrified by the power of abuse?

Let me back up once more.
——————————————————————
Chapter 4.

I met this female online. Her name was Irrelevance but for story’s sake let’s call her the Cheetah since she was a true solo artist who’d acted swift and cunning.

She’d had enough agility and natural camouflage to walk, talk and stalk in silence.

She wasn’t a product of Garbage Town and appeared different from the general population of Sheep.

Her body was covered with black spots as she’d easily stood out from the grey-drab.

The Cheetah originally hailed from the other side of the planet travelling many light years from a place called The Great Native Desert Land.

She’d spoke with an artistic tongue that was fluent and used a detailed array of high-pitched frequencies that only some specially trained professionals and myself could detect.

Her octave wasn’t common around Garbage Town so my curiosity was struck to where I’d felt like I had to get this female to show me what she was all about.

10.

Similar to every member of the opposite sex I’d meet, we’d met to go on a date doing nothing too specific, just some drinks to causally chill and get a vibe to see if she was who’d she’d portrayed herself to be online.

As per my routine I’d always asked a few subtle questions in an attempt to get a good understanding of the female I was dealing with. This was an intentional move I’d pull to see if I could figure out where the pretty young thing’s head was at.

I’d come from the side angle to try ‘n trick any of them with my passive aggressive style, “Soooo…, what do you think? Would you say that oh I don’t know, maybe, you’re crazy?”

I’d bring it up at a precise moment when the opportunity was available because I’d learned in life that some females, and males, are sometimes silly enough to admit they’re crazy if they’d truly believed they were.

A bit of a phenomenon I’d learned to ask about over time because it had seemed as though some characters would actually think it’s cute or innocent to laughingly agree they were in fact crazy.

They sound something like, “Oh, you know, that’s just silly me. I mean, isn’t every character a little crazy?”

No, silly Animal. Hahaha everybody is not a little crazy.

Some are crazy and can admit to it. Some are crazy and can’t admit to it but at least they know deep within themselves they do have issues.

Some are crazy and don’t know it, and these types would never acknowledge the question of having an issue and those are the scariest types.

Then there are some who think they might be crazy but actually aren’t, and they just think this way because of the fucked up circumstances the planet lives under.

Finally some characters aren’t actually crazy and they truly know this, and they’d never even joke about being crazy because they know it’s simply not true. It’s just not the case.

The notion is completely unfathomable.

A dead giveaway if you’re wondering about yourself in this pondering topic concerning the curiosity of personal awareness is that there’s this sign provided by the character inquiring of themselves if they have a mental issue or not, and that sign comes in the form of a question they’ll actually inquire, or not, to themselves about.

A question so honest where a crazy character will never actually have willpower to acknowledge themselves with the honesty of looking deep within and asking themselves in fact, if they are crazy or motherfuckin’ not?

Th crazy character would never acknowledge themselves as possibly having even a potential issue because their bliss is in oblivion and because wholeheartedly, they believe they have no issues which is of course their delusional.

They’re so conceded they think everybody is about them or under them, but in actuality, they’re of the smallest and un-evolved consciousness’ so no, hahaha, I could never agree that every character is a little crazy, and it would only be a crazy character who’d suggest everybody else might be a little crazy.

For some reason crazy characters think it’s normal or tolerable to be crazy.

To have reaction issues, lack of mental control or extreme destructive paranoia.

To have severe self-loathing and loneliness beyond the norm that transforms into Leeching desperation and resenting rage caused by depression.

The crazy character can’t communicate but they think they’re professionals at their daily routine. Probably maintaining some sort of controlling position while in a parallel of living in their small mind mentality.

Eventually these character’s bottle up so much emotion the rage seeping out can turn into a vengeful attack.

“Fuck you for not being as shitty as me!” They’ll lash out.

While these emotions are real and valid I couldn’t agree they’re beneficial of healthy, everyday feelings.

When I was young I’d thought it wasn’t the end of the planet if another admitted to being crazy, that was until I’d met the Cheetah.

On our first date together I’d asked the great destroyer what her opinion was in regard to her own self being crazy, but she was intelligent and sneaky enough to see me coming like she’d been watching me approach the whole time as if a sniper in the bush.

She’d easily sensed my inquiry coming before I’d fully finished asking my question by tactically responding with precise simplicity saying, “Nope”, there was in fact nothing to worry about as the Cheetah was far from crazy.

Shortly after a few quick dates though I’d began to realize her camouflage behaviours and involuntary body gestures might’ve been suggesting her crazy-side was starting to show.

Remember, I wasn’t trying to judge in this moment so like a positive and compassionate character I’d taken her word for truth because being a Dog, I was extremely naive, trusting and stupidly loyal before anybody actually deserved it.

A few meetings later I wasn’t sure about going any further with this unique character as some of her behaviours were starting to randomly explode in my face.

The Cheetah had a relentless urge to enjoy arguing about irrelevant issues.

When I wasn’t with her she’d show up at my barn unannounced and bang on my big bay door for an hour and a half.

Then when she’d call from outside repeatedly and I still wouldn’t answer she’d just wait like a predator anticipating sun down before I’d come out for my nightly walk.

This would be after I’d hang up on her, telling her I didn’t want to be around her anymore, which would come out of me because she’d be going on and on, and on and on, and on and on and on about some feminist regurgitation concerning her almighty vagina and how it was the most ultimate glory holes of all holes on the planet.

Therefore as a penis wielding male I’d OWED her the duty of being honouring and appreciative to a desperate and diligently needy, most ultimate life-giving female body part.

Her ego.

She’d explained thoroughly that I’d be expected to gift her all the gems on the planet because as a male, I was supposed to willingly do this for my partner.

I was expected to hold up her chauvinistic expectations of opening the door, getting her flowers, taking her travelling, to the cinema, buying her meals, her medications.

Don’t forget listening to her yell, rant and rave no matter how ridiculous the topic, but this wasn’t called listen to Bullshit it was called, “Being supportive.”

Without hesitation I shall be willing to rub her body before and after work, don’t forget to smile with love while I doing it.

Hold her hand, caress her head, drive her here, pick her up there, cut the lawn, clean the dishes, clean the house, clean the Animals. List goes on and on and on.

As a male, the Cheetah thought I should sweep her off her feet and carry her into the sunset, while also bowing down to her presence at the exact same time as if she was the queen and I was but a mere peasant.

Homie don’t fuckin’ really get down like that ‘yo. I’d laughed out loud right in her face a bunch of times like, “Okay lady. Okay!”

In my partnerships I’d strived to have what I’d considered, “equal relationships” where  under this radical new-age concept both are treated equally.

Phew, I understood this might’ve been a stretch for some.

This was a relationship where I’d do shit because I’d wanted to not because I’d had to or because I’d owed someone based on either of our sex.

That’s fucking sexist, and if that’s the case then this sounds like some reverse dinosaur mentality where the female should get cooking and cleaning in the god damn kitchen.

Bitch please just imagine a male actually told a female to get in the kitchen and cook and clean in today’s age.

For one I liked cleaning, it was a holistic process. And for two, a partner earned that gold-star from me, I didn’t owe them based on their genitals and neither did they owe me.

I was happy to always hold a door for a female but if she’d began telling me about how I’d owed her that gesture then fucking forget it because that attitude is completely narcissistic and a turn-off.

Make me a fucking sandwich, how does that sound?

I could never actually say, “make me a sandwich” out of anger or demand it’s so juvenile. The female says something like, “Go shovel the driveway asshole.” Is that any different?

Okay she didn’t say “asshole”.

More like, “Do you mind shovelling the driveway?” Why wouldn’t I just shovel the driveway because it needs to be shovelled? I can definitely make my own sandwich.

11.

Allow me to be the male I am without instructing me on how I should live life, we can always make requests.

I’d understood what a female wanted and needed but I couldn’t give it to her if I was always being told, I was too much of a grown-ass male, Dog.

The Cheetah came equipped with a 1600A.D. mentality believing all males should be providing for all females at all times, and cater to their every need no matter what time of day it is required.

The male should be on bended knee at every given moment but also be courteous enough to give the female the distance she’d needed to feel freedom.

There’ll shall be no harshing her vibe needed to maintain her role as Independent Woman, the new-day theme-star who’d be her own hero by day then transform back into her needy self by night.

Stand back as Independent Woman was just as strong and capable as any male. She could bench press a truck if she’d wanted to, and she’d come to this planet to accomplish any feat a male could do.

You get ‘em girl!

Honestly, I’d always appreciated and supported females who’d considered themselves to be self-reliant and capable.

It’s totally liberating and attractive for females to do what they want in life and I’d always supported them being who’d they’d want to be, just like any character deserves.

Most females can do most things a male can do, similar to most males being able to do most things a female can do.

But truthfully a man will never push a baby out of his vagina because he doesn’t have one, or he will never breast feed a baby from his chest providing it with enough nutrients so it can grow into a full size character.

And a woman will never have a prostate orgasm in her bum, even if she might come close in sensations, nor will shoot sperm from her penis that she doesn’t have in order to plant that seed in the womb of the female to help her create the starting development of that baby.

We all have our supportive roles in reality while the Cheetah thought she was literally Independent Woman with a spicy twist of Princess Bitch, and that’s because growing up her daddy always taught her, that she was a princess.

Now she was in her late 30’s and carrying this mentality that’d gone way overboard inside her mind.

Nobody reigns supreme over another and nobody has a crown that makes them more special than the next.

We could all be considered kings, queens, princes and princesses if anybody wanted to go there? Gods some might even say, but one character is not better than another.

How or what would make one character better than another? Some are more evolved than others. Some have more monopoly, bigger dicks, bigger boobs, tighter pussys, what are we talking about here? Nobody is a slave and slaves were the products of greed.

I’d believed deep down at the time that we could all be our own masters of our own relationships, and relationships were truly about equality, isn’t that right ladies?
————————————————
Chapter 5.

Over our first five meetings I’d walked away from the Cheetah three times because her behaviour was so derogatory, I just couldn’t handle her irrational comments anymore, so I’d simply turn away in the middle of our emotionally fuelled conversations.

Sometimes my walk would turn from a trot to a full out sprint because I didn’t want to hear the Cheetah’s nonsense yelling at me in the background as I’d casually leave the scene.

This was the procedure I’d learned in Doggy school, to very simply walk away if provoked.

As Pups we all were taught if we’d noticed a tension building by wanting to show our teeth or feeling an urge to bite, we’d needed to walk away as soon as we’d recognized those indicators with no questions asked.

12.

You know that point you get to inside yourself when logic kicks in and sounds off like an alarm that resembles an idea more than a searched out thought, and that idea comes into your mind as something like, oh I don’t know, “I don’t think this shit’s gonna work out.”

We all make these sorts of decisions on a smaller or larger scale at some point in life because it’s part of our natural evolution to discover what level of toleration we’ll accept or won’t.

Some characters will stay accepting Bullshit for their entire lifetime while some will only tolerate minor amounts of stank attitude from another.

This is part of our spiritual path if you’d believe in such a thing? Where I’d imagine if was true, would potentially be on a timing of evolution to learn about the individual character’s level of toleration and willingness to accept abuse from those less-evolved.

The path of characters have come along way from being literal slaves in previous existences although some are still working very diligently at trying to please boss as we speak.

Supposedly it’s been our free choice and right to say, “I don’t think I want to stay in this situation anymore”, and then walk away.

Isn’t this expected to be respected in most cases when one says this to another?

With the Cheetah, she’d never thought it was fair of me to live by my own timing or evolution.

The moment I’d start moving my own direction, she’d follow behind secretly stalking me like only a prowling Cat would be most proficient at.

I couldn’t outrun her pace because she was the fastest this planet had seen on 4-legs so I’d used my playful and goofy Dog skill to leap, bound, circle, duck and dodge her calculated attacks as she’d hounded me around town and eventually home where I’d stop at my door before entering so I could turn and kick rocks at her telling her to scram.

She wouldn’t listen or respect me though so instead of leaving she’d just scurry off to hide in the bushes until I’d came out of my barn again.

Then she’d pounce with tears of sobbing stories and sorry’s attempting to tug on my overly compassionate heart strings.

Or she’d sit in the bush and call my phone repeatedly begging me over voicemail to, “Please listen”, and hear her out as to why she might’ve been going off the deep end.

I’d really tried to stay away from the evil Cheetah during these moments. I’d wanted to give others chances in life but I didn’t appreciate getting into argument after argument during our first couple of weeks together.

Then as I’d look out my window and see her pacing frantically inside the bushes, balling to herself, continuing to check her phone with disappointment and emptiness, I’d feel forced by my own stupid-good and positive nature to go outside and console this wounded Cheetah, as an overly sensitive and empathic Dog would do when he’d see another in distress.

The Cheetah must’ve anticipated her theatre would be a success because it was as if she’d had her explanation rehearsed and timed to perfection when I’d approached. She’d used her fast-talking to quickly and confusingly justify her panicked actions.

It worked as she’d had much experience in the art of hunting and remaining camouflage so she’d known how to immediately and intentionally play my kindness for weakness.

Once I’d go console the Cheetah she’d admit to me in these moments that she’d, “Sometimes feel depressed because…”

This was where she’d eventually insert a number of excuses and excuses over time as to why she’d supposedly been feeling so depressed. The poor thing.

#1-She was light years away from her home in The Great Native Desert Land.

#2-Her dad was, “Sick and dying” and she, “couldn’t travel back.”

#3-Her pet Bunny Wabbit was, “Sick and dying.”

#4-Her school was, “Harassing me” which was the reason she’d came to Garbage Town in the first place was to attend this learning centre of higher-education.

Along with that claim she’d also mentioned she was, “Trying to get as far away” as she could from her parents because they’d also been coincidentally “beating me” while she’d been growing up in their home.

I don’t want to ruin the plot though.

That’s why she had to leave The Great Native Desert Land was so she could, “Get as far away” as she could from the pain her evil family caused her.

The Cheetah told me she, “Couldn’t handle the abuse anymore” which was the reason why she’d left.

#5-Because the Cheetah was being, “Harassed” at school, it’d amounted to her having, “a hard time finishing” as she’d neared the end of her 12th year for an 8 year program.

#6-Her mommy had, “Embarrassed” her growing up by making her, “clean the house” as a teen.

#7-She had, “No friends”.

#8-Her last partner who was also a penis-wielding male, drugged her then, “Beat me up then anally raped me.”

The saga had continued to justify why she’d admittedly, “Felt depressed” which had caused her to sometimes, ‘act irrational’ even occasionally, “blacking out.”

Those were excuses 9, 10, 11, 12 and 13. “I’d blacked out,” she’d say as if it was normal.

My naive, gullible and stupidly trusting Dog-brain thought it sounded reasonable all her excuses would legitimately excuse a character from their actions.

If her stories were true, which I was trying not to judge as dishonest, then her outbursts and indifferences would be understandable if she was in fact a character who’d been neglected and mistreated in such ways.

I was too desperate in my compassionate positivity to see the Cheetah’s warning signs indicating she was actually licking her lips dreaming of making me into a feast.

13.

I’d also been confused by some of our quality conversation, for Garbage Town was full of Sheep and when the Cheetah wasn’t bickering with me or crying at me, her language would really intrigue me.

I’d felt allured by her fast-talking concerning consciousness, mind-power, magic and the control of energy.

She’d understood theories like quantum, shamanism, oneness, conspiracies and appreciation, where somethings she’d said were like nothing I’d ever heard before.

The Cheetah had yellow-matted fur with black spots appearing as if they’d all been dried out.

She had scars on her spots and each scar had a supposed heartache to go with it. I was overrun with compassion and felt like I’d related to her sadness.

Those were only a few reasons I’d stayed loyal like a good Dog would do in a difficult situation when seeing a homely Cat, because I’d thought I could help her and wanted to witness her situation improve.

Funny how crazy characters can have an awesome awareness of deeper knowledge yet sometimes function at a completely degenerate level.

They can express understanding and intelligence, speak with Aztec language, then act completely detached from themselves as they’d fall into their own pit of self-destruction.

What happens between point A and point B? Or is it more like point A and point Z because the lowly character is living on both sides of the tracks?

Who’s train is coming through?

Around this time I’d been learning a lot about symbolism and some sort of relation to the possibility of oneness. Everything being one in the same?

I’m talking about everything being equal.

I’d been understanding how to recognize, “Signs of the universe” as possibly some sort of outside energy that was potentially synchronized with my actions?

A sign would come into my experience where I’d felt like it’d demonstrate I was in the right place at the right time if there was such a timing of purpose?

Ever wonder if the timing of your experience was right? On the, “correct path”? As if there was a “right” and “wrong” option?

Good or bad? Black or white? Negative or positive? Abundant or lacking? I suppose some paths have no vegetation, but is our personal experience based on living in an actual jungle? A forest perhaps? A desert full of mirages right?

Optical illusions maybe?

Is there an option to be doing something different at this very moment? Is every character following along meant to be doing so at this exact moment?

That would equate all of our lives combining to align at this very moment. If every action was on a specific alignment?

For the Cheetah and I, we had our first kiss after date number 2 and when we did, fireworks went off 3, 4 and 5 times in the background at that exact moment.

Despite the displeasure from some of our early disagreements and the Cheetah’s potential warnings flashing me indicating danger might be coming, I’d chosen to go with door #1 as option A out of my multiple choices of answering the ever-looming riddle of what path to take?

What is the correct route? What is the best option for being a good and positive character?

Who’d maintained a, “positive attitude” believing these, “signs” were from the “universe and beyond”, “confirming” I was in the “right spot” at the “right time”.

I didn’t realize with that single kiss on the lips this dangerous Cheetah got her chance to sample my saliva that prepared her to become instantly infatuated with my flavour, scent, taste and blood.

As if the moment was destined for what was to come as she’d seemingly found some motivation needed to strike for my jugular thinking I was a tasty treat.

That universal moment complimented by a firework in the background sealed my fate as if pecking the thorn of a rose’s stem wouldn’t prick my kisser.

While the Cheetah was now infatuated by her consuming desire to unleash her alleged tragic life full of fury, pain and sorrow upon me by enforcing her mind control tactics in attempts at using them as sympathetic manipulation towards my caring nature.

Her vocabulary, ego and vagina were her most valuable weapons of mass destruction.
——————————————————————
Chapter 6.

The Cheetah travelled from The Great Native Desert Land for the purposes of studying a political education.

She wanted to be trained at how to work the English language for intentional manipulation.

She’d studied the laws and regulations of Garbage Town becoming quite intellectual  at the talentless craft of deception, which was her daily desire to accomplish with every character she’d come in contact with.

She urned to participate in this game that she’d created within herself to see how much Bullshit she could feed each contestant who came her way.

I, on the other hand, recently graduated trade-school and was living with high expectations of landing a great wage-slave career at the local union shop but I’ll give you all a spoiler-alert on that episode, things didn’t, “work out” as expected despite signs of the universe and positive thinking.

I’d put myself through school twice because I didn’t see a future in the peanut collecting industry.

I’d always felt as if I had to get out of Garbage Town but never knew how or that  I even could.

My imagination had a hard time picturing anything more for myself other than the same old Sheep-shift of playing follow the leader and faking happiness. How could I create more if I never knew what more looked like?

14.
There were rodents of Mouse-sized capacity in the barn I was sharing with another male-Sheep, and living with this slob was not working out because he was completely disgusting.

He was more like a Weasel than a Sheep. Always hiding and hoarding food in his burrow that I could smell the stench of for weeks from being stashed under his mattress.

He didn’t care about Mice in the barn, which provoked me very much to the point I eventually told the Cheetah about him and his filth, and she’d offered that I move in with her.

I was very hesitant about this change but seeing as she had a two-story, 4-bedroom lair all to herself just a block and a half away I figured I could give it a chance.

She had two-Birds, a Rabbit, and I had a Cat, so despite our early downfalls I reluctantly accepted the idea of moving in for the time being.

We’d only been together for 2 or 3 months, arguing multiple times a week but also having somewhat meaningful conversations.

We had our first sexual experience at the only toxic lake in Garbage Town, on the dock under the moonlight.

It was a storybook fairytale and would’ve been considered our only “romantic” moment if the rest of the relationship never happened, but let me get to the juicy parts.

I tried hard to be compassionate and understanding towards the Cheetah because I thought that’s what good Dogs do.

Once l’d moved in with her we’d come to such disagreements that I‘d have the total intention of breaking up with her multiple times, but she’d always plead her case, pleading my return when I’d run away, spewing sorry’s forever and continuously promising a different behaviour.

Taking ownership for actions goes a long way with me, so I continued to respect her process and value her acknowledgments.

It wasn’t like I was being physically abused just yet, as for now getting yelling at and having constant disagreements amidst her wildly excuses about why she was flailing out of control was all I had to deal with, at the very start.

I had a deep-sympathy undeniably overwhelming my mind and body to where I’d felt practically forced by some sort of outside power to continue reminding myself of being caring, compassionate and considerate towards others.

I’d wonder on many walks back to her lair how could I be so silly to continue with this nonsense?

I’d run away from her because I knew she wasn’t good for me, but I’d always return believing from my own goodness that her apologies and justifications were actually going to come true.

Why was I doing this to myself, was there a purpose or reason I kept subjecting myself to this madness?

Has anybody ever felt that? Uncontrollably giving repetitive opportunities to another who’s consistently abusive?

I met the Cheetah’s parents a year and a half into the relationship. They were very splendid and gentle folk. We’d spent some good times together over the Holiday’s one year.

Mom and Pop Cheetah were cool but there were some out of shape, hillbilly-Cougar type cousins who’d also attended one of the holiday feasts.

The slowest of the 3 Cougars told me if anything ever happened to their precious Cheetah then their whole family would have come find me and kill me.

Dead. Then they laughed like inbred Swine.

‘How cliche was that?‘ All I could think. “Me kill you”, like a bunch of big dolts. I honestly didn’t feel threatened.

The oldest male Cougar leaned over the dining room table just like mafia daddy does with his white wife beater in the movie then he whispered in my ear like a sweet-nothing how he wanted to fuck me then kill me then fuck me again, hahaha that sick fuck.

I chucked back to acknowledge I heard him but didn’t give a fuck what he said because I knew, what was he going to do in the moment, kill me right there on the table?

Not happening I thought before I laughed out loud again then looked him right in the eyes and I just gave him a wink. Then I laughed a third time extremely hard like I was jolly Saint Nick and this motherfucker just told me his best attempt at a knock-knock joke.

‘You stupid defect.’ I nodded and sat upright. “Cousin, you have no idea who your princess-niece is like in real life, and you have no idea the hell I’m trapped in right now being here with you and her, so why don’t you and your ego-mania just go back the fuck-up off me now?”

Then I leaned towards him and tried to telepathically communicate with his pea-sized brain letting him know he had full permission from me, and I wished he would reach over and try to start something at that moment.

15.

I stared. And I stared deeper. ‘Fuckin’ try it.’

These Cougar relatives only saw this Cheetah once a year. They only knew her from that one annual dinner when in reality, they had no idea about the truth going on within this little devil, because anybody can fake a smile for a few hours once a year isn’t that right?

The whole Cougar family were dicks to be honest, but the Cheetah’s parents were well-maintained and obviously got the good side of the gene code for some strange reason.

I never felt any danger around the parents. I told them about my aspiring career which was before I’d learned it wasn’t going to work out. They’d listened and engaged to all that I had to say and it was like somebody actually gave a shit.

They fed me clean meat and I helped them clean the carcasses after we ate. It was like a moment away from the moment inside the moment where I got to enjoy a moment of Holiday as if it was a mini-vacation away from their unruly-daughter who was sitting in the next room.

I was obligated to meet them if you’re wondering, because of the marriage that I was forced to participate a few weeks earlier.

Let me fill you in on this exciting time.

At the start of my relationship with the Cheetah she’d trapped me by using her loneliness and sadness as a tactic for manipulation.

She’d supposedly been raised by a depressing and empty family, which I’d felt I could relate to because my family was also empty and cold.

After meeting her family a year and a half into this relationship I’d learned in reality my family was nothing compared to hers and actually the complete opposite of the characters I knew growing up.

My family was bitter, depressed, and full of hatred. My family lived in Garbage Town yet they never had time to visit me.

After getting the boot from Momma-Dog at 19 she never, “had enough time” to come see her first-born Pup.

Momma-Dog was always running around attempting to do everything a Sheep was doing because she’d always wanted to fit in and be one herself.

She’d also drank like a Fish after my Daddy-Dog went missing and picked up a little crack habit of his own.

Daddy liked to blaze stones and that’s because Momma-Dog accused him of owing her, “thousands upon thousands” of peanuts towards Puppy backpay.

She ended up chasing him all over the countryside trying to hound him for many, many years and many, many more peanuts.

It wasn’t like Daddy-Dog wasn’t supporting us Pups, myself and my younger bro-Dog.

The system was simply deceived by Momma-Dog, bless her lying and cheating cold-heart, who also used her vagina to manipulate the power of justice by pretending Daddy-Dog made X amount more than he did.

“For some reason”, the process was against Daddy-Dog and they naturally didn’t believe a word he tried to utter in his glorious day of being heard, so he ended up being on the hook for a larger amount than he’d felt was reasonable.

Long story short, Daddy-Dog made the Monkey’s list of fugitives after a few decades of non-payment, started working off the books, got so depressed he decided he couldn’t handle it anymore and, started smoking a little crack to temporarily try to fix the issue.

I think he got a bit paranoid though because he ended up fleeing the scene where I’d been never unable to contact him since. Never got to say goodbye.

Not sure if he’s alive and well or dead and gone at this moment. I’d found out his parents died recently and Momma-Dog finally got her desires of cashing in on their timely demise.

She actually maintained a relationship with Daddy-Dog’s parents after he’d fled the scene, all so she could maintain the intention of collecting their jewels after grandparents laid down for their dirt-nap.

Like a petty thief in the dark of night my Momma-Dog blended in perfectly to her true soulless state.

Once they passed she got a whopping 1200 peanuts for her efforts in maintaining a relationship with them, a disgraceful amount but hopefully it was worth it to her.

I could understand why some humans turn to habits. Life can be unfair and it’s possible to have a hard time understanding why it is you who has to go through what you have to go through.

Habits can help ease those unfair moments.

My Daddy-Dog was just a victim of being trapped from birth by environmental circumstances which amounted to his life of sadness and disappointment. Because of his environmental upbringing he had a hard time believing in himself.

Then he’d met this female who was already angry and bitter at men from her Daddy’s treatment of her. Around and round the mulberry bush we go as the Dogs chase each other before creating me.

Dad split 7-years later and Momma-Dog decided to test her luck with females but that’s now getting off topic.

Could my Daddy-Dog ever had escaped his journey? If he did, I probably wouldn’t be writing this. Should I be thankful or positive about this story, or chance to share, or my loss?

Maybe the gain was the gift of just experiencing my dad as a child, but hard to feel thankful and positive in this moment when he’s not here now and I never got any closure.

I did know at the time my Daddy-Dog didn’t understand emotion, and while he’d continued to face oncoming situations as best he knew, and tried to remain positive and hopeful, life just became too much for him with all the constant attacks from every angle.

Constant pain and belittling is hard to overcome.

16.

That’s another reason I was staying with the Cheetah because I never wanted anybody to experience the feeling of being deserted by their family or friends. It’s not a nice place to be and I didn’t want her to be there if I could help that.

From what she’d told me, her family was mean to her and I’d wondered if that’s where she got her anger from but after meeting them I’d learned her parents were the total opposite of her, and extremely kind.
——————————————————————
Chapter 7.

Fair to say I’d never been big on the whole, “made a bad decision” mentality because I’d always believed everything in life happened for a reason.

I’d believed deep down within that all timing behind every experience was actually on a specific alignment that was in sync with astrology.

In my mind there could never be a “bad” decision because every decision made regardless of a negative or positive outcome, had purposely been consciously constructed to reach its exact creation at the precise moment it did, which was precisely on schedule with the planetary alignments happening in the sky above.

Therefore I knew to trust my thought process to be coinciding with my spiritual purpose, which were evolving together as the planets rotated in and out of astrological signs, where all could be considered the trine working together between planets, spirit and human?

God damn though in the very long months to come my decision to move into the Cheetah’s lair was quickly becoming the worst decision I’d ever made.

She was definitely one of the worst creatures I’d ever met on this planet and it’d normally take a lot for me to become so bitter towards another.

I’d been raised by a very petty female who was vindictive and disgruntled so I knew how to take a punch or two, or sixteen. But this Cheetah wasn’t playing fair by biting and throwing cheap elbows during a wrestling match where I’d saw no ref in sight.

There were many times I’d ask the god outside myself for the courage to change the things I couldn’t but I don’t think anybody was listening.

Over our first month together I’d been argued with, fought with, bickered at, yelled at, screamed at. Had things thrown at me, doors slammed in my face, was disrespect about my name, hair colour, manhood, and even the continent I was from even though the Cheetah was living in this continent.

A few other random explosions simply attributed to mental illness. Black out rage was one of her favourite acts to put on, displaying the temper tantrum only a neglected dumb, deaf and blind infant might try and throw when strapped to a wheelchair.

I’d been caught in the Cheetah’s Mousetrap and didn’t realize what I’d got myself into.

At first, I excused her random outbursts because I’d felt like I’d understood she wasn’t feeling very well.

I tried my best to be supportive and understanding of who I thought my new partner was, while trying to remaining compassionate that she was going through some seemingly hard times.

We talked about her issues and relaxed between arguments like two wrestlers who’d hated each other out in the ring but behind closed curtains were best friends. I’d felt really sympathetic for how pathetic the Cheetah acted, I knew it wasn’t safe for me to be there anymore though.

I’d go to work daily and play with
the other Animals when the Cheetah was busy doing her thing, kind of believing her argumentative state would dissipate over time and possibly be cured with gentle conversation.

One day the cheetah asked me if I’d go buy a Guinea Pig with her? It was more like her saying to me, “I’m going to buy a Guinea Pig, come with me.” I did and shortly after she began telling everybody this was our new love child.

It started to dawn on me she might be a sociopath.

The Cheetah’s room was in the basement of her lair and she’d said I could take the room opposite hers because we were still getting to know each other after only dating a few months.

She’d told me she had, “Projects and paperwork” to do daily so sleeping with her wouldn’t be beneficial, along with sleeping in separate rooms would create, “less drama.”

I wasn’t going to go argue with her on that day, a comfortable night’s sleep was very important to me.

The Cheetah slept on a blowup mattress so there wasn’t much room for me to nestle up beside her anyways.

She’d wake up every morning complaining about her back, her neck, her legs, her hips, and how they were so sore, as the mattress would be completely deflated on the floor.

“Why don’t you buy a bed?” I’d ask her.

She’d just ignore me answering in a circle talking about how hard it was to pick peanuts with her sore back. What did this Cheetah want from me?

She’d eventually said she was going to graduate from school soon then move back to The Great Native Desert Land so there was no point.

I had to listen to her stuck on replay as she wasn’t going to help herself, and although I didn’t feel responsible to buy her a mattress, because I’m a decent Dog and didn’t want to listen to her complain anymore, or be sore, I called the local donation company who sold brand new beds at discounted prices and got her one delivered.

17.

After that was when the relationship started getting extra spicy, as if that act of kindness triggered some sort of mental conflict within her brain?

Everyday she’d act hysterical by throwing furious outbursts as if that disabled child was now a 160 pound adult-female who’d broken free from the confines of her wheelchair and was trying to walk for the first time without supervision, but instead of standing upright she’d continue to stumble along the wall dragging every picture and piece shelving down with her along her way.

It was routine I could expect some sort of manic behaviour coming from the Cheetah up until now.

Head down, eyes focused, back-hair raised and tail puffed out she’d approach antagonizing a malicious argument.

Scraping her claws on the steel doors as she’d throw herself from room to room howwwwwwlllllling in a devilish manner about minor issues concerning minuscule things I did, or didn’t do around her lair.

Obviously she was bored in life when she wasn’t drowning at her day job, and it slipped out of my mouth one day when I accidentally mentioned that.

Surely you can imagine how angry the Cheetah got when she didn’t appreciate my opinion in that moment.

I was never the type to just leave shit laying around though so I didn’t understand what the fuck she kept going on about.

As a Dog, I was generally very neat and tidy. I kept to myself, I minded my own business. What gives here?

I truly cared about my appearance of self and home, and I appreciated keeping everything in good condition.

What I’m referring to is just a few peanut shells leftover from my breakfast kibble that might’ve been accidentally sitting on the counter after I’d sped off at 5:20am.

Like a flake of a shell maybe? Did she have a magnifying glass out because in all honesty sometimes shit’ll just happen.

I’m not the most concerned about a few shells on the counter during such an early hour. I’ll get it later and it’s not a tornado so all concerns can relax.

The Cheetah was built for speed and demonstrated that by bottling her rage up until she’d catch us both grazing in the kitchen at the same time.

Then she must’ve seen my comfortability level reach a certain point because the moment life would start to feel calm and the dust from the last round started to settle, the Cheetah would turn to me and with one cock of her hammer, click, clack, KA-BOOOOOM!

Her mouth was the barrel automatically discharging rounds of her voice that flew by my head incapsulated in casings that would explode with pieces of shrapnel puncturing my body.

I’d staggered left then right until the Cheetah would corner me to point blank range.

Landmine after landmine had gone off behind her as she’d laid them earlier and was now stomping them on purpose while she’d approach trying to intimate me.

It was working and not only was I afraid of the ground I was walking on but of the bombs dropping from the ceiling that she’d also set earlier to detonate on my character.

Explosions erupted regarding how messy the lair was, how sick it made her to look at everything. How it should be me who had to cook, clean and shop if I wanted to be a supportive partner of hers.

She was working and doing school 24/7 and I was not concerned enough with her god damn feelings. “Not concerned enough with my God Damn feelings!”

I should’ve realized the signs up to this point.

I should’ve just looked at her in this moment and ran out the fuckin’ door like, “fuck you” and never looked back.

Imagine a couple are in the kitchen making sandwiches together on a nice, sunny Saturday.

The birds are singing, the sun is shining through the living room window, and everybody is chilling the fuck out when all of a sudden, one of the couple looks at the other and decides to randomly start blasting him about events that aren’t even taking place in the motherfuckin’ moment.

The one partner who’s gratuitous enough to do the receiving of the abuse looks at the one who’s happy to be the giver of abuse and B-lines it out the door.

Doesn’t say a word, not even a “bye”, just bolts never to return.

I’m too nice though, and a dumb Dog that always returns home because he doesn’t know where else to go. He has nowhere to run and he has no options only to return.

I wanted to talk things out and not have any hard feelings, I’m so very stupid like that. I also believed the Cheetah was hurting so I chose to turn the other cheek.

“It’s respectively clean in here, what’s the problem, what are we really talking about? Can we try and understand what the real issue is here?” I tried hard to keep it real.

The Cheetah was a sociopath though and didn’t want to hear a word I had to say.

She didn’t want to cooperate or get along, or be friendly. The Cheetah enjoyed reacting first with intense hissing and strikes which seemed like she was very natural at.

She’d tackle me to the ground by charging at me then wrestling me down with her front paws and claws out before she’d begin Rabbit-kicking me in the stomach with her powerful back feet.

This happened over and over where she’d lash out at me then over-exert herself into exhaustion, which isn’t necessarily true of the Cat family to do to themselves but this Cheetah was sadly a little on the handicapped side.

But thankfully she’d go to such exaggerations, because her attacks helped her sleep those nights. The moments became relieving.

I’d clean my ears respectfully once she’d be done terrorizing the scene. It was becoming evident the Cheetah was obviously unhappy on the regular. What’s my next option here? I really didn’t think this was working out.

“Okay, I’ll leave…,” I said after an all-day experience, then headed for the door.

Tears began to fall followed by some fast-talking explanation, and I showed understanding, but was three-quarters out the door and my relationship was clearly over despite my greatest efforts. I could see that they were not going anywhere.
——————————————————————
Chapter 8.

I was spending some quality time at the gym before getting into a relationship with the Cheetah, so early on living at the lair I’d periodically take her for the journey to teach her how to exercise since she’d never learned how to fluently move her body.

Family tradition believed education was essential priority #1 so the Cheetah never exercised or played sports of any kind. Didn’t even stretch.

Because of that she’d developed a wobbly pair of knocked-knees and inverted paws due to her lack of mobility, resulting in next to zero range of motion.

Her back had become stiff as a 1-inch thick sheet of plywood and she’d waddle from side-to-side when she’d walk, unable to take a full strides forwards.

I’d helped her understand how to use the equipment properly and how to literally get her step back.

I taught her about what body parts did what and how to eat properly since she’d thought peanuts were all the nutrition she’d truly needed.

This was only after a few months of living together where I thought it was nice to show her what I knew even though she was a raging psychopath 91% of the time.

We were legitimately building something in these moments but after a few excursions together she didn’t want to go out as a couple anymore.

She wanted to go create her own routine and I didn’t see any problem with that, I’d actually appreciated our time apart so I’d go just after she’d return, that way it’d give us an opportunity to stay spaced apart.

Isn’t that what couples do, live together but stay spaced apart?

Soon after a few rounds by herself the Cheetah told me she’d found a new interest in the kick-boxing class offered by the gym.

A safe and compassionate environment where young females could go to take out their constructive and combative aggression, if that makes any sense?

Fighting is not self-care.

Anyways, she’d told me about her new adventure the day she’d joined and I thought it sounded a bit peculiar that she’d agreed to engage in such physical activity but whatever, I was more thankful to hear there was something to occupy her mind and keep her off my back.

As the reality of theatre took centre stage and the Cheetah returned to her lair the next day from karating-chopping at ninja class, she low and behold brought with her ladies and gentlemen, males and females, children of all ages, a precisely and timely dark purple swelling that circled the already black shading around her eye.

18.

I found it hard to notice at first since it blended in with her already natural darkness, but it became evident she did have an injury as I watched her casually examined herself in the mirror right in front of me, before quickly dialling up the excuse in triumphant detail about how a Sheep, “Spin around with a high leg-kick and karate-chopped me in my slow-witted jaw. I think she said her name was Cletus?”

I didn’t hug or console the poor savage in any way I simply asked if she was okay and if the gym had any follow up procedures but the smell on her breath had me thinking she’d been eating Bullshit sandwich with grim-death for lunch.

I noticed the Reaper staring back at me while she’d looked in the mirror lightly dabbing her cheek with a sneak smearing shit grin as if she was proud of taking her shot.

I saw the pale-faced, red horned devil wink at me then smile as the Cheetah cut from her reflection to grab the phone and snap a chat right in front of me, but she didn’t say a word, other than to reply to my inquiry stating she was, “Fine.”

The air filled with a dark storm cloud and the stench of coward, sweaty ass and rigour mortis all combined to hot box the Cheetah’s captivity.

I could barely breathe or think straight but imagined some individuals have tendency to stink after they hit up the gym so maybe she just needed a shower?

Or maybe her farts were because she was getting so excited from enjoying the documentation of her life as a troll through her camera lenses?

I could only imagine the attention she was thinking of receiving from this photo op.

I knew the Cheetah wasn’t the first to take a selfie of an injury for internet purposes as I’d watched her puff her chest out and feel superior in her glorious moment.

Succeeding that unforgettable life changing event was when situations really started escalating in the lair to where the Cheetah would carry on with arguments over days and entire weekends.

She’d demand I strictly communicate under her desired timing as we’d verbally scuffle from one room to the next like two tumbleweeds blown in every direction by the sandstorm wind.

Sometimes I’d leave and sometimes I’d stay. Sometimes the Monkeys would show up but they’d always vacate the premises after talking to us both about noise and if I’d leave, I’d always return to smoke chong in her basement so we could try and talk it out.

Sometimes it’d take hours for us to get to that point but once we did, we’d come to a reasonable understanding for the night.

That reasonable understanding was usually her stating she had issues and understood her behaviour was out of line.

‘Okay…’

It’d always mind-fuck me into thinking she wanted to try.

Then I’d try to move on the next day and the Cheetah would latch her claws onto me again.

Biting and nawing at me until I’d figure out a solution but she’d just keep coming with new issues and the circle of life would be wasted.

She’d twist my words then connect them to tie strings that’d fit around my neck as a noose in the shape of a heart and her narrative.

I’d try to clarify her moments of pseudoscience by questioning logic like, “Hey, what the fuck?” And she’d just continue bantering over top of me as if nothing I’d said mattered.

I’d play along as if I was the problem just to let her think whatever she’d wanted to think was true, it was the only way I could find peace.

I’d started to lose interest in playing her little mind games while she’d thought she was winning every situation and controlling the lair.

I was in fact very terrified, depressed and had almost lost myself so I also didn’t have much care to disprove her.

Almost as if every time I’d run from the Cheetah it’d be with the personal promise to never return, but I’d be in so much disarray and shock by the time I’d get to an open field, I’d just end up falling over in the delusion of thought for hours.

Owners would be with their Dogs playing fetch at the nearby Dog park while I’d just be leaning and dragging my body against the outside of the fence like a stressed Animal would show signs of when feeling terrorized or trapped.

Live free or die is my motto, the Cheetah knew this.

I wasn’t happy being alive and I’d felt trapped at the lair even when I’d been away from it. I couldn’t stay away though, or return. I was in fucking limbo.

The Cheetah clearly had mental issues beyond any rationality but how did my path cross with her?

I couldn’t seem to get out of this cycle because she’d kept toying with my mind and emotions, continuing to entice me with treats and promises of change.

Anybody ever want another to change so bad they kept believing in them over and over despite their repetitive actions?

Anyone ever hear of a character who expects change although they do nothing different in reality to create change, they just magically expect shit will just change on its own?

Shit don’t just change on its own, that’s called insanity where I’d felt like I was.

I had two options;

#1 seemed to be the most rational by never going back to the lair, but #2 was the compassionate option by continuing to give grace to the Cheetah and her supposed desire for change.

What a fucking moron I must’ve been for even considering #2 at this point.

Both were very tempting considering Garbage Town was where my job and home was. I’d felt extremely terrified of leaving and seeing what was outside my box inside this crater.

The situation had morally gone way too far so maybe I deserved what I got for being so stupid and naïve.

I typically returned after a blowout, until the planets aligned for one monumental event that would forever change my course of future.

Upon returning to the lair after one heartfelt occasion of trying to make myself runaway, the Cheetah couldn’t stop from going on in her casual yet terrorizing fashion about my time being away.

Frantically tossing her limbs in every direction, she was staring into the ceiling relentlessly tyrannizing the kitchen, I couldn’t take it anymore.

I couldn’t take her tone or volume, or schizophrenic rants over situations that she’d created in her mind. I’d had enough and couldn’t hold back my truth anymore.

19.

There was no point to this and it was getting late. The planetary alignment was in place and now was the moment I had to seize in order to shut this dialogue off once and for all.

I didn’t know what else to do after trying all my compassionate remedies.

I had to let this Cheetah have it and there was no more waiting for this opportunity as I leaned back, ground my teeth before releasing all tension that had built up over the last 5 months and so, I did it, I let her have it by saying those 4 magic words every female yearns to hear for her entire life beginning as a small child.

Those 4 words that really let a woman know what and how her man is REALLY feeling, and I mean, what he’s REALLY thinking about her.

We all know somebody who we’ve all met in this life where we’ve all had thoughts that weren’t able to stop themselves from coming into our minds asking us over and over again, “Seriously is this motherfucker crazy?”

That was me in this moment where I had to speak my mind and ask the evil Cheetah, because I’d thought it’d been long enough and I’d thought hard about this where now was my time.

Fuck this bitch, let her have it.

1, 2, 3, 4, deep breath now.

“Are you fucking crazy???!!!”

Ding, that was the sound of the bell to symbolize the end of my life as I knew it.

Only her warning signs I’d chosen to ignore could’ve prepared me for what was about to come because of that one comment.

This was it, another huge gulp as my eyes expanded to their fullest state of fear. A tropical tidal wave that started as a typhoon in the middle of the ocean’s core was about to strike inland where I’d stood directly frozen in its path.

The tsunami was about to break the levies overflowing with water, fire and brimstone which I secretly didn’t know was ultimately going to propel me towards my true life’s purpose.

Surf’s up bro, let’s catch this halfpipe to the future.

Obviously I was unaware of the direction this current situation was going to take me, and little did I know this experience with the Cheetah had come to my path intentionally so it could help me get to where I was going in life if, life had a destiny that is?

In reality I was unaware of anything outside the moment and feeling deathly petrified of what might’ve come from the devil’s wrath.

I battled through that fear and spoke from the god inside, the good inside that rose against the devil’s evil rage. Speaking from the goodness within that’s truth, heart, justice and equality against negativity that’s anger, bitterness, discomfort and sadness.

Fuck that shit, right? Some thing’s can only take so much, am I right?

Ever wonder why some tolerate more than others? We’re all the same but yet so different, so where’s the motivation to be or not to be, so tolerant?

In consciousness we all have a switch that signals our limitation, our maximum level of toleration, and we all consciously make a reactive decision when our maximum limits are met and gone beyond.

Some snap, kill, cry, or run. Others communicate, face fear, use decrement, or solutionize, and each reaction is based on the character’s level of consciousness.

When provoked enough Animals attack and that’s their level of conscious. They usually warn first and attack second because truly they don’t want to start shit.

They only finish shit by attacking as a form of defence when they actually tried to communicate first by using their conscious ability, in most cases. They can’t speak so what do some want?

The Cheetah questioned me abruptly hissing spit, “Crazy!? Crazy??! You wanna see fuckin’ crazy!!?”

Her eyes got brighter with a dehydrated piss yellow, also a sign of liver failure as she’d repeated herself as if I might’ve missssssed her the first time, “Do you want to see fucking crazy??!!! Because I’ll show you fuckin’ crazy…”

Have you ever seen a momma-Hippo who’d been separated from her baby and caged to watch her baby get beat right in front of her?

A horrible depiction I know, but the big momma gets put in a crate that’s barely fit for her size and leaving her unable to turn around in.

The baby is brought in front of her and tortured as the momma continues to try to get out of this helpless and gruesomely frustrating situation, smashing herself back and forth from side to side with mouth wide-open and snapping at anything coming close to the crate.

That’s what started happening in the Cheetah’s basement bedroom, but instead of a Hippopotamus fighting to protect its baby, this was a Cheetah looking to kill a Dog who was trying to break free from the Cheetah’s crate she’d built.

Instead of thick molar-Hippo teeth on a bigger Hippo body the Cheetah had fangs,  and speed of lightening, with sharp-ass claws designed for ripping flesh apart. I was literally trying to escape with my life.

Don’t get close to that Hippo in my way, or Cheetah in this case, and by far this was no comical matter. This was actually where a bad story turned black as the angels of hell started filled the room with the dark of night.

What happened next is only what a true mental patient would do and while most fucked up shit in life doesn’t surprise me, this incident got my personal award for Best Scare Tactic In Life.

Something the equivalent of a male who returns home just looking for his wife so he can beat the shit out of her just because he’s unhappy.

If I wasn’t sure before I sure knew now that the Cheetah was a fuckin’ maniac.

After asking me repeatedly at a deafening tone if I’d wanted to, “see crazy?” The Cheetah paced back and forth while blocking the door to get out as she’d grumbled to herself before finally blurting out again, “…crazy? Crazy? I’ll show you crazy, ahahahahahahahahaaaaaaa.”

Like a cackling witch about to mount her broom under the full moon she’d repeated one more time for the deaf people in the room.

“Oh I’ll show you fuckin’ crazy”, and in that instant as her lips closed but smile grew, she’d opened up the palms of her hands and without hesitation or dignity, began to persistently slap herself back and forth in the face numerous times.

20.

I’d never seen anything like it. She was exchanging blows on herself left and right, forehand to backhand.

Through a few good swipes with each side before switching from an open-palm to a closed-fist, and then proceeding to hit herself in the temple and head another 5-6 times on each side.

Back and forth she reigned down blows on herself and when she finished, she hesitated a moment, then walked to her bed stand and grabbed her phone.

Went over to the mirror, struck a pose like a runway model, clicked a few pictures, then turned to me and looked me square in my eyes with the smile of Satan then said, “Now you’re fucked. If you ever leave me, I’ll tell everyone you did this.

I’ll tell them all you beat me and then I’ll tell them you raped me. Who do you think they’re going to believe? I’ve got you now. What do you think you’re going to do about this? Just fucking tell me who’s crazy?” She just walked away, out the door and into the darkness.

Being a smart Dog I’d wanted to think before I reacted. I needed to calculate what just happened here.

‘Did I really see what I think I saw? Did that just happened?’

My thoughts raced as the lair fell quiet. I heard nothing but the speed of sound.

The room was empty as a nauseating feeling crept over my soul. I’d shivered and felt disgusted but couldn’t throw up, talk, or move. I was paralyzed in fear and loathing.

I’d sat still and hoped it was a bad dream because if I’d started replaying what just happened in my mind and how potentially trapped I was, I’d become overwhelmed with fear for my life.

I didn’t know what to do.
——————————————————————
Chapter 9.

As a supposed grown male I’d sat still like tiny baby feeling very helpless and afraid after the Cheetah stormed out in a huff. Was I supposed to leave now? How could I?

With the Cheetah out of the room, I’d felt disturbed even though everything around me seemed calm, as if the dust settled after nuclear explosion.

Did this mean I was fucked? Was there an appropriate time to panic?

I wondered if I’d ever be free again and what the consequences would’ve been if I’d just left at that moment?

I honestly wasn’t too sure what to do but I knew my life’s direction wasn’t looking too positive, not like up to then it’d had been anyways.

I cowardishly crept into my bedroom with my tail between my legs where the Cheetah came to greet me a few minutes later. She’d remained adamant about holding me as property within her lair.

She confidently stated that if I was to ever leave her again she’d use her pictures and others from the gym, and from her biking accidents, and tripping accidents, and mental lapses, and sexual perversions, all against with whatever else she could find in the meantime to stash away.

She smiled with the upside down grin of a Jackal but proudly held her princess glare with matching dark-cereal killer coloured eyes. They were soulless.

Her canines glistened dripping with saliva. The Cheetah pounded the opportunity to reiterate repeatedly that if I didn’t stay she was going to call the Monkeys and tell them that I beat her, and raped her, and that I loved her, then fucking hated her.

I’d felt betrayed by life, and destroyed within my heart. She seemed rather happy go-lucky as though her dreams just came true while my nightmare was just beginning.

Did I always know this was coming, that this piece of garbage was on her way to try and ruin my life? I wondered if this was always my destiny because I never really enjoyed life. Did that mean I called this all onto myself?

From our talks attempting to build a relationship she knew I had run-ins with the so-called protectors of the earth growing up.

She knew I lived by the motto and that I didn’t get along with Monkeys who were supposedly protecting us from evil.

On a side note here, I’d never had a problem with Monkeys, I just had a few experiences when I was younger where I’d learned not to fuck with them because they weren’t the nicest Animals to mess with.

They were always cranky and bickering. Pulling each other’s hair or stealing and then laughing about it. They’d chase drunks and drug addicts all day pretending to play thieves and heroes.

Plus they’d never do anything wrong so it was best to just stay away from them because I’d learned that if I didn’t bother them, they wouldn’t bother me.

In my mind it’s basically like, Monkeys aren’t fun and they don’t like to have any fun, so as a Dog, we just didn’t gel because I had an agenda to slack off and play while these characters had an agenda to march and do as they were told.

Monkeys lived by strict rules. Their integrity was controlled by a book that was written by an Ostrich, Big Daddy Ostrich that is.

Their book was detailed guidance on how to control others while I was more of a free-roaming soul who’d believed in freedom, liberty, self-reliance and justice. I didn’t read books about control unless it was regarding energy.

Not that I didn’t think we’d needed a few Monkeys to keep the hooligans under control, I just didn’t want anything to do with them because I didn’t like what they represented.

Some humans or Animals might preform a task in society and have no clue what they’re doing it for.

They follow some suit and regurgitate illogical science that they’ve heard repeatedly and they think it’s cool and intelligent to rinse and repeat themselves. They don’t understand what critical thinking means.

The Monkeys were allergic to critical thinking, it was like a virus that effected their mind like a deadly bacteria and they’d become more dangerous if infected and especially after reading their book.

21.

That was one thing the Cheetah and I appreciated about each other was our displeasure for Monkeys and their heartless integrity.

She’d organized rallies against them in her free time and now she was using them to threaten me with igniting their pre-programmed brains into systematically reacting by accusing me of key words that would magnetically attract their attention towards her fabricated story.

I was trapped and this is where I stayed for the next year and a half.

The gym, self-destruction and biking incidents weren’t the only experiences the Cheetah used against me over the next exasperating year and a bit of my life, but they were the first of many that initiated my downward spiral into her relentless pit of degradation and humiliation.

The Cheetah used those pictures and future ones she’d collected off bumps and bruises suffered while travelling abound in her clumsy life.

Banged her elbow meant I’d thrown her down. Dropped something, I’d broke it. She’d call me stupid then turn around in an instant and act like I just called her stupid. It was mental beyond the most mental at a fuckin’ mental facility.

This picture-taking idea was brilliant and became the hottest new commodity for the Cheetah to use in dictating rules and regulations.

She’d even took the hair out of her brush, threw it on the ground, snapped a pic, then told me she’d exaggerate the fib that I dragged her down (everybody sing along now), over the distance of the house and up through two flights of stairs.

Then into the bathroom where I supposedly used the tub as a weapon. Beating the Cheetah’s head on the tub along with rippin’ n’ tearin’, some of her hair out by the roots, she said I was laughing so careless.

There was the proof. She’d told me. I felt sadly alone and disturbed. When can I cry I thought?

I truly believed she was acting like this because she was seeking revenge on every male who’d ever harmed her or done her wrong in her life.

Any male who’d laughed at her or called her slow, ugly, foul, fat, stupid, or dare I say, the magical “c” word, fuckin’ crazy?

What about her parents who’d supposedly beat her ass and embarrassed her as a kid? Who would’ve believed this product would come out of those good characters?

What I’d also believed was that there was a serious chance the Cheetah was insane and had gone mad to where the devilish-beast got so hot and turned on by yelling at me and making me do chores or redundant errands that she’d enjoy masturbating with knives when the day would come to an end.

It became an expected duty for me to clean the house, fetch the food and prepare the meals. This was because according to her I’d treated her so poorly, this was how I was going to repay my disgusting treatment.

And lowrd have mercy if I didn’t because she’d made it very clear to me that if I sniffled a peep of fucking around she’d immediately call the Monkeys and accuse me of her accusations. Her fabrications. Her misleading statements. And her sick mental ailments.

My life was in turmoil, miserably soaking in misery.

From small, demeaning instructions like, “get this”, “cook that”, “clean there”, they quickly became assaultive strikes when the Cheetah’d demand a task be completed.

I was now being told how big of a piece of shit I was on the regular, being instructed to clean then mocked and degraded about how shitty of a job I’d supposedly done.

I’d look at the ruthless monster like, ‘please bitch my shit is tight.’

The Cheetah’d laugh and point directly in my face if I had a blemish, as if her skin was anything close to perfect, and she’d scream it at me in what seemed like an extensive effort to try and antagonize me into reacting.

Any male ever had a female right in his face talking shit like she wanted to go a few rounds? Any female had a few drinks and get right into a males face talking loudly as if? These are not accidental efforts.

I’d be instructed to run to the grocery or purchase meals then deliver them to her peanut-collecting shift when I wasn’t collecting peanuts myself.

When I was, I’d be on a schedule to return to her lair after my shift ended, “or else”. If a certain time elapsed a certain phone call would be made to the Monkeys on my behalf.

I’d attempted to argue this pathetic treatment at times but it’d only come back to me with the Cheetah standing directly in front of me, then a mirror, dabbing her face while reminding me of how I ultimately did have a choice to stay or go.

Just like she also had a choice to tell the Monkeys her story now or later because there was no statute of limitations on her claims. She could say something that day, the next day, 55 years if she’d wanted. The sky was the limit.

That’s when the Cheetah evolved into threatening my friends, family and social media about her alleged story of being beat and raped.

Her psychosis morphed into a mad-scientist who’d discovered a toxic solution that made the dead rise and wander like puppets.

I’d felt soulless.

Not only was my Sheep-shift on a schedule but when I was at work the Cheetah would be breathing down my neck making it very difficult to perform routine tasks.

She’d put on the act within herself that I wouldn’t be there when I was, then she’d call the office demanding they’d let her speak to me.

22.

The slave-drivers didn’t appreciate interruptions to their production so no phone calls were ever allowed, but the Cheetah’d argue persistently with the secretary demanding she’d be passed over to me because there was an, “emergencyyyyyyyy”.

As soon as the Cheetah’d get me on the phone, she’d start ferociously reminding me to keep looking over my shoulder because the Monkeys were on their way to take me down at any minute.

She’d do this from time to time as a surprise for me, or sometimes before my shift she’d call my phone demanding I stay on the line with her passed my starting hour, stating that if I’d hung up, she’d make that call right away.

Another catch-22 because if I’s late boss wouldn’t take too kindly to that gesture, ‘den he might need to go out and find him a replacement for my almighty position at the Sheep-shift peanut-collecting factory.

No way I could sit at “home” and look at another peanut-collecting position potentially available, even though the jobs were endless. My heart was just so, so tired.

Cheetah trapped me like Venus fly trap, python-boa constrictor .

Over the phone she’d vent at the top of her adult ability about that one god-awful morsel of peanut-kibble I’d left on the counter, or how I didn’t peck her properly when I’d left in the morning because oh yes my friends, you’d better believe I was still expected to be loving and affectionate to the Cheetah just like every female deserves.

Not only was I experiencing the pleasure of being disrespected in every way possible with my clothes on, but I was still expected to demonstrate, “loving intentions” to this perverted nightmare at all times required.

The Cheetah expected me to hold her hand, kiss her, and make love to her while calling her Mrs. Cheetah-George or other dominant but loving pet names.

She’d expect me to massage her hunched and matted back and dried paws that were flaky and demented in shape.

She’d demand I cuddled her after a long day, and made sure to hold her tight.

The Cheetah barked at me a few times claiming my clench wasn’t sufficient enough for her likeness so I should be putting, “More god damn effort” into caring.

It’s hard being enthusiastic when being forced. Similar to collecting peanuts, I’d hated going to work and returning to the lair.

I imagined the Cheetah was getting more aroused from coercing me into doing so many things for her, including going down on her and having to lick the ooze draining out from between her thighs.

Telling me that if I didn’t, I, “must not be the one” for her, and therefore we’d have to separate, she’d have to make a phone call and you know how the story goes by now.

It was best to just shut the fuck up and pretend not to vomit every half-second as those might’ve been the most vile and despicable tragedies of my entire life.

I died a little bit each time and wasn’t sure in all reality if there was a devil laughing in the mirror?

On one occasion I literally shit you not, despite the Cheetah having a bath before ordering me into position, I wasn’t sure if she forgot to wipe, or if she did it on purpose, but there was an absolute stench of fresh deuce smeared between her hairy cheeks when I was wretchedly forced to go down.

That was the end of the road for me and absolutely repulsive. Needless to say I couldn’t fake it.

I immediately came up for breath of dear-life and watched her reaction transform from sick and delusional pleasure into the recognition of what she’d possibly done, and was amused actually by her own filth as she was snickering underneath her breath.

A less-heinous time after I’d been given an ultimatum to, “cuddle or else”, then before I could finish hesitantly putting my arm around the Cheetah as she laid on her side watching T.V., she’d snapped her body over and smacked me in the face while turning purple with pressurized authority, blasting me stating, “That’s not how I want to be fucking held!

Put your arm around me and hold me properly. This is not how a caring partner holds me when they’re in love with me. Now hold me close and god dammit I mean hold me close!”

I shuddered before wanting to find the closest knife to cut my throat.

I didn’t know how much more I could handle from one female who I didn’t want to touch with a 10-foot hot-iron poker let alone my hand anymore after I’d started to think it might’ve been falling off from the gangrene I’d seen growing after routinely having to finger the Cheetah’s rotten hole.

The Cheetah was out of control and I was falling into suicidal submission, constantly wondering how I was going to get out of this disaster?

Nearing the end of our physical relationship I wasn’t “allowed” to go to the gym anymore because it might’ve been “too much fun” for me and it was “taking too long” for me to travel back and forth so, I just didn’t get to go because it was making the Cheetah “very nervous”.

She’d told me she wasn’t having any fun in life because “school was getting hectic” so I shouldn’t be able to have any fun either.

She’d told me how I needed to stay at her lair as a “responsible partner” to support her not having fun in life, and if I didn’t feel like supporting her, well, it just working out then.

Our relationship wasn’t working out. Our relationship wasn’t working out. She’d always say, “Our relationship isn’t working out” but instead of finding relief those words, they would terrify me because I knew what she’d meant by them. She’d enjoy scaring me.

I knew it wasn’t working out because besides everything I’ve mentioned for almost the two years of being with the Cheetah, we never had one picture together. Not one of us in a happy relationship that was working out, where we shared a collective moment together.

Not a single moment where it was working out to where we could express and share joy or pleasure and there’s only one reason for that. Our relationship wasn’t working out.

Her constant reminder of “stay or else” was constantly annoying so I started to constantly not give a fuck.

23.

I’d become destructive about life since I’d been silenced and forbidden to live.

I was now in full suicidal stage engulfed by the factious belief put on me by the fear-mongering spell of the Cheetah.

She had an education that taught her some masterful language and she was exercising her education very strategically. It was an intense chess match of putting words together with emotions to intentionally play off her needy mentality.

She knew the rules and how to play off my emotions and those of other Animals especially Monkeys.

She knew what to say, when to say it, how to say it, and who to say it to, all for the purpose of getting what she wanted.

I’d started to believe killing myself was my only option. It’s the only vision I’d seen inside my desired visual-forecast. See it and believe it, right? Build it and they will come?

I had to play along with the Cheetah because her vagina had the power to alter belief into her being a victim. She’d always wanted to be a victim in real life and she’d tell me this in her blackout states.

She told me numerous times she’d understood the rules regarding physical and sexual assault, and could easily use a few happy-trigger words to turn the keys inside a Monkey’s brain “then bingo-bango”, anything’s possible.

Any Monkey would systematically believe her because she was the female and that’s how the sexist system operates.

The Cheetah didn’t hesitate to explain to me daily how she’d understood pussy power combined with sincere storytelling could consciously influence another’s mind into believing whatever she’d said.

She’d repeated over and over that the Monkeys were not trained to use their noodles, but instead submissively submit to any females story about violence that would come their way, especially if there was a picture of a scratch mark involved.

There was one instance where the house-Cat retaliated on my behalf and clawed at the Cheetah. I think I remember the Cheetah scratching me after that then accused me of hurting myself, and her?

It was honestly terrifying and I had nowhere to turn but was becoming very willing to give it all up if it’d meant I could make my nightmare and her fantasy, stop.
—————————————————
Chapter 10.

A few more fun experiences enjoyed with the Cheetah before I’d ran away?

Once we were arguing and she was standing by her bedroom doorway.

You ever seen a child express disappointment by stomping their feet when leaving the room?

The child turns around and swings their arms in such a tornado they slam their hand, fist or elbow on the doorway or wall?

Picture the Cheetah yelling at such a velocity then stomping her feet with so much resentment that she’d blindly swung her unbalanced and disproportioned body around in such a fit of rage that when she did, she’d squarely head butted herself directly into the corner of the doorframe.

I wasn’t surprised as I’d almost walked into many things many times myself when I’d be moving too fast.

The message would be like, ‘Slow the fuck DOWN’.

That’s around the time I’d learned to walk gently and not plow over life in a haste. My slower pace allowed for a gentle nudge if I ever needed a reminder in the future. Usually the reminder was about confidence over depression.

The Cheetah was lying to herself and the universe as consciousness made a classic moment happen, where the Cheetah was being so destructive within her intentions, she’d become completely unaware of her surroundings in her outburst and blam-o, the two year misjudges her body’s distance from the wall.

Now was it consciousness that made her bonk her head?

Was it perfect karma where I couldn’t help but laugh? I seriously tried not to but couldn’t keep it in as the Cheetah noticed my chuckle and of course was not impressed.

I figured if god did exist the energy would probably be a funny fucker because how could the Cheetah do that and have it not be karma unless purely coincidental?

That Goose-egg on her noggin got me a polaroid for the memory but the Cheetah clearly felt embarrassed enough to stay away from me for the rest of that day.

That was all I had were those tiny moments when a flicker of light whispered to me saying hey, ‘Maybe karma might exist?’ It was a tiny flicker, flicker, flicker that nobody saw, but I did.

I was desperate and so far gone into the depths of darkness that I’d barely existed as a shell of a Dog.

I’d barely existed in the skin on my hide and it was courtesy of those synchronistic moments that I got into this mess where she’d stupidly do synchronistic shit to herself, so it’d make me believe those synchronistic moments were going to get me out of this mess. It was just a matter of time, right?

As if the flickers of light represented fragments of hope that installed some sort of belief in me that I’d make it out of there, although I’d remained deathly desperate and depressed.

Another joyous experience was when the Cheetah was going off in a daily fit displaying hostility and mania, flapping her arms in all directions like a flightless Pelican. Giant beak clapping and closing on anything out of desperation.

Her body started seizing with tension while waving and pointing at the speed of light yet in complete slow-motion as if trapped in her own matrix.

Her arms moved fluently and dramatically in an outrageous fashion.

With the Cheetah’s lame eyesight, she must not’ve noticed the small kitchen table made out glass that always sits in the same spot in the kitchen, because for her finishing move that day she used the hammer-fist to slam down on the table at an irate rate.

The poor bumbling Cheetah misjudged the distance of her own table that she’d set up and only clipped the outside frame of it, making the structure fall over before she could react, and land precisely on her big toe.

“Bullseye”, I yelled then looked around as if it was someone else. A quick chuckle under my breath.

Steam blew from her ears. I never heard the end of how the Big Toe Incident was my fault, but I always saw it as just another hilarious moment to laugh at the Cheetah while thinking maybe I could actually receive some karma by getting the F out of this.

Or she’d just use this against me and I’d kill myself before being locked away forever, whatever came first?

This was hell in the flesh and hell had no heart, warmth, or self-respect. Hell was cold, angry, bitter, tired, confused and lonely. Hell just really needs a motherfuckin’ hug but even then would it save that energy from itself?

Who in their right mind tells another they have to stay then threatens their freedom just because they don’t want to be with them anymore?

Who drags this out and pushes it to the extreme extent by calculating such an orchestrated and meticulous level of abuse?

This wasn’t just abuse, this was total annihilation using tactical, psychological welfare and the Cheetah did not give a fuck about herself or me. Or life.

Karma, in my opinion, is all about the intention of energy.

This whole time the Cheetah’s just been wishing I’d do something to retaliate, like really leave her or strike back.

Just itching and wishing a motherfucker would by practically begging me to truly give her something to claim abuse about.

There was one fond Sunday and being the lowrds day I was intending to sleep in for a bit as most Sheep do.

I’d normally get up before sunrise at about 4:45 so for me to sleep in until 7am was a real treat.

Prior to sunrise on this peaceful morning I was awoken by the loving and affectionate boot-to-the-ribs coming from the right foot of the Cheetah.

She was practicing her soccer skills.

As I’d opened my eyes without moving my head I’d seen her dark shadow standing hunched over me. I’d processed reality quickly then realized she was practicing to become a star.

She’d seen my eyes open then she’d stopped. I’d asked her calmly what was up? As if there’s wasn’t a mental breakdown happening.

If I was like, “Hey bitch, what the fuck’s going on?” With an attitude or question mark? I already knew how that would’ve gone down so I just played along and came correct to prevent any more fury of sadness and internal loneliness from reigning down upon me.

It was way too early in the morning for that shit. The Cheetah just stared at me with her mouth hung partially open.

If she only could’ve heard my thoughts at that moment about how I wanted to kill myself and never wake up again because of her.

I did state at another time that she was the type who made good beings kill themselves, and this was the exact situation that would cause something to react that way.

She didn’t like that comment and didn’t respond, she just walked away then, and I think went to masturbated over the thought of me in a noose.

I’d questioned her again very carefully and cautiously with an approach more on her level, baby talk. ‘Blah, blah, blah, blah? Whaas wong bebie?’

She’d told me she was just wondering how it felt to be kicked in my sleep? I couldn’t tell if I had died and this was hell or if I was trying to release her through my dream? Because this would be a nightmare to wake up to.

“You were just wondering how it felt for me to be kicked in my sleep?” I’d reformed the question, concerned, already knowing she’s deeply sick and this was just some mind game she’s playing from boredom. Probably didn’t sleep again last night.

“Yeah,” she’d stated, “just wondering how it felt? My mom used to drag me out of bed when I was sleeping, I fuckin’ hated it. Now, it’s your turn.”

‘Oh, I see. That’s not fucked up at all.’ Was my first thought followed by, ‘So you decided to serve me boot-fuck for breakfast in bed because your mom woke you up as a child?’

I’d understood she’d possibly been woken up once or twice in the past by her mommy and because she’s a princess honoured under her own acknowledgment of her factious code these incidents probably scared her.

I wasn’t sure if the Cheetah thought I was actually her mom nor did I really care at what she was thinking to be honest.

It was as if I was living inside myself watching something control my body and experiences like I was just the passenger in this spacecraft.

I quickly comforted her but because of my own fear of her psychosis. “It’s okay, it’s not happening now is it? (Only you’re happening now)”, I whispered under my breath to let her know I was onto her.

She was looking at the ground scratching her eyes then snapped her head over at me as if my words gave her an exorcism.

‘Get the fuck out of this situation.’ I thought as I became very afraid of the black creeping in. I got up before she could get too deep in thought and made my way to the bathroom.

I was sketched the fuck-out, disgusted and itchy from all the Bugs falling off her skin as I’d walked away. She was occupied trying to catch them in her mouth with an angry-rage.

I’d felt nothing but shame and extreme sadness. I sat in the bathroom and cried for the first time.
——————————————————————
Chapter 11.

Fun and games aside my limit had been
met so now I’d figured was the best time to pack my travel bag and head for the door because my level of toleration had exceeded its limit where every notion inside me was like fuck this shit.

I was out of the lair for good and when I was about to escape into the sunrise, after silently creeping up from the basement without making a peep, the Cheetah pounced from around the corner spewing venom directly into my eyes while hissing in the form of a question concerning my intentions behind what I’d thought I was doing?

I’d stood frozen in fear holding my bag in one hand and the doorknob in the other. I was consumed with fear to make the one half-turn then jet.

Ever feel unable to move or speak but desperately wanted to? I have those dreams all the time where I want to run but can’t.

25.

In this moment I was too petrified to leave or stay being completely engulfed in uncertainty. I couldn’t utter a word so all I did was hang my head as a shameful Dog would do after being caught putting his nose in something it shouldn’t had been in.

Another all time low and I was having a hard time pulling the trigger but why?

What would be the point in leaving the Cheetah? The Cheetah knew where I’d worked collecting peanuts, she’d known the little friends and family I’d had, so if I’d simply left and got a place of my own she’d send the Monkeys and they’d preform their Goose hunt.

What was I supposed to do once I got free?

Without waiting too long for me to respond the Cheetah grabbed her phone and acted like she was dialling a number.

There’s only three numbers to the emergency line even though the Cheetah dialled more.

Then she’d started having a conversation within one second which was way too quick for the phone to actually ring on the other end.

She’d started talking, “Yes, ummm, hi.” The Cheetah articulated in her sweetest yet concerning Kitten voice.

She’d cleared her throat then a hairball in anticipation of the next portions of her script, “(…excuse me). This is the princess Cheetah.” She’d went on admiring her own shadow on the ground, fixing her stale fur as if she was going on a date.

She fake-dialled and I didn’t think she was talking to anyone as I got my assumption confirmed watching the screen on her phone light up as she’d held it against her dark coloured head.

I’m smart enough to know the phone would’ve stayed on a black screen for the duration of an actual phone call so I knew I’d just caught the Cheetah in her webs of lies.

She was sneaky though and talked as if she was talking to the Monkeys while in actuality she was talking to nobody. What a fucking surprise from a true class act attempting her best performance.

I’d played like a bitch slightly huddling towards myself in the corner of the doorway. Let’s make this a two-character show down I’d figured as I’d listened to the Cheetah recite in her sweetest princess voice saying, “Yes, he’s here right now, he just hit me and I’m so scared.”

Let’s see how this works out? I actually had a little confidence in this moment while she’d walked into the other room pretending to stay on the phone.

“Okay, yeah, okay, yeah, okay, yeah. I’ll stay here, okay. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah…”, she’d stated over and over. She couldn’t think of any further lies. She couldn’t think of any further lies, she was cooked and didn’t know it.

Then a quiet moment went by where the Cheetah acted as if she was listening, followed by her repeating again, “Okay, thank you. Okay, thank you. Yes, okay, bye-bye. Bye-bye now.”

Then the Cheetah strutted back into the kitchen and looked directly into my eyes confirming with a disturbing smirk, “They’re on their way.”

I knew she was lying but I’d kept the party going.

“Why!? What the fuck’s going on here? Who the fuck were you just talking to?” Acting panicked I really wanted to sell the idea to the Cheetah that she’d truly had me by the neutered ball-sack.

She’d told me a short novel about how the Monkeys were on their way but couldn’t come at that exact moment because they were just, “wayyyyyyyy tooooo busy” to aid a helpless female victim who’d just supposedly told them that she’d been supposedly beat a moment ago but not to worry, “they were on their way!”

Hiphip, hurray! Hiphip, hurray! Hiphip….

Wouldn’t a Monkey want to hurry up and come right away if a helpless female was getting her ass beat? Hip-hip on the way!

It was only a thought I’d had in the moment despite the lack of practicality behind the illumination of the phone.

Thankfully for the Cheetah she’d told me she could, “call them back at any moment to cancel” before they’d showed up, because, I guess the wonderful operator told her she had this option if we were able to, “work things out” before they got there.

I didn’t think she was serious but she just had to take it too the extreme to prove me right.

Okay psychopath, whatever you say! Monkeys would never say to another who’s being beat that they were, “too busy”, just call them back if you were able to work it out.

Their whole premise is to protect against abuse supposedly. Just hold that thought as I decided to continue this game with her, wondering how long we could play for and if I could appease the Cheetah any further in this moment?

I told her, ‘I was just putting some things in the storage’ that was located in the porch entrance and, ‘didn’t understand what the fuss and phone calls were all about?’ She’d easily accepted that.

That Phone Call Incident helped me build more confidence that I needed to stash in myself for another escape attempt later. I never heard from, or saw the Monkeys that day or night, and nobody ever showed up at the door.

The Monkeys did however show up multiple times over the course of our almost two year relationship and always because of noise complaints, they’d received from the courteous neighbours, who were obviously concerned about the ongoing banshee-screams coming from the lair.

The Cheetah’s temper tantrums were so loud at times an authority figure would need to come investigate what the ruckus was about.

The Cheetah would see the Monkeys approach and she’d start pacing excitingly at the window howling to herself something about, ‘“bringing the pain” or, “here comes the pain”?

I could never tell if she was referring to me or them, or receiving the pain? But interestingly enough the Monkeys never stayed long nor documented any signs of abuse during their visits.

I know because I eventually saw all the files under my name. The Monkeys would always separate us and talk to the Cheetah and I individually, but routinely found nothing suspect. If they did I probably wouldn’t be here.

Naturally, the Cheetah didn’t have any allegations to claim in those moments because there was nothing to claim.

It was going to take a huge set of post-operative testicles for this biological female to sell such a devious fabrication regarding rape and abuse.

Even if accompanied by pictures she was going to have to sell her story regarding where they came from because she couldn’t just be like yea, “here’s some pictures” and then hand them over without a story.

Her greed with me was one thing but she was going to have to step up her confidence up a few notches in order to tell this giant fib to real characters who’d supposedly been specialists at detecting when another is feeding them Bullshit.

I definitely took this fake-phone call as a, “sign from the Universe” that the Cheetah was all fluff and no meat.

Side note time, if you haven’t been to the Concrete Jungle Bed And Breakfast let me fill you in on a few details about this harmonious environment.

The Concrete Jungle BNB shouldn’t really be an option for a sleepover on any planet, it’s not a comfortable place for any male, female or animal to ever have to spend the night.

If you haven’t been to this destination don’t bother making it a priority because not only at any given moment are you subject to fight any size creature inside the Concrete Jungle BNB, who also might be staying within these luxurious confines, but you also get the complementary treatment of being degraded by some of the biggest Slugs to have ever roamed this planet’s surface.

These “Sloppy Slow-Witted Slug Soldiers”, that’s serious their title, think they’re doing the utmost prestigious job for Big Daddy Ostrich by, “keepin’ criminals under control” when they’re really more like the slow kids who became babysitters of poorer-slow kids.

Some of these self-appointed Slug heroes take the honourable duty of inspecting every new guest who enters this BNB facility.

These are invasive inspections where they’re preforming not just physical pat-downs or strip-searches but rather these inspections the Slugs put on, are where they force every guest to get fully naked in front of them, bend over and spread their butt cheeks as wide as they can so Mr. or Ms. Slug can put their x-ray eyeball right inside that guest’s candy-ass.

It’s so sweet for the Slug’s tastebuds and this is their favourite part of the job where they do it so naturally and thankfully for safeties sake, in order to verify the guest who may or may not be an actual perpetrator hasn’t sneakily-snuck any dirty contraband into the Concrete Jungle.

With their robotic eyeball that they place inside the guests B-hole the Slug takes note of the contents stashed within, then as per protocol, leans closer to take a big whiff of that strangers rectum so they can satisfy and rectify their natural urge to splooge all over the guest.

Therefore the Jungle BNB has given the Slug this task as a therapy in order to prevent any unintentional release the slug might feel necessary to slime on any guest. Then onto the next one.

Male Slugs do males guests and females Slugs do female guests which is also protocol at the Concrete Jungle so to work there they have to have a pre-requisite of appreciating same sex fondling.

26.

The Slug will preform this procedure 5-55 times per day depending how popular they are that day. That’s a minimum of 5 and up to 55 yummy B-holes every single day that the Slug gets to look inside and see right into. Just imagine what that would do to a conscious brain?

All day long looking up homeless, drug addicted or drunk B-holes and you thought collecting peanuts was bad?

Do you think the inspector loved their job because they’d return everyday? Maybe the facility rotated inspectors so every Slug would get a taste, that’d only be fair, right?

After B-hole inspection it’s time to go play with some new friends who are already staying at the BNB.

They may or may not be murderers, rapists, pedophiles, prostitutes, crackheads, drunks, pathological liars or cheats but they’re all the cool character at first so there should be nothing to worry about.

The playground is called, “the range” and it’s about the size of a two-story house. There are many ranges inside the BNB and each range has many double-bunk suits that are smaller then a two-bedroom kitchen.

This is your room where you’ll get aquatinted with another new friend who may or may not have made the list above, or they might have their own specialty, just rest assured they will be your new bestie for your stay!

That’s part of the fun within the Concrete Jungle where it’s a little like playing Russian-roulette with the roommate you’re locked away with for your stay.

While in your room with your new roomie the Slugs will slither by every so often to play peeping-Tom through your one and only window.

The Slugs get pleasure from seeing guests confined to their rooms but while they’re breathlessly jerking off peeking in, they tell you they’re only looking for safety-purposes.

At bedtime they leave the light on in the hallway for every guest’s convenience, also for safety‘s sake wink, wink. Because the Slugs like to watch others sleep again, feverishly jerking off with their own body’s lube. Yes, they are sick.

Everything was for safety inside these hell-hole BNB’s and the facilities were not places for fragile minds who had hard times sitting in tiny concrete boxes.

The entire operation was actually unsafe on the guest’s and worker’s minds and emotions.

Ever try to sleep with the light on while a Slug is slithering around outside your room peaking in?

Throw in a sprinkle of the yelling from your new friend in the room next door who desperately needs his methadone fix, and a dash of the drunk snoring in your bedroom to equal, boo-yah, one-healthy night’s rest. No?

Is this some form of torture? Maybe those are just my highlights?

A few more luxuries about the Concrete Jungle BNB?

Soup is usually on the menu, sometimes they have Dog food from a can. Compost-quality fruit and veg. Cold, timed and controlled showers, sunless timed and controlled outside time, on a concrete pad of course.

There’s a no smiling policy because you don’t want to provoke anything spending their life there, some have that destiny within them so it seems, therefore you cannot display any fun.

Resentment, anger, hostility and sadness are the primary emotions and you need to be comfortable feeling them to fit in, followed by constant disruption to peace and attempted happiness if any.

Most guests at the Concrete Jungle are good folk who probably made mistakes to get themselves there.

They probably did what they felt they had to do because of their continued uncontrollable situations which they probably couldn’t help from birth.

I’m not condoning any harm or wrongdoing on others because I think there are a few Cats out there who need to  spend some time in life sitting and thinking about who they are inside, but I’m just saying there’s a reason behind every action and there’s a good chance most of those staying at the Concrete Jungle BNB are only staying there because of a situation that if they could’ve helped, they probably would’ve.

Maybe at least half of them? Maybe?

Life’s hard and any character has potential to make a mistake when it’s stuck in an environment where it’s backed into a corner. Animals only react when threatened they don’t just usually come looking for a fight.

The Concrete Jungle has a high potential to host a fight or two on a daily basis and it’s basically not a good place to go, which I was aware of so I knew I needed to bide my time with the Cheetah and mind her space because nothing was worth being trapped in that jungle of a place.
——————————————————————
Chapter 12.

After the Cheetah caught me at the front door it was mentioned if she’d ever caught me trying to walk out again she’d allow me to leave then stand at the door yelling rape after I’d left.

It’d be fair to precisely quote her threat as she was going to, “Scream rape and beg for anybody listening to please call emergency. Please help me, pleeeeaaassseeeee helpppp meeeee!” Purely to manipulate any bystander bearing witness.

27.

I’d thought it might seem reasonable to a casual on-looker if they’d saw me fleeing the scene at top speed during her request for help.

Then the Monkeys would obtain multiple statements eventually demanding I, “Freeze motherfucker, or else.”

Then without thinking twice they’d be liberated to choose from their belt any weapon their heart desired to force me by direct order to go with them for questioning, encodement of the depopulation microchip, and transportation to the Jungle BNB where I’d stay in their concrete box for an undisclosed duration of time.

I would’ve rather been shot, suicide by Monkey was not hard to pull off in these times.

Truthfully I’d felt scared of the Cheetah and Monkeys concerning my life and this potential scenario.

Her exact words to me were, “If you ever leave me I’ll scream rape, then call emergency, so don’t try to leave me anymore. We’re a couple whether you like it or not and you can’t just vanish, so don’t try to break up with me because I’ll find you.”

I saw in her eyes she was dead serious with delirium. Her pupils were as seamless and as black as a new moon.

I’d felt the temper of Satan try to break free from her soul, who’d been bound to her depression for who knows how long, starving and uncomfortable trying to survive.

How long could I stay like this? I’d only asked myself this a thousand times by now.

Her psychological warfare was getting worse and worse as we’d officially passed the 18th month mark out of 22. I was completely drained in all avenues of escape and truly ready to kill myself.

After I’d ran away a couple of times I’d sat by the river and contemplated finishing my life.

I’d always declined my own offer and returned to the lair but I was becoming desperate and the Cheetah was tightening her stranglehold on me daily.

The love starved heathen was planning to hold me hostage forever and I knew she wasn’t going to give up.

It’d now be routine for her to force me into public so she could humiliate me as best she could in the middle of the street.

She’d dictate my physical movements by giving me swift hand gestures that’d indicate instructions like we’d rehearsed earlier, as if she was the conductor of a marching band commanding I’d go left, right, stand, sit, stay or enter when told to do so at every single business.

Once inside the establishment she’d show me off as if I was her hunting trophy presented in the form of an accessorized fur coat.

The Cheetah’d dramatically twist and turn holding my arm and smiling from ear to ear while her eyes rolled back in her head, exploiting her opportunity to expect me to maintain, “romance” by putting my arm around her and holding her rotting paw every step of the way, or else.

Not just casually hold her paw either but she’d enjoy to constantly reminded me with supremacy that I had to hold her in an exact manner that would soundly satisfy her every urge.

Firm grip with paw clenched tightly at an exact 155 degree angle so the Cheetah could, “feeeeeeellllll the passion”.

Listening to her coach me in public went in one ear and out the other because regardless how I’d held her hand, it was always wrong.

The Cheetah’d attempt to embarrass me by abruptly throwing her fanny pack down then ranting on about how poor of a job my loving efforts were.

And of course she could feel that my heart wasn’t present in this relationship but how could I try at her pace?

It was a vicious circle between being forced to hold her hand, her being unsatisfied, her making a scene, then me having to rectify the situation so I’d remain safe because her volume would grow loud enough a busy-bodied Sheep might overhear her stress and assume she’s the victim, then happily call the Monkeys on her behalf. Just as she’d always wanted.

Back to the common stigma that just because a female is yelling, the male is automatically assumed to be doing something inappropriate.

When unless the female is actually being beat or raped, there is a possibility that the female has self-control issues and can’t seem to keep her shit together. Or would this just be my experience again?

The Cheetah intended to push my boundaries as far as she could because she’d despised herself so much, she’d wanted to take her hatred out on me until the day she died. Wishing I’d suffer for all the pain she’d endured inside her tiny, pathetic heart.

She was riddled with experiences that made her feel intense rejection and I believed her loneliness was real because it was seeping out.

But what the Cheetah had imagined and what she’d actually experienced were two different situations which I now saw as somehow intertwined in her mind to form some sort of collective reality, to conglomerate into a result of being all my fuckin’ fault.

I was her personal-pet scape-Goat, it was amazing, trapped for life. Baaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh.
—————————————————————
Chapter 13.

28.

I didn’t want to be with the Cheetah anymore and I’d felt like I’d tried everything except begging her permission to leave so I decided to take it old school and ask her why she’d kept holding such tyrannical garbage against me, and if it felt good trapping me against my will?

I tried to explain to the beast that I’d never be in love with her and this one-sided relationship wasn’t going to work out.

I’d even called her a few choice names that every female has zero toleration for, some I’d never used before or since in my life but the Cheetah never took the bait to want to call things off.

She liked what she had going on and was content as long as I was beside her to absorb her loneliness.

I’d started not care about my words as if I was an angry drunk even though I didn’t drink, but maybe I should’ve started at this point just to cope with my feelings of being extorted.

My emotions became a toy to the Cheetah where she’d toss and turn them in the air like yarn balls, then she’d push them to the very extent of breaking to where I’d want to pull my hair out but without actually doing it.

This was her intention to make me have a psychological or physical reaction towards her by breaking down or beating the shit out of her like I’m sure a few characters with shorter tempers would’ve done by now.

She didn’t seem to mind my truth darts I’d spit at her as she’d ignore them then now tell me she was openly looking for a new partner, and I’d have to stay with her until she’d found this new love, or maybe even beyond, just in case things didn’t work out.

She was explaining to me in great detail daily about how gross she thought I was because my teeth were supposedly rotting out and she should’ve just, “knocked them out” to do me a favour.

She’d throw things at me and hock loogies in my direction when we’d cross paths. This couldn’t be karma for me kicking rocks at her was it? Because truthfully I asked her to leave in those moments before I had my emotional reaction.

The Cheetah tried to tell me she’d deleted all the pictures and I could leave at any moment without having to be worried.

My thoughts came on like a sad Dog who’d been left alone for so long but believed he’d just heard his long lost caretaker’s voice from a far say they wanted to play.

My ears then head perked up with sincere excitement. “Really!?” I’d thought as if my name was Scooby before quickly realizing the Cheetah was just Joshing-me.

I thought she must’ve blacked-out because how could she go from threatening me every single day to just giving up and saying all was deleted?

She’d obviously gone mad or was just trying to trick me.

I never bothered to put her word to the test because I sensed it could‘ve been a trap. I was so bored and depressed with her fuckery anyways I just allowed all nonsense to roll off my back like I was a Duck in a torrential rainstorm.

The Cheetah had me in her pocket and would gallivant around her lair with chest puffed up and head held high as if she’d accomplished some great feat of obtaining her much deserved handsome boyfriend who would now be passed off forever as her most prized possession.

She was demented and I’d wondered every day how could this have happen to me? I truly thought I was a good male and the glory of death was my only possible happy-place.

Then after 20 months of being trapped in this modern-day dungeon, consciousness came to me in the form of an idea to purchase myself an audio-recorder so I could record all the toxic things that the Cheetah was spraying at me.

If I was going to leave her I’d assumed nobody would ever believe a word I’d said if I’d mentioned this was what I was actually dealing with, seeing as I could barely believe it myself, so it’d came to me to record all the Cheetah’s phrases in live audio streaming.

29.

I’d stopped at the local electronic store after telling my Sheep-shift I had an appointment so I could still leave early but make “curfew”.

I’d felt liberated and motivated to start this new chapter where I’d documented everything the Cheetah was dishing out, and I was going to let everybody in Garbage Town know what she’d been up to having me stay in her basement.

At first I’d loved recording her. I’d gently tease the Cheetah with egg on the end of a Fishing pole to purposely entice her famined appetite to chew then vomit more hatred.

I’d stare at her encouraging her ego to bring me all she could while I’d laugh quietly in my mind.

I’d add fuel to her fire when she’d start going off by ignoring her then flicking the match as I’d blatantly walk away. I’d turn my back to watch her reactions start to change, click record.

She’d be surprised by my new and all of a sudden self-respecting attitude, coming back at me with hesitancy in her responses.

She’d sensed something was different but didn’t know what and I could see the Hamster wheel turning inside her foggy brain as her voice cracked sounding unsure.

Did I just turn the tables?

The inevitable time continued where we’d be battling back and forth and I got a little too cocky with my recordings.

Possibly getting too far ahead of myself in
my own pace because I had a stash of evidence growing against the Cheetah and was preparing to leave her in any of the coming days.

As we were sitting in the princesses room while she was babbling off with exaggerations of animosity, I was sitting on a stool and leaning far to the left with my own exaggeration of exhaustion when the Cheetah stopped for a rare breath, focused her eyes near my thigh and as she did, she’d ever-so slightly noticed the recorder microphone barely hanging out of my pocket.

I had to have the microphone exposed a little so I could pick up every sound the Cheetah made.

I’ll admit I “could’ve” possibly avoided this but was feeling a bit high on my myself because of all of our recording sessions up to that point, my carelessness clearly cost me.

Be scared now.

The Cheetah leapt out of her chair and lunged at me through the air in one fluent motion.

While floating towards me she’d protracted her claws, reached back and swiped at my pants pocket as she’d plowed her body into mine, slashing my leg and piercing it open while causing the recorder to fall to the ground.

I immediately pictured my chances of freedom being destroyed. I wanted a few more days of material before I’d walked out with confidence. I didn’t stay humble in this situation now what the fuck was I supposed to do?

Why was I just so stupid!? Why didn’t I fuckin’ play this hand any smarter?

God dammit.

The Cheetah landed half on me and half on the recorder. She had the documentation in her hand and I was facing a rampage that could only be described as mistakenly waking the most ancient Vampire who’d been sleeping in its stale slumber accompanied by agitation, resentment and disgust for the past 888,888 years.

You know that character who meets up with this Vampire in the horror film is always fucked right? Male or female never survives because Vampires live forever.

The coffin opens as one pale, long-finger nailed hand reaches out. The victim can’t run, the Vampire cast a spell on them when they approached the coffin.

Then the Vampire pops out of the coffin and it’s not cute or hesitant, it’s bloodthirsty and stealth in movement because it’s a fucking Vampire.

Teleportation. Shapeshifting. Eternal life. These are its characteristics obtained over lifetimes.

The Cheetah’s tomb was rattled as the great demon began to reign down blow after blow of her terror and panic because she now knew she’d been caught in her perverted act.

Ever see a pedophile get caught for trying to lure a child? The pedo freaks out because of desperation then starts begging and pleading not to go down town because they know how fucked they are.

Not only fucked for being caught but male or female, they’re about to get double-fucked in the B-hole by some new friends waiting for them at the Concrete Jungle BNB, so understandably they’d be very scared for getting busted.

The Cheetah had the recorder but she was scared understanding there was a chance all her strategies had gone out the window.

She was reacting dramatically but out of fear and I could tell her emotion was stemming from concerns that I might’ve exposed her already.

Her fear stunk like you might’ve imagined an open coffin would after being closed for thousands of years but I’d believed with all my heart that my fear of the Cheetah as a Vampire was nothing in comparison to her fear of me when I was holding the power of this recorder.

This amazing modern-day invention that now I did not have to use this recorder as a mirror against the Cheetah to demonstrate her lack of reflection.

Not so tough are ya now pussy cat? I’d only thought.

“How long have you been recording me!?” She’d blurted out petrified.

“You’re recording me!? You’re recording me!? I can’t fucking believe you’re recording me!

30.

You motherfucker!” As she’d paced back and forth shaking the recorder in disbelief.

I wasn’t going to win this battle. My quick analysis said just give up immediately and apologize.

How could I’ve been so stupid though?

Thunder and lightening crashed against the window. The storm picked up velocity as the ground beneath my paws began to shake and bubble filling with red liquid.

The room grew cold as ice and to the point I could see my breath. I shivered and knew Satan was close.

I tried to explain how I feared for my life if I’d stayed with her any longer but the Cheetah didn’t want to hear a word and just kept pacing, shaking the recorder violently.

Then the Cheetah walked out with zero retaliation. I quickly retired to my room.

I had a strange sense of calm wash over me including an undeniable feeling that the time to leave was not right now.

Why was that? Why didn’t I feel the urge to get the fuck out? Did I have sympathy for my abuser? How come I’d felt so stuck there?

Supposedly I had the ability to make my own decisions in life, someone told me that once.

Or maybe I was subconsciously waiting for “a sign” to tell me it was okay to make my next move?

It’s on me to decide when there’s a “right” or “wrong” time to move on from something isn’t that correct?

Why did I feel so paralyzed again? It made me absolutely sick to my stomach, a deep aching feeling of helpless and even mockery from within.

I’d never felt more sad and wondered if there was a destiny guiding me or if this was just all my own stupid choice that held no spiritual influence?

I wasn’t sure if it was completely my choice to leave or stay because I just couldn’t seem to break free and leaving seemed even more torturous.

Maybe my spiritual karma had me chained down?

I didn’t want to do this anymore and I wanted to get away from the Cheetah so I could save my life, not die.

I was exhausted and felt like a beat-down Dog who had nothing left.

I felt trapped by my own trauma, fear, logic and spiritual bond, if there was such a thing? I’d also felt crushed with anxiety and paranoia that was elevated through the roof. I fucking hated life.

The Cheetah hid the recorder and there wasn’t much conversation between us for the rest of that day.

I’d felt like I fucked up big time and hoped it wasn’t my only chance at freedom.

Despite my common letdown I knew not to overly worry because I’d just go back to the store and get another recorder which was exactly what I did a few days later.
——————————————————————
Chapter 14.

After obtaining possession of the first recorder the Cheetah surely had the impression our time together was coming to an end so this was when she’d devised her dastardly plan to coerce me into a good old-fashion shot-gun wedding ceremony. HoooWeeee.

Once the Cheetah’s education was completed over the next few months she’d have to go back to her home land in The Great Native Desert Land.

She didn’t want to do that ‘doe because of her supposed excuses concerning being the recipient of abuse courtesy of her parents so she’d schemed up another fool-proof scam to escort me into marrying her so she could legally stay in Garbage Town after graduation.

She’d get to keep me as her pet in the happiness of her lair and her marriage would guarantee her the ability to further-psychologically and emotionally torture me until the end of her wretched existence.

She must’ve greatly appreciated her own intention. What a wonderful and splendid concept she must’ve thought to herself?

31.

This was how it all went down.

The Cheetah was waiting in the parking lot after my Sheep-shift let out one day, which was odd because she didn’t have a vehicle and I was supposed to be biking home specifically on a schedule.

I’d surprisingly noticed her when I’d exited the building around 3:30pm, as she’d smiled with glee and indicated that I throw my bike in the trunk.

She was sitting behind the wheel of a rental car and must’ve went to the vet earlier that day because her grin glistened extra white as I could see the venomous brown smog from her breath seeping out of the car doors as I’d advanced.

I’d paused hesitantly and took a deep breath of fear, like a scolded-Dog holding his tail between his legs I’d loaded my bike into the trunk.

The shift just ended so lots of folk were in the busy parking lot. I was very aware of remaining calm and cool because the Cheetah could’ve easily caused a scene.

‘Damn’, I’d thought. I was really enjoying my 13 minute and 13 second bike ride back to the lair, it was all the freedom I’d had and now the fun for the day was coming to an early end.

Depression sunk me to the depths of the seat as I’d slouched into the passenger side dropping my body like a Rock.

“Hi,” I’d said trembling and expecting to hear a gong ring out in the background.

The Cheetah began on cue as if she’d been practicing all day stating she’d just got a call from the Boarder Control and well, they’d said they were coming to deport her stinking ass at any moment.

Her Political Education Training Centre was the new culprit because they didn’t renew her paperwork which was allegedly their responsibility to do on her behalf, the fuckin’ idiots.

So, Border Control was coming to supposedly deport her supposedly at any minute, and the only way she could stay in Garbage Town was to supposedly get married to somebody from the area who could save her from having a lot to discuss on her necessary bus ride heading back to where she’d came from.

Yep. This was when I really felt like I was going to have a mental breakdown. I couldn’t breathe. I became instantly mortified. My heart stopped and all my nerves and sensations went numb then limp.

The Cheetah continued as if I didn’t hear her, “Boarder Control told me that my Education Centre didn’t renew my paperwork and now it’s expired so they’re going to come deport me at any minute!!!

The only way I can get out of this scenario is to get married this weekend so I’m just going to have go and bite the bullet and do it. That’s why I’ve got this vehicle, to drive us on Sunday. I’ve already got the place booked and told my parents.”

I desperately laughed then cried.

What’s this?

It came so fast like an avalanche in the mountains of the high North where nobody could hear another scream.

Does that mean they would make a sound? We’d wondered this earlier. Would you make a sound if caught in an avalanche? Get a fucking grip.

The ice-winds were wiping by at over 1000 light years per hour. I was now snow blind and couldn’t tell what direction was up.

I tried to wipe my eyes but some thing kept pulled the wool over them. Can you repeat the question? Can you repeat the question? How did I get so far down this path?

I found it hard to believe I’d consciously done this to myself, I mean, I know I’d stayed past welcome and blah, blah, blah, but what in the fucking Sam hell was this monstrosity talking about?

My response in reality was like, “Ummm…”

Silly me, I didn’t say anything combative or agreeing at all.

Imagine I just said, “How about you go fuck yourself?” Then the Cheetah would just get out of the car and start screaming rape in a parking lot full of 55 Sheep mixed with a few Cattle.

Actually, when I didn’t say anything in that humming moment, it was because I’d felt like I’d slipped into a coma due to shock.

That’s when I witnessed the Cheetah’s head balloon, then turn purple as if it was going to explode.

Her internal pressure was cooking as she’d flicked one claw out and wrapped fittingly around the side of my neck.

“This isn’t a fucking question.” Her volume started soft and psychotic before growing louder and louder.

“This is something that has to happen or-fucking else. My life will be upside down and if my life is upside down then guess-fucking what, you’re fucking upside downnnnn!!!!!”

32.

There was a tiny gasp in her breath right before she’d continued where she’d made this ‘meep’ sound.

“Meep. If you don’t do this I’ll, I’ll, I’ll…”.

I already used the 3-Pig analogy so I’m sure you get the vibe but the Cheetah did get out of the car for a moment and huff the exhaust pipe to try to calm herself down.

That was after she’d told me, “This isn’t a fucking option!”

I don’t honestly remember what else she’d said because I was too deep in thought during that moment but I do know there was something else about supposedly beating and raping? After a while it got hard to hear through the yelling.

This was the new normal and low for my entire existence. I was choiceless in this matter and thought maybe this was supposed to be my life?

Chained to a villain and stuck in her suffering mode forever. I was unaware this level of evil could even exist to be honest. I’d figured my life had evolved enough to know better, but I’d also understood I just might not fit in on this planet.

This indecent proposal came to me on a Thursday, and while I didn’t have my new recorder out for that special occasion being so caught off guard leaving work, I was definitely going to bring it on our “ceremony” adventure that was scheduled for the upcoming weekend.

The Cheetah ran out the next day and purchased all her trinkets and expenses for her big day.

I told her she’d have to pay for all the expenses of her extravaganza on her own and she’d agreed to that with ease, just like a true manipulator would, making a little sacrifice to gain her bigger desire.

She already had the vehicle to drive us 100 clicks to the nearest chapel that was located under the sandfall next to the GhettoVille, L.F.D.

A landfill used to hide the ancient burial ground that originally incapsulated the land at the farthest south end of Garbage Town on a private dirt road where once a river turned to falls.

The Cheetah bartered two quarter machine candy rings for 50 peanuts, she’d rented me a suit and got herself a dress, then paid for two witnesses to sign off on her fiasco.

That’s because a minimum of two individuals other than the two involved needed to sign off verifying the procedure legitimately took place.

The chapel could provide two Sheep for 50 peanuts. There was probably some other useless shit the Cheetah purchased herself for her big dream day but I was still riding the coma.

Her ceremony was a complete joke and in my mind I’d treated it like it was. I sang circus songs in my head as the Cheetah’s parents watched over live-stream while I danced with a tiny hat on for them.

They thought the whole procedure was based on love because their daughter had told them I’d voluntarily stepped up to help her out of a sticky situation. Little did they see the knife she was holding to my back forcing me to fuckin’ dance.

They were so happy their precious princess was marrying such a well-groomed Dog.

I’d never talked to the Cheetah’s parents or seen them prior to that moment so they had no idea who I was, but they’d believed their daughter‘s lie was true because who would think their daughter would deceive them about such an important situation?

The Cheetah told her parents the same thing she told me, “That Border Control was coming any minute” and she needed a saviour to save the day.

When I’d met the Cheetah’s parents over the holiday season a few weeks later they’d told me they’d pay for the annulment, as a reward for my good deed.

That was if the Cheetah and I had ever decided to part ways of course.

They’d flown me 12 hours across two continents all the way to The Great Desert Native Land just to eat a few meals with them after this ceremony.

They’d told me they didn’t understand how the Cheetah’s education centre was responsible for making such a mistake but they were thankful, extremely thankful that I’d helped her out of this bad situation being she was so close to graduation.

I knew the Cheetah fed us all Bullshit and I knew there was no supposed call from any  supposed Boarder Control.

I knew the Cheetah was playing us right in front of our own eyes but I didn’t have any option other than to to play along.

We’d completed the ceremony. I read some “vows” she’d wrote for me.

That was fucked up.

33.

Then the Cheetah drove us back to her lair while the whole drive she’d continued to notify me about her displeasure from my lack of enthusiasm throughout the ceremony.

Over the hour-and-a-half car ride it was thoroughly ridiculed of me how unimpressed the Cheetah was.

How I had a “bad attitude” and was “too quiet for the experience”, especially when I read my script for mommy and daddy. I should’ve been more lively and loving, my performance was not good enough.

I didn’t feel the need to say much though, and that made the Cheetah feel very embarrassed in front of her highly-esteemed parents.

She’d felt she’d been wronged because it was somehow my responsibility to impress her parents so they would believe we were living a healthy, happy and loving relationship.

Relentlessly the Cheetah pounded me with side punches and chomps on my wrist, forearm and bicep while she’d simultaneously drove her rental vehicle across the 3 lanes of empty highway as if she was liquored up.

She was screaming hysterically within the privacy of a speeding vehicle. It must’ve been her safe zone because she didn’t hold back on volume.

The tires glided effortlessly through the silence of the night while inside the consistent purr of the machine’s enclosed doors was the fumigating growl of a morbidly-foul Cheetah.

She’d used her maddened tongue to attempingly batter my confidence until we got back to her lair where she’d continued to enlighten me with curse words and suggestive insults about how I’d needed to step my game up, and how it was my fault her life was the way it was regarding her family and supposed deportation.

Game was almost over because I did not honestly give a fuck about her special day.

I’d been beat down literally and figuratively, left distraught and ashamed by the day‘s festivities and by this relationship.

I could barely defend myself from her barrage of hatred towards me so I’d simply agreed to her notion that I’d let her down, just so I could get some fuckin’ sleep for work the next day.

I was a dead Dog walking.

—————————————————————-
Chapter 15.

The next day I told some of my co-workers what I’d been up to over the weekend and they couldn’t believe their ears.

I played them a recording of what I’d experienced during the ride back and they’d laughed so hard saying if that was their Cheetah, they would’ve lost it on her that moment.

3-old BillyGoats told me my only option was to lose it on her. Was my experience the extent of why some would snap and torture others? They’ve faced so much abuse they can’t stop feeding others their pain because the emotion is overwhelming.

The Cheetah had no pain and was living in an illusion. I was eating her wickedness that she’d turned into a sob-story.

She had no consciousness for remorse. I reckoned she should’ve been locked up for crimes against Animals.

She’d told me early in our relationship that no previous partner had ever met her parents, therefore I was the first in all of history to be introduced to them as her romantic partner.

34.

Me. The Dog who’d been attacking and raping her for 20 months according to her fabricated allegations.

The Great Native Desert Land was very beautiful and sat high off the elevation of sea. It had sandy, desert-like mountains and very dry air, that was situated far, far away south from Garbage Town.

Spending time there influenced me into believing there could be some beauty on this planet, because this was my first experience travelling any distance away from the massive crater, so I’d seen and felt a definite magic outside the area.

When with the Cheetah’s parents I’d spent a lot of time with daddy-Cheetah, which must’ve made daughter-Cheetah feel bit by the Jealousy Bug as she’d observe our superficial conversations through the bushes.

The Cheetah might’ve sensed some genuine happiness coming from my direction because she became extremely agitated after a number of moments catching me casually talking with her daddy, that all seemed to equate one volcanic eruption that blew up in my face then down-poured scolding lava all over the living room once her parents stepped out for a few errands.

It wasn’t the first time, second or third the Cheetah touched me and I’d thought in the moment that she’d only did it this round because she was on her home turf and probably felt a little cock-heavy when seizing the moment to try to demoralize me.

She grabbed my arms and tried to push me backwards towards the living room couch as she’d flicked her tongue like a Salamander smelling my fear, fear and mouthing threats about calling the Monkeys because she’d had enough of my, “fake-ass attitude”.

She’d moved towards me as if to push my shoulders down so I’d sit on the couch once I was backed up against it but I skated left then ran past her out the door, darting into the unknown daylight of The Great Native Desert Land.

I’d ran up the street and could hear her yelling for me to come back. I turned around and listened to her voice tremble as if she was shocked I’d actually made the move.

There was a lot of sand around me so it felt like a confusing quick decision I just made but the Cheetah’s pouting and scared Cat tails in the distance confirmed my move, was good, because although we were on her home turf we were now outside in broad daylight, on a street that she’d grew up on, where anybody who’d seen her outside would’ve easily known her name and family.

This was a classy neighbourhood even if it was dry and sandy as fuck. How the Cheetah was going to explain to her parents once they’d return that a mishap took place where I’d suddenly ran the fuck away was clearly stunting her abusive flow.

“He beat me then raped me then married me then met my parents then ran away from me in my own land, that sounds about right.”

My confidence grew like I was turning into a green-garbage collecting muscle man.

She couldn’t fight me in that moment but where was I going to go with this? I was about-forever and a half away from anything I’d known.

I could see her waddling up the hill, hunching over and gasping for breath every few steps. Then the hobbled Cheetah fell over from over-panicking and attempting to move too fast, her handicap couldn’t keep up.

She’d kept yelling confused statements between threatening me and asking me to, “please, please, please come back.”

I could imagine the fear she’d felt picturing her parents rolling around the corner.

35.

I was a very rational Dog and in my rationalization the only safety I knew of was to travel back to the airport which was over an hour car ride away.

A journey that I didn’t have a vehicle to take or, know which direction I was going to start to go in.

It also wasn’t like I’d be getting directly on a flight anyways so I had to make my next move thoughtfully, but I noted the Cheetah’s weaknesses shining through her dark spots like holes of light exposing her wounds that helped me understand this puddy-tat was just a big schit-talker.

We’d remained calm with each other until we’d landed back in Garbage Town.

Whenever the Cheetah would travel she’d routinely get pulled aside by the Boarder Control upon reentry.

She’d told me this on the plane back saying they’d always give her a hard time so she was nervous about her status after the whole marriage debacle.

She’d instructed me to wait at a precise location until she was done being interrogated.

“It’s very scary” for her to be questioned and she said she’d needed my emotional support afterwards.

She’d pointed through the checkpoint indicating where I was to wait. I’d walked through security and continued walking, the Cheetah followed as if aligned with destiny then got pulled aside just like she’d said she would.

In my mind I’d pretended like I’d forgot what she’d just told me. I knew I was supposed to do something like stand somewhere but I was so exhausted after a long flight and week, I honestly didn’t give a fuck what the Cheetah had instructed me to do.

I knew she wouldn’t start shit in the middle of the airport with border agents wondering freely, and when you’re this l tired they call you Mr. Tired for becoming lazy with efforts, so I felt zero motivation to adhere to her desires.

I still knew I couldn’t run yet though, I just had to take advantage of all the little opportunities I could to spite her authoritarian mentality.

I was literally sick and tired and the idea of returning to her lair to be degraded further made me feel repulsed.

She’d just spent the week feeding her parents a big plate of Cheetah dung about our so-called “marriage”.

She’d conveniently forgot to mention how I’d wanted to leave her since week 1 of the schedule, and she’s been bamboozling me since.

I’d supposed I didn’t mention it to them either.

As for now, I’d thought I’d let her answer some questions and feel stressed for a short-minute instead of not having her “emotional support” Animal around when she’d really needed it most.

I knew it wasn’t the best decision but I also felt like I was running out of tolerance.

I’d thought I’d graciously accept her unhappiness later in exchange for this small donation I could give her now, for my disrespect received up to this moment.

This would be worth hearing from the Cheetah later over. A small sacrifice for a bigger redemption.

Hopefully, the continent didn’t register the marriage yet which of course I’d knew they had.

I’d walked down to the area where the shuttle loaded passengers, it wasn’t long before the Cheetah stormed onto the platform.

Exaggerated carbon monoxide decompressed out of her ears as sparks of fire followed in pulses.

She’d loaded herself into the shuttle like a missal programmed for eradication.

She’d snapped her fingers demanding I’d sat beside her like a Dog. She’d actually said the word “come”, as she did, I’d obeyed and got into the shuttle.

I still had some confidence but I knew I was going to hear about this one including our whole trip once we got back to her lair.

The fiery-Cheetah remained silent for the drive while she’d stared out the window.

She was pissed, again. It was a Sunday night and I had another early Sheep-shift the next day.

As anticipated the Cheetah went off like an atomic-bomb once we returned to her lair, going berserk tossing furniture and explicits towards me because my lack of support was weak in her eyes.

This went on into the sunrise before the Monkeys arrived on the scene. Hello.

‘This was it’ I’d thought as they’d separated us and asked us standardized questions.

“Does anybody have complaints about physical or sexual assault?”

36.

I’d surely imagined the Cheetah might’ve been entertaining one of two Monkeys with her story but, she didn’t, and the Monkeys left the lair within a short time.

I sighed in temporary relief as their presence seemed to defuse the Cheetah’s discomfort while also presenting me with a fun fact that I was still free.

Why didn’t she mention her claims that she’d promised me she would for almost two years now?

She had another chance to pull the trigger and didn’t. I was really getting bored of this.

I’d wondered if she was just going to hold these fake accusations over my head forever then never turn me in?

That’d be even sicker than the lie.

I’d gone to bed feeling unstable and lonely.

Despite the Monkeys showing up and not taking me away, I’d actually felt more trapped because the Cheetah didn’t say anything, which made me feel alarmed this loop might go on forever.

——————————————————————
Chapter 16.

I wasn’t sure if I could handle anymore Cheetah by the time I’d woke up.

I’d being placed on the permanent mid-night shift starting in the upcoming week and being on a different schedule mixed with the thought of trying to compete with the Cheetah lurking during the day when I was supposed to be sleeping was making me nervous.

I’d called my doctor to ask him if he had an emergency appointment because I was feeling a tad suicidal and felt I should make at least one attempt at talking with somebody.

I told my work I had an appointment then took a Buffalo-cabbie to the outskirts of Garbage Town so I could see my doc that Friday afternoon.

Doc was an ancient Elephant who was wise and had known me since I was about 28 in Dog years.

He worked in a facility slightly past the north end of Garbage Town within a slum growing off the top of the crater called Fungus.

Fungus was naturally shrouded in mostly mold and mildew as well as still being covered by the nasty proximity of dark clouds that hovered over Garbage Town.

I needed to figure out what I was going to do and I needed to talk to somebody about my realistic options.

I’d felt extremely distraught and was thinking that killing myself was my only option to get away from this Cheetah-character.

I’d actually sent a telegram to the Garbage Town Monkeys Dispatch and Disposal Unit just before my doc’s visit, freshly after returning from The Great Native Desert Land to ask the Monkeys if I could speak with one of their staff regarding what was happening to me.

I’d told them I was being extorted and blackmailed to stay in a relationship against my will.

I’d mentioned I was getting ready to leave the Cheetah and wanted them to hear from me first that she was planning to come forward with some allegations.

I wanted them to be aware of my truth before they heard deception from her.

37.

I thought I could make a difference but my words didn’t matter. The Monkeys replied saying it’d cost me 10,000 jars of 100% pure organic peanut butter to discuss anything of the sort with their investigators.

What was I supposed to pay for, justice? To have a conversation?

It’s because I was a male and l’d mentioned a female was trapping me in her lair and that was funny right? Because no way a male could be trapped by a female in her basement right?

Are you fuckin’ kidding me?

I almost offed myself when I was about 105 in Dog years by drinking a bunch of freeze the neighbour left out in a bowl for strays.

I drank 2 litres intentionally then got very sick and had to go to the hospital to be on dialysis for two weeks. When I came to, my wise, old Elephant-doc told me if I’d ever felt like ending the saga again, I should go talk to him right away.
I hadn’t thought too much about doing such a thing since then approximately 13 years prior to my time of meeting up with the Cheetah, but now after my last 21 months or so I’d felt like it might be time to take doc up on his offer.

It’d been years since I’d seen the big lug, maybe a decade or more, and I knew I could count on him to be honest because he’d known me for so long.

He knew my personal experiences and I’d gone to him because I’d believed he’d share his wisdom.

I told him what was happening, how I was being held hostage against my will and how one character stashed a bunch of pictures against me.

I told the Elephant the only option left I’d felt I had was to end this nightmare.

He leaned in close, right up to my face, almost going nose to nose, looking me square in my eyes, then held his pause for a few seconds before scoffing with complete confidence, “An abuser, always wants their victim to stay.”

Thank you dear saviour.

I shed a tear in relief because I knew the Elephant was exactly correct.

He continued after taking a deep inhale, “An abuser, never, ever wants their victim to leave a situation. They always want their prey to stay by their side. You’ve been trying to leave the Cheetah my dear friend, but this beast keeps bringing you back.”

A classic lightbulb moment where the Elephant just turned me on to the arousing idea that leaving was okay.

He’d leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest and stared into the depths of my soul for a hard moment before saying with attitude, “My man, ‘yo Dog, you gotta get the fuck outta there.”

I looked at the ground then bashfully agreed.

“Yes,” nodding in the moment I’d felt like a good Dog listening to the caretaker doctor who said go play and have fun.

He then took my collar and chain linked leash off that I’d been endlessly dragging behind me since meeting the Cheetah and pointed at the door.

“That means go boy.” He commanded with a smile resembling a white angel constructed out of compassion.

He’d clapped his hands and spoke with authority again, “God dammit I said run along, now that means go boy. Go!”

With powerful heart-felt influence I gave thanks and off I’d went to my workplace so I could grab my bike and head to the lair for curfew.

That Sunday when the Cheetah thought I was starting my new night shift I’d gone to a motel instead.

I’d booked a room for the week and when I was supposed to be going to work I’d go to the motel so I could marinate on my next moves because I knew playing hooky wasn’t going to last for long, but I needed a calm environment to think as working midnights was not going to help my brain process information.

38.

I’d left the Cheetah’s lair for my Sheep-shift just before 6pm telling her I’d be back just after 6am.

In reality I’d go to the motel, eat, chill, get a half a nights sleep, peacefully wake up, then return to the lair for about 6:15am where the Cheetah’d be anticipating my arrival, believing I just worked the whole night.

Consciousness aligned my experience perfectly where I’d visited my Elephant-doc the day I did, which couldn’t been a coincidence because I’d truly met my breaking point which just happened to align with the exact day my Sheep-shift changed to midnights.

This was the timing that carried me into my next steps which was finding a motel, prior to that seeing my doc and now processing actually getting the fuck out of dodge because as my worries expected, the Cheetah took full advantage of my necessary sleep that I’d need during the upcoming days.

Upon trying to sleep during the day the Cheetah’d continue to assault me by kicking me or throwing things at me while I’d lay in bed.

She’d bang around her lair making noise on purpose as well as try to provoke arguments intentionally with the desire of keeping me up.

The Cheetah’s training was only weeks away from completion so she’d only worked casual hours to allow her time to “study”.

Therefore she had ample time to sit around the lair and disrupt me anyway she’d felt necessary.

I was thankful I didn’t have to actually work because something would’ve definitely broke inside me during this dramatic attempt at psychological torture.

Sleep deprivation is one of the most heinous and destructive acts a character could do to another and I was under the impression the Cheetah was charging towards me with full force in her desire to use my sleeping situation for her manipulative advantage.

She’d told me that she wasn’t able to sleep due to her demanding co-ordinator position of organizing peanut collectors.

She’d also claimed her school was “sooooo gruelling” down the final stretch, “the stress” was causing her “sleepless nights and foodless days” therefore I shouldn’t be able to sleep nor eat, nor feel at peace either.
——————————————————————
Chapter 17.

X marked the spot for a bullet in the head feeling like the victim of an in-house drive-by as I’d reached the end of my road with needing to jump for the Cheetah when she’d point to indicate how high.

I just needed to maintain for a few more days so I could secretly gather my thoughts and belongings.

This was my great escape and I’d organized a minuscule get-away plan then packed my bags choosing what to bring with me and what to leave behind forever.

I had my work clothes, street clothes, toothbrush and toothpaste. I left my pure white Angel Cat, personal photo albums, music collection, entertainment system and exercise equipment.

I cared about leaving everything behind but I figured I’d cry later as I was headed to the big lights of The Big City where I’d intended to start over creating a vast adventure to rebuild my self-worth and liberty.

I was done with the Cheetah and didn’t care what was going to happen to me in my attempt to escape. The Elephant told me he had my back and would take any stand on my behalf if necessary.

I knew I couldn’t live locally because that would amount to my eventual demise so I decided to go far, and The Big City was far, and huge, I’m talking about millions of Sheep.

I saw them flocking from an incredible distance when I was on the top of the mouldy Fungus hill.

Amongst these Sheep I’d easily be able to find work because The Big City was abundant in trades, and that’s all I’d needed to confirm the scent of fresh freedom I’d thought I’d sensed brewing in the faint distance.

I couldn’t feel the way I did before and I’d remembered how I’d actually ignored my memory of being in The Big City a number of times many years prior to meeting the Cheetah, but I’d turned my back and totally forgot the place even existed because of the amount of spray I’d been swallowing in Garbage Town.

My ability to recollects details had deteriorated into an amnesiac stage but when I saw the Sheep flocking that glorious day visiting the Elephant I had a dramatic flashback to when I’d sometimes go to this city full of giant glass towers.

I’d stare up at them in awe because they were taller than I could see.

Since that moment I could hear The Big City calling me saying, “Feel comfortable here Dog. Everything is safe and my walls will protect you.” As if this voice in my head rang from the literal heavens.

I’d remembered never wanting to leave The Big City when I’d visit back in the unknown day, and when I was there I’d always feel attracted to the idea of staying because of how pretty all the lights and sounds were.

The Big City was full of flavour, music, food and colours vibrating at every hour intensely.

There were so many liberated females wandering under the glowing vibration who had their toes and legs out.

Too many for me to actually appreciate each of their individual beauty as they’d consistently pass me left and right.

My eyes and sniffer couldn’t keep up and The City made me feel comfortable and peaceful as if life was synchronistically aligning in a symbolic dance.

Once I’d witnessed the most precious street couple perform an artistic fundraiser in the middle of The City’s core.

The crowd was thick so I couldn’t get close but from a dozen of Sheep away I still got the pleasure of watching two swing artists display their talent for those walking by.

I stayed until the end of their routine and it was in that moment when I’d consciously decided to start appreciating the tiniest nuances in life because I’d realized the timing necessary for those moments to happen might’ve been only by chance, but they also might’ve been on behalf of my spirit to appreciate.

I didn’t understand what the comforting sensations were all about back then but I’d trusted some sort of weird and deep feeling within myself.

The Elephant lit a fire in my heart that helped me remember the light and the fact it would take about 10% luck, 20% skill, 15% concentrated power of my will to illuminate a path away from the Cheetah.

The other 55% came from my pain within that I doused on the fire that the Elephant started which torched my confidence like rubber squealing off the line, for me to remember that it was 100% okay to believe it was time to leave.

I needed to remember my name and sometimes abuse victims just need permission from somebody outside themselves to feel safe to move on.
That Stockholm thing again perhaps?

I took my doc very seriously and this was the first time in my life I’d noticed this strong sense of fire burning in my chest that seemed to be propelling me.

I mean, I suppose I’d felt this fire a few times prior to this moment, like being in school and having to adapt to something quickly, or really wanting something so my actions became fuelled by passion.

39.

You know that feeling when you’re absolutely sure about something and there’s an unrestrainable force noticeably uplifting you through your experience? Motivating you?

Your mind might not always think positively or confidently of the experience but the fire within motivates you to energetically feel composed to get whatever task done.

Even examples as gardening or cleaning can carry this fire as well as being a parent.

Motivation ignited from a spark within that drives your force towards achieving an accomplishment?

The body is the vehicle behind the force, the spirit is the driver. Fire is the fuel, no fire means no fuel, maybe that journey wasn’t meant to happen?

Most of the time when an individual finds their fire it’s their passion. What they enjoy working towards as a goal, and they feel enjoyment from the inside out.

That fire could be considered a spiritual connection that’s supposed to be felt during that experience and that fire could be proof of being in the “right spot” if there was one?

Or maybe it’s just scientific motivation of the mind there is no spirit or fire?
I enjoy flowers, fruits or vegetables so I plant a garden. I’d appreciate a clean barn so I’d clean it, or somebody desired offspring, they’d find themselves a mate to procreate with.

These are fires that motivate actions and these fires could be a combination of conscious desire intertwined with spiritual destiny? That could be the spiritual path within but, what do I know?

If there was a spirit would it have to motivate the character into fulfilling its destiny or in some cases unmotivated the character?

Ever get sick?

That fire could actually be considered the feeling of achieving destiny even for the slightest passions such as cleaning?

That clean home leads to thoughts and emotions that were products of the clean home.

That’s what I recognized after listening to the Elephant was my deep sense of fire being stoked from within.

As if my trauma had been transformed from a lump of coal into a flame under my feet pushing me into this experience of getting free.

We’ll move quickly now.

I went to the motel when I was supposed to start my shift and pre-paid 500 peanuts to stay the week.

It was working out over the first few nights where life had aligned with my desires so I could get the rest that I desperately needed before making my way back the the Cheetah’s lair in the mornings.

I’d called my supervisor Sunday night from the motel to notified him I wouldn’t be in for the week then told him I’d come by mid-week to drop off my note from my doc verifying my need for time off.

Completely unconscious of addressing my note to the night supervisor I drove to the facility just before the night shift ended Wednesday morning and left my note on the office table thinking the night supervisor would automatically collect it.

The day shift arrived, processed my note still sitting there and notified the day nurse of my absenteeism not knowing my note was addressed to the night supervisor as per his and my conversation.

Day nurse looked up my name and saw I was on nights so she gave my note to the night nurse who was so concerned about my well-being and attendance she’d called the Cheetah to ask if I was okay.

Through the Cheetah’s ranting at the office over the past few months it seemed as though she’d also convinced the sweet female secretaries to change her into my emergency contact, so that’s the reason the nurse reached out to the Cheetah wondering about me. Sweet caring nurse.

Talk about everything happening for a reason.

Prior to that moment both nurses were unaware I’d missed half the week already so the night nurse wanted to see if I was okay because the note didn’t detail anything besides doc stating I had his approval for 7 days off.

In the mind of the Cheetah, I was supposed to be at my night shift when the nurse from that shift called her curious and concerned why I wasn’t at work the past few days, and if I was going to be okay to return?

The time wasn’t late, maybe 10:00pm when my texts started blowing up as I’d sat in my underwear comfortably watching T.V. from the luxury of a motel bed.

I got sick once I noticed the phone light up.
Nausea overwhelmed my body instantly as I’d felt fragile and concerned.

What. The. Fuck?

I was ready to vomit. I’d looked at the bathroom as an option over answering. Was I going to pick up? I’d felt so scared and frozen in fear again.

I was just having such a peaceful moment after the first night I’d started to actually feel safe in my skin again, for the first time in almost two years if not longer.

I’d laughed and cried. I’d ate, slept and remembered what it felt like to be at ease.

I was appreciating my quiet time which gave me room to think clearly and even tried to enjoy life by buying some porno from the adult store next to the motel, not to be a pervert but more to focus myself on trying to enjoy life outside the lair.

That was one critical practice I’d maintained during my stay with the Cheetah was masturbating.

She couldn’t take that away from me and whenever I could I’d use this excellent releasing tool as a reliable resource for letting go and creating balance within myself.

Regular masturbation maintained an energetic balance in my mind, body and spirit where my orgasms were and still are, essential releases to my positive flow of energy within my body.

Without those releases if disregarded long enough, traumatic energy can build up and become stale, toxic and hazardous to clear thinking.

It’s a balance thing and can be exercised as part of a healing process opposite to a perverted one even if there’s a sexuality involved.

Clearing stagnation is the intention, also being with the self and learning about the body.

That was the joke about this whole situation was that I’d rather jerk-off 13 times out of 10 instead of forcing myself onto another to have sex with them.

I was actually all about the fucking connection.

——————————————————————Chapter 18.

My experience at the motel was nice and all but as the saying goes, every good thing must come to an end.

Also the phrase, everything works out quicker and easier than I could imagine had been a mantra of mine that I’d been practicing for the previous few years.

It was one of those attempts at the power of mind-things.

This story of my motel ending had come a lot quicker to an end than I’d imagined or desired.

I’d glanced at my phone while getting dressed and read the home screen imply something like, “If you don’t tell me where you are this instant I’m calling the fucking Monkeys!!!”

Then the phone started ringing as if it was screaming at me before I’d answered it, vibrating itself right off the night stand.

The sequence made my spine tremble.
I’d picked the phone up and put it to my ear but didn’t say a word.

“Where the fuck are you? Where the fuck are you? What the fuck are you doing!? What the fuck! What the fuck! What the fuck are you doing out there!!?”

I was so fucked.

It was weird because as fate would have it, the Cheetah had a second rental vehicle in her possession that week.

She’d had it that day because she supposedly needed it to drag boxes to and from her lair and workplace.

I’d answered the phone knowing the jig was up. The Cheetah muscled me into telling her the name of the motel and to stay put, because she was on her way.

How I can describe what happened next could only be viewed as the lead up scene to a midnight massacre about to go down in the eerie and desolate cemetery. My death felt close.

The chainsaw pace became very fast and confusing if I blinked.

Details were crucial to survive because the maniac revving the engine was just wishing a victim would step out in front them, while on a killing spree.

That maniac was in a vehicle and was name was the Cheetah, her victim was me.

I darted from the motel because I knew shit was about to go down. I knew the Cheetah was coming on a war-path and I didn’t want to find out what she had in store.

The motel was on a cul-de-sac and at the end of the cul-de-sac was a children’s playground that extended onto a sports field.

The field was where many sports were played and it was great in distance and size. I mean, many recreational fields wide and long.

The playground had many fun things to experience if you were a child such as, a carousel, teeter-totter, merry-go-round, some slides, a sandbox and even a mini-petting zoo that had tiny farm Animals.

Garbage Town hosted fireworks during the summer in this field and it was a very nice place to relax and enjoy the company of friends and family.

Surrounding the proximity of the sports field were tall trees that aligned one by one, and a tiny stream ran along the far side of the trees, opposite the playground.

The air was crisp and very cold, early spring with an icy-frost glistening on the ground as the night sky grew black.

41.

With my lunch bag strapped around my chest and work gear in my hand I’d ran down the cul-de-sac toward the playground as I’d anticipated the exasperated Cheetah to come roaring around the corner any minute.

I’d hid behind a tree off to the side of the main entrance but still in a zone to keep visual on the motel parking lot.

The Cheetah whipped her ride into the motel driveway, pulverizing the curb on her way through the entrance before hammering her brakes coming to an abrupt stop.

She’d fumbled with the door angrily before getting out and stumbling to hustle towards the lobby where the concierge saw her coming and met her outside.

They’d talked for a moment before she’d spat in his face then kicked his shin and stomped back to her car, crunching her transmission into reverse then spinning the tires.

She’d exited the parking lot and drove the same direction she’d came, away from the playground. Phew.

Was she leaving?

Not a breath and-a-half went by when the Cheetah came flying back around the corner, tires screeching off-balance as they’d barely gripped the pavement.

The air sat still while intensity within my internal atmosphere rose as the Cheetah’s headlights got bigger and brighter accelerating towards the playground using her vehicle’s top speed in a 30 zone.

If you thought this story’s been scary so far, cue the slasher music here.

The corner of her ride plowed into the corner of the barricade that protected the playground as if she’d tried to squeeze her whip between a space no wider than a few human footprints before coming to a halting stop.

Without shutting the engine off the Cheetah sprung out of the driver’s seat with both of her back feet hitting the ground at the same.

She’d stood up tall in front of her vehicle like a masked murderer genetically mutated with a ragging Bull.

Her eyes bulged out of her misshapen head as they’d scanned the playground and field in opposite directions.

She’d started deeply huffing and puffing the cold air mixed with exhaust fumes, exhaling hard through her nose as the headlights cast her silhouette onto the dimly-lit sandboxes.

I could see saliva hanging from her mouth, drooping off her face in long strands.

Her tongue stuck out of her mouth and she was pulling her hair relentlessly while her nose dripped blood before she’d screamed into the darkness as if having a brain hemorrhage, “Get the FUCK! In the CARRRRRRR!”

She couldn’t see me but I could see her.

Watching around the tree like a pervert I knew she wouldn’t cross the imaginary threshold into the wild of the night.

Despite her being unable to see me, I still felt extreme fear watching her pace back and forth, wanting to rip my head off but afraid to go any further as if there was an invisible-electric fence blocking her.

There was also an energy deep inside me that was laughing hard at this situation because I knew somewhere in my heart, that I was safe.

I almost wanted to cherish this moment so I could appreciate the fresh air and calming sounds of a distressed Cheetah.

My appreciation was present even though the Cheetah was very, very scary, and hiding in this situation was something I’d only witnessed in horror films.

Instead of the psychotic masked-male with an axe who’d come back from the dead, this was an alive and well unmasked female who’d intentionally used her gender, and education, as weapons to attempt to kill off my innocent life.

She’s seriously fucked up and that’s all I’d thought as I’d watched, shivering a tiny bit.

The Cheetah eventually retreated, cranking her tires in reverse then speeding off I guess believing I must’ve gone another direction.

I had to marinate on the experience for a moment so I’d knelt down behind a tree. I took some very deep breaths and held my breath, down, relaxing opposed to feeling shame.

‘This was going to be tough.’ I’d thought.

I had to get out of town but needed sleep somewhere to think calm. I could never return to the lair now after running into the wilderness like an abused Dog.

I’d felt scared but knew I had to keep going with this adventure. Further into the land of Garbage Town so I could find my way out of this pit.

On a positive note, I was having a good laugh inside myself because I felt alive and free knowing I might not see this hideous monster again, even if I had to say goodbye to it all, I put a positive spin on my new homeless situation.

—————————————————————Chapter 19.

The night was still young my friends and it was a long way from being over as my fun was just beginning.

I’d knew the Cheetah would be circling the perimeter so I’d crept through the field and across the tiny bridge that went over the stream on the other side.

I’d followed the sidewalk through the residential area sticking close to the shadows while carefully making my way in the opposite direction I thought the Cheetah might’ve been prowling.

I didn’t have a plan but I’d understood motel number 1 had no vacancy for my well-being.

42.

I needed to find a bed because I was starting to feel like I was sleep-walking, and I was unsure how long I could stay in this icy-chill for.

I’d went to a convenient store within a reasonable distance away to see if they had a phone book so I could look up a shelter for the night.

There was one not too far which I was thankful for because male’s shelters were practically extinct in those days.

I’d called the hotline to the all-males shelter that claimed to be open 24/7 but nobody answered.

I had the option to leave a message so someone could call me back and clearly I’d figured that was somewhat unlikely being they didn’t answer in the first place.

Even if I did leave a message they couldn’t had returned my call anyways because the Cheetah didn’t approve their contact. ‘Good thing they were open 24/7 for emergencies,’ I’d thought.

What does a male supposed to do when there’s only one shelter, it’s passed midnight and he’d just experienced trauma?

What does a male do if somebody’s trying to hurt him?

I mean obviously there’s a hospital if absolutely necessary but where are all the facilities for a male to go after non-medical emergencies happened where they’ve legitimately been abused?

A place to talk openly and heal their circumstance without fear or repercussion?

Could a notion even be conceived that a male might be experiencing abuse especially at the hands of a female in a case so drastic he’d need emergency shelter?

It should fuckin’ be.

So I’d sat on the curb outside the store in the cold quietly whining to myself and feeling extremely nervous the Cheetah was going to come buzzing around the corner any moment like a FireFly in the night.

I was huddled far away from the core of Garbage Town. ‘My momma-Bear lived ah, somewhat close to where I was at, maybe an hour and-a-half walk?’ I’d thought.

I’d wondered if there was a chance I could explain things to her and stay there for the night?

My momma-Bear and I really weren’t that close. She’d gone through a lot of pain early in her life and never got over the agony, by this time she’d drank like a Fish everyday of the week.

She’d taken a lot of abuse from many different partners including her own parents growing up. That’s a true story.

They’d also drank heavily and when momma-Bear was barely a teen she’d had 6 or 7 siblings to take care of while her parents were passed out drunk, pissing themselves on the living room sofa. Also true story, and their sofas were leather for your reference.

Momma-Bear handled their physical and mental abuse as only a still child herself, tending to her family as the adult caretaker, which resulted in a long-lasting discomfort that came back to boomerang me, being first born and all.

When I was a Pup momma-Bear’d always gossip to her friends and family about me criticizing as if she’d always had a destiny in her mind where I’d be less than her.

43.

She’d always make my character seem worse than it actually was by exaggerating my behaviour and talking bad about me, as if I was her evil offspring who got swapped at birth.

Even though I’d looked exactly like her with my golden-fleeced fur and baby blue eyes, I’d represented such disappointment to her loneliness after barely cracking the womb.

In reality I was simply acting how any young male would act without having a consistent father figure around.

Momma-Bear would often try to force me into talking to multiple counsellors, teachers, and even Monkeys about my supposed heartache and deep resentment she’d pawned off on me, demanding at all times I stay “open” with them.

She’d call the Monkeys attempting to use them also as pawns towards intimidating me into obeying her demands of sitting quietly and not asking questions.

‘Hey momma-Bear why this? Why’s that?’ “Don’t ask questions,” momma-Bear would scold me time and time again.

I’d stay out past her curfew, not by a few hours but by minutes and she’d call the Monkeys requesting a search party come find me.

I’d argue or brawl with my bro like any young-Pups would do then she’d tell us to take it outside as we would, then she’d turn around and call the Monkeys on me for fighting.

Like god damn lady you just told us to.

In those moments I’d tell brother bro-Dog, “‘Yo, step off bro,” but he wouldn’t listen so he had to pay some dues.

The Monkeys were momma-Bear’s favourite go to because she didn’t have to put effort in herself, which she’d excuse to “not having enough time” to simply talk or listen.

She’d always be working or playing fetch, or running laps, or doing errands, or looking for love in the opposite places of herself. This was all considered her “busy“ lifestyle.

Always staying busy trying to avoid her true emotions.

Momma-Bear always wanted to be a Sheep so bad. In her mind she was a Sheep trying her very best to fit into all the qualities a Sheep had.

She didn’t realize her big-Bear heart created two Puppies so when she’d looked at her first of two, it’d just jolt her anguish then rip open her own motherwound open, the one that she’d been trying to permanently cover up.

I’d realized in my adulthood that she’d frequently looked down at me as if I was her doormat that she’d try to use and wipe her own stains on regarding her own life and how it turned out.

It was my fault she had to take care of me and little bro as part of her parental responsibility.

It was my fault she’d never found love because of always having to spend time supposedly raising the two of us, and it was my fault she’d been living a lesser-quality life than she’d thought she deserved.

How fucking dare I?

I told her once she should’ve had a shimishmorshon if she’d thought I was so much of an issue.

She’d confirmed in her response to that, that I was just an accident and when I’d watched her say that, I saw the sadness blanket over her expression to where her eyes started to water, as if feeling sorry for herself thinking back on making that decision.

Honesty is clarity right? The truth comes out in the wash? Everything happens for a reason, who thinks of this garbage?

When momma-Bear started drinking heavily it was only after she’d begun an extremely toxic relationship with a disgusting Walrus.

Whom I’d found out a decade after being introduced to that the Walrus, was beating momma-Bear for the duration of their satisfying relationship.

Momma-Bear was getting her ass beat by this Walrus for 10 years when one day momma-Bear took her self-worth back and cold clocked the dirty Walrus square in the already-broken chops.

The trashy and classless Walrus responded by calling the Monkeys and filing abuse against momma-Bear.

Momma-Bear had to leave her den that was located in musky Fungus then was forced to start renting a basement in the middle of Garbage Town.

She was facing her karmic repercussions and needless to say, wasn’t feeling the best she’d felt in her life.

Momma-Bear had completely fallen off the wagon and was being dragged behind it strung up by her ankles.

I could barely talk to her if I’d ever seen her, which was next to never since getting the boot maybe, just after being introduced to the Walrus myself, and the only reason I’d known this story now was because I’d ran into momma-Bear at the library one day when I was being taken for a walk by the Cheetah.

I used to enjoy my walks to the library, a brief 95 second tour around the lair because that’s all the Cheetah had stamina for.

One day I saw momma-Bear and we’d hugged it out like it was a fuckin’ reunion special.

That was nearing my great escape with the Cheetah who became insidiously jealous watching our moment together even though my heart was cold to momma-Bear, the Cheetah ultimately let her resentment slide.

And in that experience I knew I had to keep my distance from momma-Bear because she wasn’t well, so for me to raise a flag asking for help didn’t sit compatible with my confidence.

‘Maybe I could go talk to her now about things?’ I thought.

I was desperate and needed to get out of the convenient store’s parking lot. There was a spotlight shinning down on me from the street lamp.

I didn’t feel comfortable nor have any energy but I got up ready to start my walk when before I took 10 steps a car pulled into the parking lot directly in front of me and the store. There was two female Crickets inside.

44.

One hopped out and went into the store, the driver sat with the passenger window open and the engine running.

It was like they pulled up right in front of me as if I was the drive-through window.

Being after midnight I’d recognized the timing couldn’t come across any creepier, but I’d received the brilliant idea to approach these females and ask them if they could kindly give me a lift?

Only if they’d knew my backstory.

I’d approached to make my order then muddled in a very hesitant, low, pathetic voice, “Um, excuse me. Do you, um, think you could be able to give me a lift somewhere?”

The young teen had enough time to respond but I’d quickly continued explaining a wild Cheetah had been chasing me and was now stalking me, where I was deathly afraid she was going to find me and hurt me.

I tried not to cry.

I’d continued to divulge how I just ran away after she’d tried to plow her car through a playground. Now I was on the loose and didn’t know where I was but I needed to get off the street so she couldn’t find me.

The second female returned from the store as I’d stepped back while she’d entered the vehicle. The driver started stridulating with her Cricket wings before quickly looking at me and saying with a smile, “For sure we can give you a lift, but please, just don’t kill us.”

Ah girl you are too funny!

I got in and gave them many thanks telling them they were life-savers.

I wasn’t sure if I could’ve made the journey in the state I was in. It was only about a 15 minute drive but mine-as-well had been the Sahara.

Those Crickets showed in the middle of the night at the exact second I needed somebody to hear my whimpers for help.

Imagine I’d walked through that parking lot, then they might’ve parked on the other side of me, leaving me to continue forward unnoticed with my head down.

They were definitely angels perhaps? Possibly-definitely. It’s definitely maybe possible that they came into existence simply perhaps to give me a lift?

Or maybe! They were a complete figment of my imagination where I’d actually time travelled?

Terror will leave anything exhausted.

The female Crickets dropped me off on a corner where I’d walked what still felt like way too long before I’d banged on momma-Bear’s door.

I’d banged and banged and banged on her door, then her window, then on her door again when I got no answer.

I wasn’t surprised, she was probably passed out. She’d liked to pop pills when she’d drink also so naturally I doubted she’d be getting up no matter how loud I’d banged.

It was nearing 1:30am and even if she did answer I couldn’t really trust being honest with her about what I was dealing with or what I was doing out in the middle of the night.

Since momma-Bear had an obsession with contacting the Monkeys as a form of controlling me, I knew I couldn’t tell her anything relevant even if she did stumble to the door.

I couldn’t continue to wait outside because I was just standing between two houses in the complete dark. Surely the Cheetah was still prowling high and low looking for me.

I decided to haul-ass downtown to get a second motel. There was a safe route I could take that would keep me off the beaten path.

I’d arrived at the motel and checked myself in peacefully. I got undressed, crawled into bed, turned on the T.V., turned off the lights, closing in on 2:20am, and the fucking phone rang.

It was the concierge downstairs, I’d answered right away because I didn’t have time to play scared.

He’d said my “girlfriend”, the Cheetah, was in the lobby, hmmmm, and she was with momma-Bear, where they were both worried about me and the outstanding issue that I was going to kill myself.

This was an interesting plot twist.

The concierge also said the Monkeys were on the property and making their way up to my room at that instant to see if I was okay.

Hahahaha. Was he kidding me? I’d almost felt comfortable.

45.

Okay bye, as clicks of the clock later a loud, authoritative-knock pounded on my door practically off the hinges.

Without a pause I’d opened the door just a foot while standing in my boxers prepared for war. I had my trusty paring knife that was my closest and dearest bff behind my back.

4 Monkey’s aligned their heads one-on-top of the other while they all tried to greedily veer inside my room as the leader took his role and spoke up saying they were there because the Cheetah and momma-Bear were downstairs worried I was going to hurt myself. Kill myself. Murder myself and bury myself alive all in the same motion.

They’d asked me if I was okay.

I’d laughed, “What do you want a fuckin’ fight? 4-on-1? Let’s go I’ll go all of you motherfuckers right now. What do you want a fuckin’ war, because I got a one you motherfuckers put your dukes up.”

I freaked out a little bit then laughed hysterically before quickly correcting myself while they all looked at each other confused.

“Yeah, uh huh, yeah man yeah, totally, no totally bro, I’m totally okay.”

Like an unneutered Dog I’d continued, “I’m so sorry man I’m just trying to get some sleep around here.”

They acknowledged me then voiced a few scripted concerns about suicide. They gave me the male’s 24/7 shelter phone number.

I’d responded in a haste blurting out how I was trying to escape my supposed “girlfriend” and this Cheetah was chasing me after I’d recorded her saying all sorts of nefarious shit to me.

I’d showed them the recorder, waiving it desperately in their faces. They all stared at each other again looking confused then each of them shrugged before walking away in solidarity, laughing and pointing at my expense, waving goodbye, mocking me saying, “Okay Dog, okay Mr. Dog, whatever you say man.

Female traps you? Buhahahahahahahahahaha. You think we’re fuckin’ Monkeys or something? Buhahahahahahahahahaha. Have a good day Mr. Dog.”

As they’d all filed into the elevator still laughing at some giant joke I didn’t comprehend.

That was weird.

How did the Cheetah know I was here? She must’ve called every motel looking for me which wouldn’t had been difficult because there was only 3.

Why didn’t the Cheetah again, say anything about her pictures? I was ready to cut my throat that instant before I’d swung once at any Monkey.

The knife was about my safety and it was my blanket where I’d promised myself I’d take myself out if anything got too close for comfort.

I’d been carrying my bff in my back pocket for the past 2-3 months at this point, my last resort if someone WOULD step up and try to take me down. Good bye and good night, you guys can have this fuckin’ place.

On a serious note what was my momma-Bear doing with the Cheetah? That was very disturbing as I’d pictured two sociopaths conglomerating gibberish.

I could only imagine the act going on in the lobby between these two hysterical characters supported by a cast of Monkeys dancing to their silly soundtrack that isn’t even made of real words.

Somebody please ring the gong.
Did this mean I was free though?

I didn’t know what was going on but I went directly to sleep intending to get up before dawn so I could head directly out of town before anyone else directly brought me anymore direct confrontation.

—————————————————————Chapter 20.

I’d rested soundly until about 6am when I got up and walked to the bus terminal which wasn’t far.

I was weary that the Cheetah might’ve deprived herself of sleep the rest of the night and possibly waited outside for my departure but I’d made my way to buy a ticket successfully.

I didn’t have a plan detailing my next moves once I’d got to The Big City other than find work within a few days, but I did know in this moment that I could never look back.

Except for the fact that I’d forgot all my tools at my previous workplace since I’d skipped out in such a panic.

God damn that’s the moment I’d realized I was going to have to return to Garbage Town if I’d expected to support myself through the rest of this endeavour, but it was fair to say I did have the means to bide myself some time before completely feeling ready to make that potential suicide mission.

I only needed to run in and out of my work to grab a few things then I could head back out of G-Town.

I’d caught the first bus and was leaving Garbage Town by 8am that day. I took some very deep breaths as I’d slouched back into my seat on the bus.

I’d hopped off that same bus over an hour later and thankfully, had always kept a few pre-rolled J’s with me, so this was my moment to light one up.

Another very vital tool that helped me during my nightmare with the Cheetah.

Nothing like a large quantity of quality Mary Jane to keep me completely conscious of myself.

Another contradictory sign of an abuser
or rapist in my opinion, an individual who smokes quantities of quality herb.

I’m not sure if it’s true for all smoking characters obviously but in my case, herb helps me think and process more rationally.

Herb helps me understand information and the flower enlightens me to be very conscious of what I like and don’t, not from a greedy standpoint but from a personal enjoyment perspective.

It connects my compassionate state to where I feel undeniably connected to all things. It sounds so fuckin’ hippy I know but riddle me this, how are we not all connected to each other?

We’re all wired the same. Same physical features with basically the same objectives and desires. Some have sightly different tastes than others but aren’t we generally the same?

Rapist, I highly doubt, smoke weed. I don’t think that’s a commonality between the two because if a rapist did they’d probably have some further consciousness about what they’d be doing before they did it, and would most likely choose not to rape.

This would be true because they’d surely see and feel compassion, care, warmth and possibly a connection to oneness.

But doesn’t that sound so hippie? Make sure to be aware of that god damn grass smoking relaxing asshole.

It’s my opinion that everyone should smoke a bit of herb now and again, and if there’s a reaction like paranoia, maybe it’s something from within trying to come to the surface?

Because doesn’t a real mother always want to discuss what’s bothering her seed?

The herb is the mother plant tending to all her seeds who sow her smoke.

The moral of the story here kids is that the rapist would most likely decide against hurting another because the smoke would influence their consciousness to feel connected to all there is.

This is the positive power of plant medicine that can quell many negative urges to uncomfortably destroy or steal, rape or kill, hate or even remain angry, and it’s a communication between the earth and user discussing compassion.

I’d promote anything using herb as a tool to help heal themselves and see life in a different perspective that’s uplifting, sympathetic and more gentle.

Another misconception by society to assume herb turns users into dangerous Animals or drug addicts when herb is just the same as any thing used for fun or medicinal purposes.

Because prescription pills or alcohol aren’t abused these days right? And users of either of those products don’t have anger or abuse issues towards themselves or others right?

Herb heals ailments within the mind and body it doesn’t create them. This includes daily assistance with feeling stable when dealing the psychotic episodes of a sober and dangerous Cheetah.

I’d smoked a joint to relax my tension after a long night and early bus ride into The Big City.

I was thinking of where I should call home for the next week when I’d instantly remembered from the summer before, I was actually in The Big City and would frequently see a cheap motel not too far from the terminal.

That previous summer was the halfway celebration point of my relationship with the Cheetah and to honour the festivities she’d decided to force me to go see a counsellor since around that time according to her I wasn’t being, “attentive enough in this relationship” for her highness’ likeness.

When I’d met the male counsellor who was younger than me we’d got talkin’ about work and different jobs, because Garbage Town was a dead-end except for collecting peanuts.

He’d mentioned his buddy who’d worked as an erotic dancer at the male Rippers in The Big City, and even though this friend of his would get hard for females he’d worked at the male club where he’d take his clothes off for mostly dudes. Strip for them that is, for cash.

Where, as if he was hung like a Horse and a natural freak of nature, this female loving-male would actually make more peanuts spinning his dick just like a helicopter than those males who were happily into sucking would.

46.

The Cheetah contacted the male counsellor to discuss our conversations after meeting and although private and confidential, the Cheetah as per usual, dominated her way to get what she’d wanted which was the topics of discussion from our meeting.

The counsellor illegally and fearfully revealed to her that he’d suggested I work out of town as a good way to make more peanuts, that’s all.

And the Cheetah must’ve smelt her meal ticket, or fresh scent of cock on the counsellor’s breath, because she’d come up with an arousing idea to search out of town jobs for me.

As you might string together she’d come across some very specific positions she’d felt best suited for me, and within a few weeks during our second dreadful summer together, after primarily raping the counsellor of his rights, she’d decided to force me into going on an adventure where I’d go audition for the penis-showing stripper role, that I’d easily got of course!

The Cheetah was so impressed and proud of herself as she’d certainly also appreciated my labour while filling my ear with an array of what she’d thought were cleverly disguised derogatory comments.

Nothing outside the typically confused display by those low-vibrating characters with minimal intelligence, dependably making classic and classy observations concerning same-genital sex between males or females.

These characters actually never see a problem with two females.

What year did we live in? I actually haven’t revealed that yet.

It didn’t matter because I had no shame in my game once I’d got there but being told to go was a bit of a struggling command to accept.

Once inside Lucky Longstroke’s Tavern I’d quickly learned that more than half the males working there were truly into females, and when I’d watch the vagina-lovers dance the penis-loving customers would gather close and make it rain on the performers while they’d all circle jerk together drooling over the fantasy of banging the fresh ass-virgin.

Okay, okay, I’m kind of exaggerating a little ‘cause there wasn’t customers who’d be jumping out of their seats pulling their pud trying to lasso the gentlemen on stage, they’d remain seated and just have all eyes intently focused like laser beams on the ass-meat spreading its skill on stage.

The customers loved that shit and it opened my mind to an entirely different existence that I’d never knew was out there, but ultimately after a few performances of my own over a short few nights, I’d begged the Cheetah, “please, not to make me go anymore” because it wasn’t fuelling my fucking passion.

She’d said she, “didn’t give a fuck” about my passion but she couldn’t make me get on that bus anymore after I’d stayed in one spot refusing to move, telling her to just kill me before rolling over showing my belly out of submission, not playfulness.

She’d just laughed in that moment and walked away as we’d never spoke of the topic again. I must’ve buried the trauma because how could I’ve forgot?

Regardless whenever I’d worked there I’d always note a certain motel nearby jokingly telling myself if I’d ever had the balls to run away, that’s where I’d go.

I’d never stay the night in The Big City when I’d work the show and these were some of the Cheetah’s first experiments with curfew so I’d always bus too and from each Sheep-shift.

When I’d wait at the bus stop after my performance I’d just stare at the motel lights that were half out and half blinking randomly.

I’d feel so mentally scattered I wouldn’t be able to understand what I was looking at. Everything was just a blur of letters and colours but somehow my brain seemed to retain the details.

I’d blazed my medicine and found it comical that I’d remembered those moments as I’d completely forgot who I was including my experiences.

Again though, talk about everything happening for a reason.

Without my stripper experience I wouldn’t have known about this motel, not like I wouldn’t had been able to find it anyways, but walking and smoking remembering the distant dream promoted my comfort as I’d tried to feel safe in what I was doing.

Was there some sort of spiritual alignment subconsciously preparing me for this path before I’d got there or did my thoughts create this in the moment?

Maybe I’d subconsciously predicted this in some way, or the Cheetah forcing me to come here was actually a nightmare I’d had when I’d slept in the bathroom at work? Or maybe, all my actions were randomly by chance?

I’d continued in my smokey haze producing thought while floating towards the motel entrance.

After I’d booked my room I got some much needed food then headed for strong drink, going back to the Tavern where I hadn’t been in about 9 months.

There’s actually a female Rippers right next door to Lucky Longstroke’s called Ass ‘n Titties so I had to stop in there first to see if any cuties were working. I’d do that before my shift also back when I was being forced to come to this area.

It’s a little more obnoxious and invasive at AnT’s but always good for a smile, laugh and maybe boob-grab if she’s inviting.

Half the time the females are trashed though so they’re not the most alluring, therefore I eventually toured over to Longstroke’s to calmly sit and think by myself.

Even if the Monkeys were searching for me I knew they wouldn’t be coming into these environments so I knew I could stay as long as I desired, and this was important because all I’d cared about was feeling safe and comfortable for a moment.

I’d approached the bar and noticed the same bartender working who was there the last time I was in.

He was a well built Rooster who was young, vibrant and very cheerful. He was clucking around behind the bar attending to all the patron’s needs.

He was super social, outgoing and proficient at what he did. He’d remembered me as I’d sat down vaguely remembering him.

We’d started conversating about our day’s events being as it was barely passed noon.

‘What were the odds he’d remembered me?’ I’d thought.

He’d seen a ton of customers come and go and in that moment our conversation just continued.

I’d felt safe just relaxing, having a beverage without any destination in mind.

He was a decent male, not overly flamboyant or feminine. He was fairly masculine, muscularly fit but not aggressive.

He’d carried himself with confidence like he owned the place, always cleaning his chest feathers while flexing with every step and motion back and forth mixing drinks and mingling.

I’d told him how I’d left the Cheetah and wasn’t going back to her lair. The Big City was my new home but I’d have to go back to Garbage Town at some point to get my tools.

I’d had a bunch of drinks at the bar where I’d stayed until the early evening. 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 drinks, keep filling ‘em up, I couldn’t remember, it might’ve been more?

Eventually the Rooster was done his shift and we’d gone back to my motel together. Next thing I knew I was underdressed and he’d pushed me onto the bed where he’d got on top of me and we were making out.

I’d clued into my surroundings and didn’t really understand how we got like this but I didn’t yell rape. I’d opened my eyes more realistically then asked him to leave because I wasn’t really interested in what was happening.

47.

The motel conveniently had a computer in their lobby so the next day when I’d woke up I went to used it to check my emails.

Upon doing so I’d found it flooded with rants and memes delivered by the Cheetah.

I didn’t read or respond to any of them and wasn’t sure what she was intending but I didn’t care.

I was too tired and hungover from being in fear for so long I had no concern at that moment what she’d said or did.

My only worry was prioritizing myself and getting my mind and body healthy again.

I’d changed my pre-paid phone number then called Boarder Control to let them know a secret about me not agreeing to the marriage I’d been forced to comply with.

They’d told me the Cheetah’s paper work was always in tact and there never was any issue with her education centre not filing her renewal papers.

They’d said that wasn’t the centre‘s responsibility to do on her behalf and my only reaction was, I’d fucking knew it.

Everybody aware of this marriage was sold on the Cheetah’s fib, so I’d looked up her family in The Great Native Desert Land and placed a second call to them intending to ask if they’d known why she’d lied?

Of course they never answered but I’d left a message illustrating a little bit of what I’d gone through and how I’d contacted Boarder Control, and how I was still intending to hold the Cheetah’s parents responsible for the annulment they’d promised me.

The fuckers.

I haven’t seen or spoke to the parents since so if you come across them please do me a solid and pass the message I’m looking for them.

—————————————————————Chapter 21.

For my next adventure I’d went out and bought a bunch of essentials, along with some new clothes since all I’d practically owned was my work gear after leaving Garbage Town.

Even though I was still traumatized from being in that nasty relationship I still had a very strong attraction to the female gender.

As I was walking through the mall gathering up my necessities I’d ended up having a conversation with this juicy and seductive Cow who was taking her baby Calf for a stroll while doing some shopping.

I’d never really met a Cow in Garbage Town before, I’d just heard of them or seen them from a distance whenever I’d be passing by a field or something.

The Cow was plump, she had a bit of a Pork chop belly that was still strapped with baby fat from recently conceiving her young seed.

She’d hailed from the high mountain ranges out of the far east and a place called the Nation Of Yak, and she was dressed from head-to-toe in rubies and jewels that of course matched her colourful smile resembling an upside down rainbow.

Something about this Cow’s natural curves and alignment of stones captured my attention immediately with striking intensity.

Both the attractive Cow and I had walked past each other, but then both turned around synchronistically to glance at each other’s behinds then, we both smiled catching each other in our perverted moment.

You all know that moment when you see something and it makes react as if you just say to yourself, ‘holy fuck, who the fuck is that piece of meat?’

Then the Cow and I both turned around to re-approach each other as if negative and positive magnets attracting.

Get it, negative and positives attract?

Why not approach this stunner I’d thought at the time. I’d never picked up a female just by walking past her then stopping to talk. That’s a true story regarding a mall environment.

We’d exchanged numbers then went out for frozen cream later that evening. It was also the first time I hadn’t had a peanut-based meal in decades.

The Cow just happened to live in a glass tower condo a few blocks from my temporary motel.

I’d walked her home after our frozen dessert, then she’d invited me upstairs where you all know what happens when somebody gets invited upstairs.

48.

The Cow was so juicy and tender but I couldn’t get it up for her. I was too stressed and having a head-fuck of a time trying not to think about Monkeys breaking down her door.

The Cow was so kind and attractive with luxurious baby feeders and chunk in all the right places.

We had some good conversation up to that moment but I was so emotionally ruined I couldn’t get hard to satisfy her.

I did however preform some other Dog tricks I’d enjoyed to help get her off but at the end of the night the Cow took my timely impotence a little too personally because she’d naturally feared as a female, it was all her doing.

I tried to reassure her that it was all on me before I’d left and went back to the Tavern.

Maybe the Cheetah broke me?

Seriously I was a bit concerned of that possibility but I’d honestly felt attracted to the calm environment of drinking alone at Lucky’s opposed to gawking at naked men.

I’d actually wished I could’ve laid with the Cow all night gently stroking her soft and sweet body but because she had an infant it was out of respect I’d left to leave her be.

Longstroke’s was also all about location, location, location being right near the terminal, motel and downtown core.

I’d felt the Tavern had a good sense of peace inside despite the literal dicks flying by my table where I’d sat quietly picking the label off my bottle.

At least I was accomplishing some quality thinking because my motel was also filthy and full of drug addicts yelling in the rooms beside me and above.

Other than the white noise of music blasting in the background at the Tavern, which I didn’t mind because I was a fan of heavy bass, it was a place I’d felt was very reasonable to sit and relax for a few hours.

At Ass n’ Titties the females were all so tempting if I was just looking to anger bang any of them, talking all smooth in my face and rubbing their even smoother body’s against mine asking for peanut donations as they’d rub my hands up and down their flawless chests.

God damn you females are so beautiful and desirable, and at times problematic.

I’d wondered if that was what some old dude was talking about in around year 0 when he was advising others not to be lead into temptation?

Was he talking about the temptation of pussy? Because lots of us know that might be one of the most tempting enjoyments on all the planet.

Stingy hoes always trying to hustle me or other males at AnT’s for peanuts or drinks, or blow.

That temptation really made it hard to think and concentrate. Not so much the blow part, I wasn’t interested in that.

Longstroke’s was much quieter where everybody wanted to enjoy their beverage in peace while some adventurous males took their clothes off and tried to dance attractively.

Let’s be real some of the best male performers couldn’t hold a candle to the way an average female could move her body, and to me that visual trumps any pre-notion to concentrate.

My mind goes blank and all bets are off. My tongue hangs out, I get stupid. I can’t control wagging my tail as it goes off furiously.

The stripper knows my energy and sees my body react, she knows how to work her illusion from there.

Sitting at Lucky’s was no big deal to me. I wasn’t attracted to the nakedness as I was to the calm drinking environment where I’d sit silently pondering the misery of my life.

Why the strippers at all, why not a park or water way? Well, there was no nature or water way in The Big City, all glass and concrete, but I guess I just felt called?

I don’t know. I’ve always had this appreciation for nudity and have always been very open minded to body’s and situations that bring us to places.

I’d never known why someone was in those places fulfilling the destiny of dancing but it was never my place to judge. I had respect for all characters regardless if drug addicts, strippers, workaholics or stay at home moms or dads.

We all have desires and issues and I have respect for each of our individual journey’s. It’d also been a while since I’d seen another naked other than the repulsive Cheetah, at that time I’d look at anything to get the image of the Cheetah’s distorted body out of my mind.

The Tavern was also dark and nobody knew my name except the Rooster which was wired, but why not live a little if I was subject to suicide or possible chains and enslavement? There was nothing I hadn’t seen before in this place.

I’d sat at the bar to order another drink and the Rooster was working the evening shift.

I’d wondered how I kept running into this cock. It’d felt like he’d worked there all the time but he was actually only part time and our coincidences of running into each other had simply been coincidental, seemingly pre-destined by the universe.

We’d acknowledged the synchronicity of our timing and exchanged numbers.

That made two phone numbers in one day I’d collected, I’d felt like I was a good Dog and got a good score considering my situation.

I felt barely alive and attractive on the outside even though I was highly disturbed with sadness and fear on the inside. True fear and loathing in The Big City.

I’d stayed at the Tavern for a few more pops but returned to my motel alone for the night.

I knew I couldn’t stay in this room forever. I needed to go back to Garbage Town and get my tools so I could work myself out of this motel dump.

I’d cried myself to sleep then woke up crying. This was another moment when I knew my future was not going to be easy.

 

***

Chapter 22. 

I’d curiously checked my emails again the next morning from the motel lobby and as expected, the Cheetah had been going off abusing the send button the entire previous day and night.

I’d curiously read a few and she had her own curiosity concerning how I was making it out there in the wild of life without any socks or underwear?

She’d made a few statements about my angel Cat freaking out saying she was, “going mental in the street” looking for me. 

It was actually heartbreaking to read but I wasn’t sure if it was true or not so I didn’t cry too hard, only more like shed a tear.   

As if clockwork her sorry’s made their way into the rotation followed by trickles of justifications claiming she’d be different if I’d return. 

I dry heaved, then dry heaved again with a deeper disgust almost vomiting.

I’d heard so much Bullshit from the Cheetah for so long.

I strategically responded to one email telling her I’d return if she wrote me a story  about the truth of our relationship.

I’d asked her to write down if I’d ever hurt her or not, and let her know if she was honest in her response, I’d come home in a day. 

I used the “H” word on purpose really wanting her to think I’d valued her dingy lair as my home.

I was never intending to go back of course but I’d asked for this as collateral just in case I had to try and prove something in the future. 

She’d ended up sending me an email saying, “We’ve always loved each other remember, that’s why we got married.” And then in a separate email she’d said, “The Dog has never hurt me,” despite her yelling, “and our arguing.”

49.

Moments after logging off I got a text from the Cow saying she was getting ready to go on a day trip to Garbage Town so she could meet a friend and go shopping, and she wanted to know if I’d go with her and her baby Calf?

She was aware I was from Garbage Town and intended to go back but she didn’t know anything about the Cheetah. 

She was not kidding with me nor was the support of existence. This was the exact opportunity I’d needed and again I had to note the timing and alignments of my experiences just after reading a few lines from the Cheetah.  

Could this be anymore magical and auspiciousness, especially after not getting hard which can sometimes equate a female never talking to a male again so of course I had to go.

One more applause acknowledging everything possibly happening for a reason.

Not only did I randomly meet this Cow and NOT be able to sexually satisfy her in our first meeting, but she still wanted to hang out while at the same help me stealthgngly visit my work so I could pick up my tools and vanish in a flash. 

Jump into a Cow coloured minivan so inconspicuous as if I was the stalker doing my own hunting. 

I’d wished it’d actually felt that easy within me because I was honestly terrified even though I’d marvelled in what a true miracle this opportunity was, fully knowing in the moment that this was all truly “by chance”.

Nobody just visits Garbage Town.

It’s not a destination for vacations or anything.

The Cow had a Sheep-friend who she’d rarely seen but known for years and was going to pick her up then they were going to do some shopping together before coming back to The Big City. 

I’d wondered if her relationship with the Sheep was extended for some sort of spiritual alignment for meeting me and helping me in this opportunity? 

Truly a gift beyond even the possibility of my imagination. 

Joy ride time as off we’d went, Dog, Cow and baby Calf taking a 3 hour return car trip to pick up a Sheep after stopping for a tool grab at my old work, hopefully avoiding the deadly Cheetah like the plague along the entire way.

The little Calf and I sat in the backseat so I could keep him company. I think it was more like him that called me to the back so he could keep me company and cheerful. 

His mom didn’t know my true sadness but I’m sure he’d felt it, and sitting beside him I’d felt free of judgment.

I could’ve gone over my story during the car ride but why bother I’d thought, all our connection seemed to be based on was physical attraction and it was showing through our energy and conversation.

Which was honestly very uplifting to have, just not too personal to get into anything. Another possible example of a spiritual intention? It’s definitely possible. 

Does that sound like something an abuser would do though? Unless maybe a pedophile but that’s honestly far from my style.  

That recognition was actually pointed out to me at a later date as an action highly unlikely to be committed by an abuser.

Sit in the backseat with an infant while a juicy, prime, grade-A piece of meat was sitting in the front?

I don’t know. 

Once we’d entered Garbage Town we did the nasty and went straight across the crater to my old work.

Using my scan card I’d gained access to the giant facility being as I’d still technically worked there.

I’d collected my tools from my locker then stopped at HR’s office on the way out to give my name and a gentle notification that I wouldn’t be back, but, was thankful for all the opportunities and free jars of peanut butter. 

The HR responded, “Just like that?”

I’d responded casually as if tipping my hat being done with the show, “Just like that good sir.” Then walked out the door. 

Tallyho motherfuckers! It was surreal and poetic as if we both understood my intention and situation through subliminal communication.

The HR heard my heart cry and actually said, “Dog, dude, just get the fuck out of here.”

That’s why I really said thank you. I heard the understanding for my fear that I was sure HR heard in my voice.

50.

I carried my toolbox to the Cow’s car, put it in the trunk, then got in. 

We drove to a sandwich shop where she dropped me off for a couple hours so she could meet up with her friend and they could go shopping.  

She’d promised she’d return to me and I’d whined when she pulled away, fearing the worst where she was lying and I’d be trapped again, but the Cow returned. 

I didn’t mind the wait actually, although I kept picturing the Cheetah entering to buy a sub at any minute while I huddled in the corner with my hoodie up. 

We’d went back to The Big City with her Sheep-friend. I ended up spending the night this time but the Cow didn’t want to make love with her friend there so we just cuddled. 

Morning came and there was a different vibe when we got up. The power of attraction seemed to had faded. The Cow and I both learned some traits about each other and the energy was definitely not the same. 

I’d barely felt her hug me when I’d left but I also didn’t care for some reason. It was as if our attraction was purely for the purpose of our experience the day before. 

As if consciousness made us both desire each other so we’d carry the fire through the moment of getting my tools then poof, it went out. 

The universe works in mysterious ways and we’d met very mysteriously. I’d wondered if she would’ve felt different about me if I’d gave her a more sufficient hard-on?  

Maybe our whole Butterfly effect would’ve changed if I’d given her harder dick? Who’s to say she would’ve even made plans with her Sheep-friend if I’d banged her properly? 

Then she might’ve consciously decided to change that idea which would’ve misaligned us with what appeared to be a universal plan for me to go get my tools that day, if it was actually destiny that I was supposed to get them I mean. 

At least now I could work and collect enough peanuts to get my own place. I was grateful for that. 

——————————————————————

Chapter 23.

After resting at my motel for the day I’d went back to AnT’s and Lucky’s feeling thirsty to have one more round of pops at each.

When I’d got to Lucky’s the Rooster was of course working so I took a seat at the bar.

By now he’d heard every detail of what was going on between the Cheetah and I, and he knew the Monkeys might be looking for me. 

I’d told him how I’d got my tools the day before and was happy that I’d be finding employment soon so I could get out of the depressing motel.

He didn’t have to work long that shift so we left together and went back to his place for more drinks and conversation.

He told me I could crash on his couch after my motel stay was up and that, that would be okay until I found a place which we’d agreed shouldn’t take longer than a week or two. 

My bag of peanuts was running low so staying with the Rooster seemed reasonable for a bit so I could save. 

Plus he was nice and came across as very understanding so I didn’t feel threatened by him even though I’d remained aware that if I’d turned my back too long, he might’ve tried to advance on me. 

Therefore I did carry myself a bit weary of his intentions but just being away from the Cheetah and seeing a tiny spectrum of light to where I thought I might be able to create a home for myself made me feel carefree enough to at least believe he wasn’t going to rape or beat me. 

I’d also clarified with him very intentionally that this offer did not include or require any sexual favours before, during or after my stay, and the Rooster’d acknowledged it was all out of friendship and assistance. 

51.

My consciousness was evolving into caring less about listening to that annoying voice of fear over the confident one. 

I quieted my thoughts on purpose when stuck in fear of repercussions or judgment which turned to promote my confidence when having relapses based on psychological trauma.

I’d felt a shift inside to where I’d become less cautious and more confrontational, but in a self-preserving way fuelled by dignity and worth. 

I was only intending to stay up to a few weeks at the Rooster’s and everything around me seemed to had aligned for this moment of nestling down. 

With all signs aside I couldn’t deny that making plans with the Rooster held a sinking suspicion that they, “wouldn’t work out”, but I really didn’t feel like I had much choice other than to go with the flow of what was being given to me. 

Because when life gives ‘ya lemons, you know you gotta make some lemonade isn’t that right?

Was I psychic though? Could I see trouble coming? For now I had to accept the good as it came if I wanted to continue forward with my desire of building a life.

The Rooster listened to me and I’d felt respected by him which was probably another reason I’d went back to the Tavern after my original visit.

Although he did try to molest me when we were both drunk, The Rooster and I had a connection that felt familiar and safe. 

We’d both seemed to understand each other and we both seemed to have similar interests in the same things.

Why did we connect so specifically? 

How could two strangers aligned over a year on two separate occasions? 

Was this possibly part of a deeper spiritual connection that was building from a year prior? Life times before?

Because if all connections happen for a reason, could they be with reason somehow connected to past lives?

How would we know?

It’s my opinion the moment I’d agreed to stay with the Rooster, was always supposed to happen.

“Somehow” we had this instantaneous familiarity where he’d obviously felt comfortable enough to not only try to stick his cock in me, but invite me to stay at his house. 

Similar to the Cow who must’ve had some sort of internal driver steer her towards inviting me up to her place, then taking me on a car ride in her vehicle with her baby Calf.

I’d recognized these unique connections and they’d truly meant the world to me inside these moments as I’d watch the characters preform their ballet directly in front of my visual on stage. 

The stage of life. 

Swinging, twisting and turning, I’d believed the universe placed these characters on my path to intentionally help me, and I couldn’t have made it this far on this journey without them.

The Rooster told me he had a boyfriend who was living in Francise’Ville, a place a number of hours away on the northern side of the continent.  

His boyfriend supposedly fled The Big City because he was accused of beating his ex, a male in this case. The sword fighting got a bit rough I guess. 

What were the chances of that though?

After all this he already had a partner who was in almost the same predicament? I barely had room to judge but how could I believe this in reality?

The Rooster and I got to know each other very quickly over a short period of time and he trusted me.

We talked about our experiences and he slowly opened up to me about not being kosher with his mommy. 

About how growing up and wanting penis made him so mad at himself for being that way, he used to take his anger out by inflicting physical pain on himself. 

I’d understood in a sense because I’d always felt as if I’d hated myself and my path growing up. 

I was always angry with life because of the different breed I was and seemingly forced to live within a neglectful family that I never remembered asking for. 

That, unless was completely random, I could see was for a spiritual evolution.

My so-called “family” didn’t seem to care about me the way I thought “loved ones” should care about their family members. Maybe that was just me again though?

52.

My resentment as a youngin’ eventually turned me a little self-destructive where I’d take out my anguish out on myself through  my bitter thoughts and mentality instead of doing actual physical harm. 

Still harm though and disrespect to the self. 

I’d caught the drift of what the Rooster was portraying. He’d also faced previous situations of having testicular tumours on two separate occasions where he’d been in and out of emerg routinely.

He’d told me he thought he got his repeating tumours in his balls because he hated himself for liking cock.

That’s how much he’d still actually hated himself after neglecting the message the first time. 

His mind obviously didn’t change because his body reacted in the same way attacking from the inside because of his self-inflicted abuse on the outside. 

The Rooster made a very valiant statement in my eyes by taking ownership but how much of his recognition did he actually learn from since he was still mad if it happened twice?

I could see the truth. 

It’s an attractive quality to me when a character admits to what their energy might cause. Self-awareness and self-recognition? That’s a big thing to do for some. 

Would tumours of the reproductive system be a karmic repayment for being malignant towards the self?

What’s really crazy is to think those thoughts or intentions could be so strong it actually could create a dis-ease in the body but that entire topic could be for another story?

An interjection about the Cheetah if I may?

She’d claimed once she had tumour growing.

On her uterus to be exact.

Her claim turned out to be papilloma but before we got to that clarification the Cheetah was convinced her benign cyst grew on her because growing up she’d also supposedly hated herself, and this growth was, “The King’s punishment” for being so mean.

I could see the similarities between the Rooster and Cheetah. One clucked then meeped, and one meeped before they growled. 

One thought conscious energy created their dis-ease and one thought The King of all consciousness sent lightening bolts down from the sky to strike evil-thinkers with vengeance.

Both thought, or knew, they were “wrong” in their thought process and both thought their dis-ease was produced as a repercussion for their discomfort towards themselves. 

I knew the Cheetah was lying when she’d said she had a tumour so matter-of-factly because I’d asked her the curious question of “when” did she get her diagnosis? 

She’d responded not knowing, “the month or year.”

I’m fuckin’ serious. My heart could never make such evil and idiotic misinformation up. 

The Cheetah didn’t even know what clinic she’d went to when she’d allegedly got this life altering diagnosis.

Didn’t know the month, year or clinic concerning when or where she was told she had a fuckin’ tumour. Ooopsie doodle. 

Factually there’s only one clinic in Garbage Town so I didn’t understand how there could be any mistaking it? How could any character not know?

The Rooster was still going for regular check-ups every two weeks making sure his growths never came back.

He’d said his family or friends never went with him during his hospital experiences. 

Of course my sympathetic Dog mentality kicked-in and I’d felt overwhelmingly compassionate for this seemingly proud Rooster. 

I’d appreciated his support and wanted to return his favour so I told him I’d go with him anytime, where I’d ended up going once.

Within a few days after moving onto the Rooster’s couch I got a job starting the following Monday.

Boss hired me on the spot after I preformed a shoehorn test for him. ‘Dat meant how well I’d slide his glass slipper on using a standarized shoehorn. 

‘De test was timed and judged on my slurpin’ capability’s and friction used by my hands and ‘teet while using the shoehorn to slide the slipper on. 

Boss and I connected instantaneously. This gigantic, dark-skinned, religious Moose who was running a circus-show preaching the gospel to every character inside the very tall steel factory.

We’d shared some synchronistic moments during the interview where I knew I was undoubtably in the right place.

We talked about The King of All Kings and peanut collecting expectations while I’d remained intrigued considering the possibility of working at his fabulous establishment.

Praise The King of All Kings Lord Jebas. 

This was time where I could collect a small dream to stand on my own four feet again.

I’d left the interview and howled into the evening sky as the moon was just starting to come out. It might’ve been time for a pop. 

——————————————————————Chapter 24.

53.

That evening the Rooster and I went out to celebrate my new career with a few drinks.

He had the night off so we went to a bar a few blocks from his coup to sing some karaoke. It was my first time.

We’d talked with some cute females and played pocket ball. I hand’t felt so liberated in a long, long time. 

Adventuring out with another male mingling with the opposite sex, I’d wondered if I’d remembered this was what some characters referred to as fun?

The Rooster flirted with the females very fluently even though he’d said he’d never felt the warmth of a beautiful sweet before.

When he was with me, he’d get their numbers like nothing then turn and tell me he’d have absolutely zero intention to contact them. Then he’d laugh in his Rooster cackle. 

He’d joke about how easy it was to pick up the fair things and play their mind into thinking he’d actually wanted to call. 

The Rooster would continue to make comments that’d shock me referring to the cliché stigma that all female’s vagina’s resembled the scent of Flying Fish Roe, and the uneducated opinion that a female’s breasts were just fat-sacks of fat, just dripping liquid fat to make babies fat and therefore stupid. 

He was one of those anti-fat, fat-shamers who’d thought boobs were gross because they were fat. Who in their right fucking mind thinks boobs are gross? 

Fucking moron. 

This stupid motherfucker didn’t realize they were the primary source of nutrients for his growth, but maybe he was denied that necessity?

Fat-headed starving Rooster. The guy loved to pump iron at the gym by the way, obsessed.

I’d shake my head in disbelief being thrown off guard because he’d be such a gentleman at the gentleman’s club, but then he’d get drinking freely and start saying intense, derogatory comments that sounded like he’d really resented females.

I thought there might’ve been a connection to his alleged “mommy issues” but he never wanted to get too deep into talking about her.

Talk about a mother wound turning woman issues into some potentially twisted emotion? 

I’d wondered if he was truly into males considering his self-hatred he’d mentioned. Was that just a cover because he was running from some sort of pain?

I had a giant mother wound and tremendous female issues regarding a vicious Cheetah who was on the loose causing me extreme trauma, but I couldn’t let one or two ill seeds effect my obsessively abnormal appreciation for the female gender. 

Was this a possible example of some tolerating more than others? 

I’d tolerated females because of my genuine love for them as a whole, but the Rooster turned completely against their entirety to the extent of boycotting them as an entire breed.

Now before anyone judges me too far here I have to acknowledge I surely know some are absolutely born ready to simply enjoy the same sex, or no sex for that matter, and there is at times a natural way of being strictly attracted to the same sex. 

I didn’t understand the Rooster’s comments though because I’d always wanted to see, touch and taste every portion of every breast, and vagina, and hip, and thigh, and ass, and foot on this planet. 

I was always the willing one to give pleasure to almost any female before I’d actually understood if they were truly deserving of multiple orgasms or not? I’m so fucking stupid like that. 

Just line ‘em up please. 

And yes, even the neglected breasts and vaginas too, because everyone needs love and maybe their body parts just hadn’t received proper self-care due to lack of education? 

If they had education than that was a different story, like the Cheetah. 

I’d adored all females, minus the Cheetah, and all their body parts from face to hips, down from hips to feet. 

Mind, body, spirit. Heart, light, energy. 

Delicious breasts, ass and vagina. 

My once most safest place in ALL of existence. Where I’d floated and swam in the warm, 2% salt water as if already skipped this life and shapeshifted into my truest Crab-formation of when I’d originated from the tropical ocean. 

I’d cherished each female as they were all so captivating, and as time would stand in my mind, it was hard to listen to the Rooster being unfair judging any of these females potentials simply basing ideas on one or less of his potential experiences.

I’d wondered if he’d been molested by a female? Or maybe he was heartbroken from being laughed at as a child? 

I definitely wanted him to try a piece of the pie but when it’d serve itself up to him on a platter, he’d just turn his squished Rooster face like a child refusing vegetables, shaking his head uttering to himself the word “no” over and over again while intermittently clucking softly and Chicken scratching harshly kickin’ up dust with authority in the female’s direction. 

Then he’d vent on me about how uncomfortable the harmless pussy made him feel as he’d refer to each of them as being fat and having fat body parts. 

‘Yes you fucking moron,’ females have body’s that store food for when they’re ready to have a baby, because the baby needs fat for food, and food is how things grow. 

I never made the comparison to protein but should’ve sprinkled some talcum powder on the female’s heads to maybe entice the Rooster’s appetite as the white ground substance might’ve acted as bait for his pea-brain?

I truly wanted to Ram some pastry down his Chicken gizzard but was so stuck in fantasy land trying to nip at nearly every beautiful female in the bar.

As if the scars from the Cheetah’s scratches on my eyelids were healing and I was starting to be able to appreciate true beauty again, as if I’d once been blind but was now able to see.

It seemed like so, so long ago but I wasn’t sure if I’d actually remembered tasting quality pussy? I could smell it now, it was so close in every direction. 

I’d remembered looking into the Cheetah’s lame eyesight that appeared desperate and distraught, and I’d always see her screaming soul scratching from the inside of her cornea trying to get out. 

I shook off the thought as if my memory was recalling a scene from a horror movie.

Even back when I’d disgustedly look at the great beast, it’d be clear to me that the poor thing couldn’t separate love from hate in her puny heart.

 

Regardless of the Rooster’s sexuality, the guy looked, acted and sounded as if he was straight as an arrow, and, a very masculine male. 

None of these females at the bar imagined he was into swallowing penis so he’d thought he was the funniest fuckin’ thing. 

That gay boi was so arrogant, he was arrogant, and he’d needed to grow up a little, because I’d felt like a parent filling in for his parent. 

He thought he was super, super dope, like shooting heroin into heroin, but he was more like a fucking joke, as if calling himself hilarious for playing Karens. 

I’d appreciated getting out and flirting with the female physique so I couldn’t criticize the somewhat conceded cock too much. 

Then after a few nights of sniffing some scents on the scene, I’d took a break to go view some rental units.

The Rooster and I had a routine going, when I wasn’t working we’d enjoy some tasty beverages down the street from his coup, other than that I’d work then spend my evenings organizing affirmative action while chilling alone.

He’d told me he didn’t want me to leave his couch after viewing the first unit. He’d said he wanted me to take my time moving out because he wanted me to find a place that fit my needs, opposed to finding an emergency pad to land quickly on.

I wasn’t going to argue that point even though the couch was starting to hurt my back, but we got me a key cut for his apartment in the short time to come. 

Another typical experience out when the bar closed and we went back to the Rooster’s to keep the party going. 

We played video games and kept drinking before I wound up letting him do his thing on me. 

He didn’t hustle or rape but I’d figured since he was being nice with his apartment and accompanying me flirting with the females, and since I’d been pegged a few times prior to this moment by a few females, who really cared?

Prior to dating the Cheetah a few females had asked, and then tried to enter my body, and after routinely declining a number of funny fuckers, literally, I eventually did agree to being vulnerable enough to allow some tasty treats to have their way.

It was out of both of our enjoyment, and commonly I’d entered their rear before they got to me. 

Being vulnerable to surrender to fear and discomfort when also giving up control to soft and sensual females so they could have their desired experiences with my bum was a pleasuring turn on.

Which turned out to be beneficial for my mental and physical preparation because eventually the Cheetah added pegging to her periodic repertoire. 

But before you get too far in your mind down that path my level of toleration shut down her enjoyment after a few occasions of bending me over, by telling her I wasn’t sure what was going on inside there which made the Cheetah very nervous, even though I’d fully known water was the easy solution. 

The Cheetah didn’t know anything about the body and she was not trying to be inside of me out of love but out of greed for experimentation and control, as if me letting her inside me wasn’t actually me being in control?

That petty control I had over my life at the time, was pretty much all I did have. I wasn’t sure if that was considered rape or not, but who’d honestly believe me on that one?

This was nearing the marriage when I’d started to go numb trying to be what the Cheetah wanted of me. 

I was caught in her undertow, caught in her undertow and wasn’t sure if I was broken nor did I care much for concern at that time.

So disillusioned I’d become so tired thinking about every second I was wasting my life, it was truly more than I could take. 

My heart had become so numb I couldn’t feel her destructive behaviour anymore, and my mind had become so tired, so lost in despair. 

I’d become so much less than I’d wanted to be, so tired of being what she’d wanted of me. 

The Cheetah was aware of my openness but didn’t deserve any respect even though she’d demanded it. 

The Cock was aware of my openness and actually showed me respect up to that moment. 

54.

Having sex with the Rooster was definitely not how I‘d expected it to be. I honestly don’t know what I expected it to be but I kept laughing at him thinking about a Worm trying to penetrate me.

And handsomely in hindsight, that was kind of how I expected his penis to be as such a chauvinistic male.

The Rooster was cocky, and was now grunting and groaning all over me while flexing in the window thinking he was showing off his hot-skill while banging me.

After he’d finished, which wasn’t long after we’d started, I’d understood why females might feel disgusted by males and their climactic acts when their hairy body’s and neanderthal sounds reach peak sensation. 

.

‘Can you like, fucking get off me, and settle down for a minute before you hurt yourself? And for fuck sakes please stop breathing in my ear.’

I giggled mocking him in my mind, picturing the fantasy of punching him off me. 

When I wasn’t laughing I was wondering what the big deal was about?

His cock didn’t feel like anything special. The females who all banged me, they did a better job than he was doing and their body’s were much more attractive. 

This cock didn’t have much passion other than trying to smother me.

For sure he was fit but to me sex was more about having the experience of passion. Capturing that fire. 

This experience with him was more like a fantasy out of drunken loneliness, depression, confusion, and hopelessness. Far from romantic because you know how guys are all rushin’ and shit. 

In the end it was worth the short amount of time it took, and I just didn’t understand what females actually saw in males as attractive qualities. 

I did appreciate a body on both sexes but males just don’t have those hips and curves a naturally, sexy female has. 

I’d now seen the Rooster’s true colours outside of his business casual self-portrayed image, and clearly he was immature as fuck and had a tiny-man syndrome going on. 

Maybe it was a no ball syndrome? 

It was hard for me to be attracted to tiny mentalities, or tiny balls because of course bigger is usually better. Not always though, right ladies?

The Rooster and I returned to the bar many times over the next week or so, singing karaoke and flirting with tasty females, not fucking any of them or each other, any of these times. 

We played pocket ball with a pair of Foxes over a few nights as we’d got fairly acquainted with them.

I ended up getting the number of one sexy Fox and we’d began texting.

That was my third number in as many weeks since beginning this new adventure after leaving the lair.

I was feeling vibrant thinking about living life in freedom, and I’d felt like my experiences were all aligning on behalf of the universe.

Love was in the air, regarding the pussy not the dick.

I was believing this Big City could house my life, where I’d live as a free Dog having a decent Sheep-shift, being left to do my own thing while having fun with normal Animals.  

Was this belief even possible?

——————————————————————

Chapter 25.

Deep down I still had an eerie impression not to relax just yet because anything might still happen at any moment regarding a wild Cheetah or Monkey attack. 

I didn’t know what or when, or if anything was meant to happen at all, but I knew the sneaky Cat could still be watching from a distance so I tried to keep a positive focus on continuing to live the best life I could. 

I decided to get myself back on track with things I’d liked doing, so I got a gym membership and started training again. 

I’d loved working out and lifting heavy weights to feel my body’s capability, it’s ifting capacity as if equivalent to some hoisting machine. 

I’d liked to smoke herb and go to really become this ultra-conscious monster inside my mind only of course. 

Nobody knew I was at the gym and those who were there didn’t know me so it’d felt like a tiny vacation of paradise during unsure and chaotic moments outside this vicinity.

Shortly in the days after registering I was in the change room and received a text from this darling Penguin who was my friend for a couple years past. 

We’d touched based on social after I’d had an almost 2 year absence. If I didn’t log on when with the Cheetah, she wouldn’t think of it as a way of threatening me so out of sight, out of mind. 

The flightless Penguin was so adorable and lived on the opposite side of The Big City, the polar end compared to Garbage Town.

I’d shared a very romantic encounter with this cute Penguin many years earlier but because we’d lived so far apart we’d only met each other once. 

Every evening I’d have school and the Penguin would have work, then every night we’d spend hours having a very unique conversation together where our experience became more like making love into the wee hours of the morning through our words, hearts and minds.

For months and months we were unable to link and establish any physical connection until we finally got one opportunity to meet and share our love with each other. 

This was a year or so before the Cheetah blessed my life with her graciousness, and when the Penguin invited me to her house it took much effort before I’d finally made my way there for a couple nights. 

When I’d arrived, she had to work so she’d left me at her house. Her parents were on vacation, and I was all alone in a palace full of gold and crystal stones everywhere. 

Her house was like a shrine made out of glass and riches, I could’ve pocketed anything I’d wanted.

Actually, I could’ve just backed a moving van up while she was at work collecting peanuts and the Penguin, nor her family would’ve had any idea where I’d gone or come from. 

I would never do that of course, and I’d hung out anticipating her return. We chilled, held each other and watched a scary movie that night. Oooooohhhh. 

We smoked some herb and went to bed but woke up in the morning already making love. 

We did the same thing a second night, she went to work, came home, we had some food, relaxed, watched a scary movie. Oooooohhhh. Then also did the same thing the second morning. 

Then, we’d never seen each other since, but we always kept in contact over the social.

I was in the change room getting jacked for an in-depth training session when the Penguin forwarded me a post off the social that seemed to had been generated by none other than the evil Cheetah.

She did me dirty which was nothing new, by sending a special love note to all my friends and family that read like this;

“Dear family and friends of the Dog. Smiley face emoji. Kiss face emoji. 3 black heart emojis. 

The Dog is a wanted, wanted, I said criminal for attempted murder against his wife, and lover, and spouse, and WIFE!

I said his WIFE god dammit! 

Now you listening, call the Garbage Town Monkeys if you see this motherfucking piece of shit around. 

He’s armed to the teeth, strapped with raw iron, machetes, nuclear bombs and a penis that I really, really miss because I’m not sure if I’ll ever get another male companion again. The fucking asshole. 

He’s extremely dangerous, and he’s suffering from a severe psychotic episode! Please help!!! Please help!!! Pleeeeeeeaaaasssseeeee, please help me.”

55.

‘What’s this?’ I’d wondered harmlessly. No way the Penguin knew my tale but somehow she was playing a joke, right? It was hilarious. 

Of all the characters on my friends and family list to send me this, of course, for fuck sakes it came from the most innocent and adorable Penguin. 

Who, thankfully knew me prior to this drastic moment which resulted in her being more honouring of what garbage this literature was, and then the Penguin was wondering if the author had mental issues making such disruptive and disturbing claims?

She’d asked me what I wanted to do?

Spouse and wife? Attempted murder? ‘Oh fuckin’ god lady.’ The Cheetah truly had no dignity.

Sometimes words can’t explain the sickness felt when witnessing a pure bred psychopath be narcissistic enough to put on blast such a horrendous claim concerning herself being the victim of someone wanting to murder her. 

Personally, there are so many better things to do in life than hurt someone in my opinion, and I’d personally rather have those who are evil live forever so they can live within themselves for their entire existence. 

Truly bless their wicked souls so they can perhaps learn to be kind. How’s it feel being alive for so long as a true piece of shit? I’d spent many moments respecting my death if it came with dignity. 

I never needed to play karma, all evil-doers live their own karma and it shows just by looking at them. They usually look sick or act even sicker. 

Again, with the self-hatred and possible outcomes of this thinking. Are they that sick they actually hate themselves which is why they attempt to attack and control?

Manipulate and belittle? These are weak minded characters. 

I told the Penguin to immediately shut down my social as I gave her all my passwords, as she then did me clean and closed everything off while I’d raced back to the Rooster’s.

I had to check my email since I’d avoided it for a least a week.

There was 100 emails from the Cheetah starting with her intro’s of begging and pleading, acting confused wishing Lowrd Jebas would lead me through the light right into her dark lair.

I’d barely scanned the subject headings as I got the vibe quickly after seeing the first few messages, what kind of rage she was building towards by illustrating her illusion of trying to make threatening words leap off the screen at me.

I’d clicked one where the Cheetah stated with class, “Because we’re married, it doesn’t matter if you like it or not. Agree or not. Want me or not. I’ve got what I need and in order to get a divorce, you’re going to need my signature.

Nah, nah, nah, boo, boo. Nah, nah, nah, boo, boo.”

Another one claimed, “You know you can never get away from me because you beat me and raped me. You know you did this to me big Doggy D. Big daddy D. Big Doggy D daddy, whom I love so much. 

No matter where you go, or what you say, I’m going to find you, and I’m going to make you pay motherfucker.”

A third treasure wrote about my pure white angel Cat attacking her, scratching her, biting her, then running out in front of a car causing an accident directly outside the lair. 

The Cheetah only lived on a street where maybe 10 vehicles travelled in a day. There’s no traffic to cause accidents. 

She’s was very comical and disturbing all in the same moment, which was actually a lot of moments looking back.

The Cheetah was obviously going stir-crazy and I’d showed the Rooster her emails and he’d said she was full of shit and had gone mentally insane.

That was two characters in one day confirming my insanity notion. 

I couldn’t had agreed more, then felt comforted knowing someone else could see what I’d see.

The following Monday I was on the train heading back to the Rooster’s after my Sheep-shift had finished, when I’d got a phone call. It was a blocked number. No caller ID. 

I knew who it was and I still answered.

Nobody had my new number except a few characters including the Penguin, Rooster, Cow and Fox. Nobody from my old life. 

I still knew they found out somehow. 

“Hello?” I’d answered on the train, wheels yelling in the background as we’d entered and exited a stop. 

58.

(Calling from behind stage left, Chimpanzee The 1st)

“Well hello Mr. Dog. This is Detective Chimpanzee The 1st from the Garbage Town Monkeys, do you have a moment to talk?”

‘A moment to talk. My good sir, I’ve been expecting you. What is this a fuckin’ trick question?’

Did I have an option here? I knew I didn’t have to answer the phone, but no caller ID equaled the jig was up because someone special was trying to contact me, and there was a special reason behind that, that was the reason they’d blocked their name. 

I could smell Cheetah piss in the air, she must’ve ran up and down the train tracks earlier that day pissing all over every tree, railway tie and even nailhead along the way. 

“Sure…,” I’d said as Chimpanzee The 1st jumped right in without wasting a moment with small talk. 

“Well Mr. Dog, I’m calling you about your wife, ahahahahahaha. Well, I guess she’s your ex-wife now, hmmmhmmhhmmm. 

Do you have some time to come into our office and talk? Our station to listen? 

Our Concrete Jungle BNB to sit and stay where I’ll personally be raping you then putting you under arrest. Seeing you through intense recondition program by ways of starving you, then anally raping you some more for the assaults you’ve maliciously committed on your wife. Hahahahahahahah, the Cheetah. 

You’re going to have to deal with these accusations as soon as possible.”

‘Come in? And do what? What was this Chimp talking about?’ I wasn’t surprised right now.

Fresh off my Sheep-shift, dirty and tired on some noisy-ass train with this Chimp talking tough in my ear about going to see him over the Cheetah’s destructive lies, which he obviously gobbled right up.

I knew it was only a matter of time before I’d possibly gone down for this.

He was saying I was supposed to voluntarily go see him? Translation;

First, I was to be held at the Concrete Jungle BNB within a tiny box no bigger than a large bathroom, as if I’m guilty before proven innocent.

Second, I’d get one phone call and it can only be to a Representative who’s a Master Negotiator, and he or she is the only saviour who can negotiate my way out of this box for me. 

Third, the Representative negotiating my way out of the box is dealing with the Monkey’s CourtYard, and that negotiation is about how many peanuts it’ll cost my SureThing to get me out.

My SureThing is not only to be a model citizen in every possible way, but they’re expected to invest a deposit of peanuts to the CourtYard, along with a signed receipt, vouching for my name saying I’ll show up to the CourtYard as demanded, as required, and I can be trusted to be respectable with any other dictations the Monkey’s may also require.

Forth, my Representative is the only hero who can notify my SureThing that I’m actually in the box, and how many peanuts it’ll cost them if they desire to help get me get free. 

That’s when my SureThing hopefully arrives at the CourtYard to make a refundable deposit on my behalf, then and only then, am I released. 

Now 5 implies the accused victim must obey the CourtYard’s list of stipulations and if the accused victim doesn’t jump through the proper hoops, that character goes back to the concrete box with no chance of freedom for possibly years, and the SureThing looses their deposit. 

If anyone is in the box they can’t get out without a SureThing. The CourtYard will not release anyone without a deposit or signature from a SureThing.

Stipulations to be followed once released could range from not going to the Dog park or Doggie daycares. No knives, scissors, spatulas, guns or eating cake. No talking to friends, relatives, other Dogs in my case or staying out past dawn. 

Usually the stipulation includes residing at the SureThing’s address, along with “checking-in” with a Snake every so often.

How often is determined by the CourtYard and can be as frequent as once per day or up to once per month, depending on my assumed risk level that I’m judged as being to the community before actually being proven guilty of anything. 

The Snake is like the adult babysitter for those who have been accused but are yet to be found guilty through their Judgement Day which is conveniently held inside the Monkey’s CourtYard. 

Not on equal or fair grounds, but on their turf. 

The accused perpetrator checks-in with the Snake as often as required by the CourtYard, and the Snake enjoys their false pride they feel every Sheep-shift, where they spend their day trying to trick an accused victim into their venomous traps. 

The Snake commonly digs holes then covers them with leaves before slithering behind a tree to masturbate.

Using their slimy and tactical voice to passively lour unknowing accused victims close to their hole, they watch them fall in then climax every time as they do. 

The ability to feel a false sense of power is a mandatory pre-requisite to be a Snake, and most Snakes think because an accused has come to their cave, they must be guilty of the allegations on paper, therefore, should be judged and treated as filth below their shedded Snake skin.

The Snake views accused with pure bias while setting traps to anticipate their mistakes against the stipulations.

I think that’s because the Snake gets to collect some commission off the deposit the CourtYard keeps when an accused victim goes against the stipulations. 

Once a Snake has “reason to believe” an accused isn’t following orders, they’re able to yank that characters life away, sending them back to the concrete box until Judgement Day.

57.

Either Judgment Day or some form of global resolution, which could be multiple years away regardless, and the Snake gets off on feeling the control of being able to emotionally destroy another.

If an accused isn’t carful, the Snake being stealth and poisonous, could strike with personal vengeance at any moment.

The accused must lick the Snake very gently hoping it won’t strike while the Snake is just itching to demonstrate their power because most Snakes live low to the ground, a metaphor in this tale for low vibrating.

Lots of Snakes have a subconscious bitterness because they were either picked on as Hatchlings, or they need to feel more control in their own life and can’t figure out how, so this gives them that sense of satisfaction. 

Or they’re bored and want to play pretend superheroes. I don’t fuckin’ know why some characters follow some paths. 

So the Snake went out and got themselves a career working for good ‘ol Big Daddy Ostrich which made them feel like they’re actually contributing to society in a positive way. 

By keeping perpetrators off the street. 

Really they’re just like the Slugs we’d discussed earlier, handing out hard times to everyone who’s forced down their path.

They think they’re saving the planet from hardened thugs by following rules, guidelines, textbooks, procedures, standards and scripts that trustworthy Big Daddy Ostrich wrote. 

The dude who’s always got his fuckin’ head in the sand, is the one and only one providing the Snakes and Slugs, and Monkeys their protocols and regulations while telling them to honour and value, and hold his torn newspapers that he’s wrote these rules and regulations on, close to their heart. 

They actually just staple the scripts right to their chest, while the cowardly Ostrich hides his head in the sand. 

The Snakes don’t even realize Daddy’s hiding from them after telling them to uphold his negative bias. 

Saying all this, not all Snakes are poisonous. Some are very colourful and pleasurable to deal with.

The question became, if I’d turned myself in, who was going to be my SureThing to get me out?

My “family”? Who were completely unreliable and non-existent? My friends? Who I hadn’t spoke with for almost 2 years.

“Yeah sure.” I’d said to Chimp The 1st, as he must’ve been anticipating my response.

“Good, you can come by by Friday, and I won’t put a warrant out for you until then. Now tell me how’s that sound? Ahahahahaha.”

‘Oh yeah, you can say whatever you want.’ 

“Sure that’s all good with me.” I’d agreed.

Chimpanzee The 1st also said I could go to any BNB between The Big City and Garbage Town and he’d “arrange a ride”  for me to get back to his.

Yeah right I thought, “arrange a ride”, I’ll get right on that.

I’ll plan to go to Garbage Town on my own and meet the Chimpanzee on Friday, that’s perfect because it’ll give me plenty of time to think about things before I go in.

What the fuck was I gonna do for real? My heart ached and I needed to cry desperately. I had to tell the Rooster what just transpired.

I’d went back to the Rooster’s and we talked about the situation.

He was going on a vacation by himself beginning the following Monday, a few days after I’d just arranged to meet Chimpanzee The 1st. 

He didn’t think turning myself in that day would be best because he wanted to be my SureThing. 

The Rooster wanted to be there for me so he thought we should make it for a week that Monday, which would make it the Monday after he’d returned from his 6-night vacay. 

I’d just hang out at his place in the meantime until he got back. Nobody knew I was there, and nobody was aware I knew him so it was all good for me to stay at his coup while he flew out on some personal time.

58.

That was totally cool with me because I felt no rush to turn myself in. I’d been havin’ a good time working and flirting, except the Rooster’s attitude was starting to change a bit since I’d given up the ass.

We’d had sex another time after our first experience because I wanted to give him a second chance, and since then he’d started to talk down to me in a passive aggressive manner, clucking and pecking at me instead of talking towards me as an equal.

Whenever I’d be preparing my lunch for work he’d try to “dad-talk” me into how I “should” be doing things.

He’d have me sit down to discuss news and current events before he’d go to work telling me how “important and necessary” it was to “stay up on what’s going on out there.”

‘What’s going out where? I have my own fuckin’ issues man.’

He’d asked me a few times for a blowjob or massage, telling me I didn’t know how hard and stressful it was having no testicles from tumours.

The hospital would give him testosterone that’d supposedly make him extremely horny and tense, and he’d tell me I “just didn’t understand the tremendous pressure” he’d felt. 

‘Go fuckin’ jerk off dude.’

The Rooster would tell me how he’d “needed to release” and “it wasn’t fair” he had to be the one going through this, while he’d plead with me to be there to help him.

‘Dude, I’m not. Get fucked.’ I’d think. Go beat your Worm. Could I predict this coming though?

I’m sure he could’ve just jerked off, I’m not sure how his cock was my responsibility?

‘I’m not your sex slave man, or massage therapist,’ and I did things sexually because we were having a nice moment and I’d felt trust in that moment just like I‘d require when having sex with anyone.

I didn’t feel I owed the Rooster anything because he offered me his couch, we discussed that at the start. 

During our karaoke nights I’d also made it very clear to the Rooster that I needed a female to have a relationship with, if there was any chance of having one of those things again, because females were where my truest attraction lied. 

I’d explained to the Rooster that what we had was based on fun and the enjoyment of sharing an experience together. 

It wasn’t something that we were going to build off which he’d also understood because he had a boyfriend who I never actually saw in the end.

The Fox, who I was texting, literally worked part-time directly below the Rooster’s coup.

She’d go to the karaoke bar after her shift where the Rooster and I would meet her and her friends.

I’d also enjoyed seeing her downstairs on her breaks where we’d just make out in the doorway to the coup upstairs. Or I’d walk her to the train if she was going straight home after work.

It couldn’t get any more perfect staying at the Rooster’s and getting to know this pretty young thing. 

The Fox was super young, like 19, fresh out of high-school. Super hot. 

A stunning fit and firm hockey player who had a tight but meaty body. She was native, born with pure reservation blood.

She had long dark hair and light skin that was soft and smoking with spicy odour. Delicious spicy odour I mean. 

The Fox was always smiling while sharing her flirtatious attitude. She liked to be open, silly and drink like a fucking whino.  

She told me she only had one boyfriend throughout high-school and he’d recently broke up with her to “find himself.”

The classic, it’s not you it’s me excuse.

59.

The Fox had good listening skills which I’d appreciated very much, and she was genuine with her care towards me.

We texted almost everyday while I’d stayed at the Rooster’s.

It was the Friday I was supposed to turn myself in when I decided to email Chimpanzee The 1st notifying him my intentions were to come in that day but, unfortunately I wasn’t going to be able to make it so we’d just have to reschedule.

I told him I’d make it to Garbage Town in a week from that coming Monday once my SureThing was available to support me.

He’d responded saying he didn’t mind and there’d simply be a warrant out for my arrest. No problem.

In the Chimp’s response though, he didn’t even know how to spell “a lot.”

He’d put the two words together, “ALOT” as if one word, and that made me feel very anxious about his professional capabilities because even as a Dog I knew “a lot” was two separate words. 

“A” space, “Lot.”

His whole Sheep-shift revolved around reading and writing important legal documents, and he didn’t even know how to spell a word that a 5 year old could spell.

His error made me see that I couldn’t trust his punk ass, and it made me feel confidence to believe I was in the right place again, for not going to see him.

I anticipated going to see him though. 

——————————————————————Chapter 26.

Prior to the Rooster going on vacay, I was told I could sleep in his bed while he was away but only under one condition, there was to be NO PUSSY in it.

None whatsoever. Not sleeping over. Not jumping on the bed. No cuddling, kissing or having female skin that was crawling with coodies touching his bed sheets or blankets. 

Therefore I was not allowed to have the Fox or any other sweet meat over because if I did, the Rooster’s heightened sense of smell and vision would be able to detect traces of the dangerous vagina juices left behind. 

Or man-god-King please forgive the idea of lactating breasts dripping onto his bed, or walls, or floors, or pillow cases, or windows as if we were hosting a wet n’ wild splish splash theme park all over the Rooster’s sleeping headquarters. 

Did he have a secret black light I didn’t know about? Along with semen it’d identify the bodily fluid of a female? 

What if I’d found a squirter and we’d filled up a cup then left it beside the bed like a glass of water? Would that cause his head to explode?

I wasn’t sure what would’ve pissed him off more, juicy vagina or dripping breasts? Or would it be dripping vagina and juicy breasts? I’d never been able to decide what’s better, tits or ass? 

I’d wondered if the Rooster hated one more than the other?

Then, when he was explaining his rules to me I was laughing, laughing to myself imagining the Rooster’s gay-dar going off like an emergency distress signal where the button was broken and the red light just wouldn’t stop blinking to signify an alert.

The Rooster’s brain was stuck on relentless ignorance. 

“Pussy… intruder… No. Pussy… gross…pussy… where I came from…pussy….gross…mommy, no. Pussy……”, the alarm’d just continue sounding off on a loop inside his narrow mind. 

Such evil and smelly vajayjay.

I personally haven’t had too many smelly vaginas in my day yet I have had a few experiences with some whom you might’ve judged as unclean when in fact they of course were. 

Then I’ve also been with some females who’d routinely stayed all dolled up and guess who’d had the better hygiene of the two? Guess who had the better attitude of the two?

Some truth I’ve learned in life is that all females have a natural scent just like males, and for some it’s stronger than others.

There are times every character could use a shower, besides the Cheetah of course who’d needed a bath in strychnine, cyanide, arsenic, puffer fish and even some bubba shrimp to help her soothe her stale coat and devilishly possessed vagina.  

Seriously, the Rooster was talking about females as if. I couldn’t help highly doubt any character would be dick-diving right into a male’s crotch after he’d been working hard or hardly working all day in the steamy sun.

45 degree heat or 113 Fahrenheit for some locations on this planet, collecting peanuts with no breeze while nuts are roasting all day in the sun. Any females or penis lovers getting hungry or thirsty?

I know the image of hot steamy nuts being collected then gathering moisture while sitting in a satchel all day where there’s no air circulation sounds very appetizing to some. 

I’m talking about eating peanuts after peanut collecting you pervs. 

I’d never understood the reference stating females smell because most males sweat if they actually do physical labour. Some just sitting still. 

Nobody’s licking a male’s sweaty nuts the second he’s walking through the door. 

Unless I’m sure there’s a few true perverts listening at this moment who do like pushing the envelope with experience, but in general don’t we all appreciate another taking a shower?

I want to shower for my partner, call me crazy. 

I don’t honestly mind when a female is real and has real situations where she needs a shower. That’s actually when I desire her the most because it shows me her real side, and that she’s not putting on some act that she’d eventually not be able to keep up with. 

Please go shower.

Let’s talk about it though. Some males have skin on their dicks and some males cut that skin off at birth. 

Well, technically their daddy asks a Pastor to cut it off for them before the child even knows what’s happening in life. The ‘ol snip and tuck. Ouch. 

If the infant could talk he’d probably be like, “God damn man that’s my dick. What the fuck?”

“It’s for safety’s sake. Says the Pastor, as he pats the infant on his naked ass, licking his lips. Yummy. 

Where does that skin go after they cut it anyways, does the Pastor put it in his salad for lunch? “Some bites you have to chew a bit longer.” He tells the young apprentices. 

All females have skin covering where every character on this planet has come out of, and inside their skin covered promise land is the place every male spends the majority of his life trying to stick his chopped or un-chopped penis into, if he’s actually into females that is?

The Rooster, like many other males without judgment, preferred to stick his chopped manhood inside other male’s B-holes, where I’d wondered, Mr. Super Critic, who would be cleaner inside on the average? The B or the V?

Let us examine the evidence. Exhibit 

B would be for butthole where poop comes out, and exhibit V would be for vagina where babies come out. And! Juices of many flavours as per the moon’s cycle in every month. 

I’m not sure if exhibit V has any females with testimony of poop in their vaginas?

Well, the Cheetah of course being one since she didn’t know how to wipe herself and would drag her itchy ass from back to front backwards along the carpet trying to clean the shit off herself after using the bathroom.

While unknowingly and simultaneously collecting shit inside her vagina that was still crusting on the floor from the last time she’d had an itch and tried to wipe. 

It’d be hard to watch her frustration not being able to figure out why she’d kept needing to scratch so deep inside her poopy pussy. 

The Rooster told me a story once about when he’d pulled out of a male’s B but I’ll leave that to your imagination and simply add to his illustration that I’d never seen poop on my dick after pulling out of a vagina. 

Not one time have I ever seen that. 

I’m truly a liberal thinker though and support the idea of each enjoying their own. How come the guy playing in buttholes doesn’t know about water flushing though and just fucks that poop?

I’m sorry but not sorry because that’s gross. 

Anyways, before the Rooster had left he’d also reminded me there’d be, “No cooking Fish” while he was gone.

This was the second reminder he’d given me about zero Fish tolerance in the kitchen. Zero. Not one sliver, unless of course he wanted sushi, then all bets were off. 

But as for cooking in his almighty kitchen free from the contaminants of vagina or vulgar Fish spatter, this was an unforgivable offence and would be punishable by eviction. 

“No Fish.”

He’d already told me this when I’d moved in claiming Fish made his coup smell horribly, which I’d also didn’t understand because I’d cooked Fish all the time and never thought it’d smelled a foul odour. 

My thoughts were more focused on how healthy the meal was but instead of remaining positive the Rooster would take these opportunities to refresh my memory and remind me how much females stunk, and how he’d certainly smell pussy or Fish if I tried to sneak either past his psychic security system. 

Okay Dicktective. What a fuckin’ ass-clown. Asshole. Ass lover. Seriously I love juicy ass too but c’mon let’s be a little open-minded and serious here. 

Not to discard his intuitive ability at being hypersensitive and psychic. How’d any character smell Fish on the premises Monday if it was cooked and ate on the Wednesday the week before? 

That’d be nearly impossible, unless maybe a Bloodhound or St. Bernard?

Okay there it is, we’ll refer to the Rooster as Bernard. That wasn’t his name by the way it really was Big Red Cock.

Another question for Bernard though or any other narrow minded male would be, did their penis have a scent as I’m sure most males would naturally have after sweating all day collecting peanuts in the middle of a field? 

Or was that why Daddy cuts his skin off? Thinking that would change the potential PH balance of a characters disgusting odour? 

It makes me wonder if we should suggest Mommy cutting baby daughters vagina to prevent odour? 

We’re getting off topic because I don’t want to get into the motherland discussion right now. 

I do know I’d still lick a female if she’d wanted me to after either of us were collecting peanuts all day, but more seriously I’d want either of us to go take care of ourselves as I’ve experienced most characters want to do. 

Don’t we all appreciate a shower? If not I might wonder about depression?

The real question continued to be, why was the Rooster such a ball-less cock?

Clearly he was a cranky character and his downward spiral of talking with hatred about females was getting worse and worse by the day. 

Attacking individuals that weren’t even there was now transforming into labelling “bad” me for things I’d do around his coup. 

Actually starting to scold me then wave his finger back and forth in my face telling me I was a “bad Dog” because of his meaningless issues, talking to me as if I was a child acting out. 

I’d cleaned up his coup one night when he was working and when he’d returned he got very upset saying it was a “bad idea” to clean up, making him feel embarrassed.

I actually just didn’t want to look at the condition anymore sitting around and I knew he was busy working 7 hours, 2-3 nights a week. 

Yes, be embarrassed, the coup was a mess and needed to be cleaned, but I was not a “bad Dog” for cleaning it, I wanted it clean. 

Funny how embarrassment can lash out as anger sometimes. Sadness is where embarrassment comes from, oooohhhh watch out now because sadness could be considered a “negative” term so I could see how that would be very ugly for some to look at. 

The truth is, this planet is a dirty place and  it has dirt on it, and in it. We walk on fucking dirt! And dirt is actually home and food for these things called Insects whom we need to help turn the dirt, which in turn, releases nutrients for plants to grow.

Of course everyone knows plants are part of food. 

The Rooster told me repeatedly he’d trusted me which was why I was staying at his place. Why we’d got a key cut, and why he’d be leaving me alone in his coup for almost a week when I could rob him blind for everything he had. 

What’s with the attitude if he trusted me?

60.

He’d left and I cooked some Fish the first fuckin’ night he was gone because how could I not? I’d loved Fish and Fish was healthy. 

I didn’t cook it to be an asshole, we just ate sushi a few nights before he’d left. He was a walking contradiction and it’d been extremely long since I’d had an entire fresh  piece of Salmon. 

It was to die for and I knew he wouldn’t smell anything which of course he never did.

I truly didn’t intend to be disrespect towards him or his home, I was only eating Fish because it was good for me and Garbage Town didn’t have water let alone Fish so it’d been way too long. 

His stipulation was a little bias and didn’t really make logical sense. Should I follow a character’s rules if their rules don’t make sense? 

Should I just had been happy with what I’d got and respected what he’d said regardless if it went against my personal health?

“Only god can judge me,” means simply only I can judge my self at the end of the day, as to what the fuck I’m doing and why? Why am I doing this?

I did not want to harm Bernard the Rooster nor did I want to stain his walls with the piercing and provoking scent of Fish or vagina, but I’d felt like life wanted me to eat healthy food and the Rooster’s entire motivation was based on disrespectfulness to me, every female and Fish on this planet. 

The Fish swims so hard and builds all that muscle, that protein, googly face emoji, so the carnivore eating it doesn’t have to work so hard. That could be a metaphor for life, ‘to let the Fish swim upstream.’

I’d worked the week away feeling reasonably safe although I’d always had my bff behind my back with one eye on the underlying notion that if any Monkey ever rolled up beside me or walked into my workplace, I was going to slit my fuckin’ throat on the spot.

I was willing to engage in a wild Western suicide stand-off if any Monkey with a set of cartoon sized-balls had ever approached me, and that’s where I’d lived inside my mind during the majority of time working for the religious Moose. 

I’d grown fond of my new found slogan that I’d sung in the back of my head as if listening to a sweet motherly voice prayingly say, ‘give me liberty or give me death’ even though I’d never heard a sweet motherly voice before.

Then I’d cry and silently hit myself trying to remember what a caring mom came close to sounding like. 

I’d hit myself harder until co-workers would look over at me then I’d act as if there was a Fly circling around. God damn poop eating Fly. I wondered if his name was Bernard?

That’s how desperate I’d fallen inside myself, to where I was angry enough to hurt myself then end it all in one instant if life came between making a momentary choice of living in a box or meeting my maker, if there was such a thing?

Carrying my best buddy the paring knife was the only way I could feel a dusty and dirty grain of confidence walking down the street to or from work because I didn’t know what to expect in the form of a hunt for me. 

The Monkey’s had a gang of goons and they’d swung and hung out in every tree. On every light post, under every vehicle. 

They had special binoculars and radical heat seeking microcircuitry built directly into their skin. 

Why’d I have to deal with this? Why was this drasticness happening to me and how did I end up in this situation?

Oh, I know. It was all my conscious doing it all along and I should’ve just walked away from the Cheetah at the start. There is absolutely no force inside me and no destiny, life is strictly free will and I’m creating it as I go. 

If I’d said no more from the start maybe I could’ve been working happily in a union? Merrily making life about a fuckin’ dream?

I didn’t feel I should have to go hang out at the Concrete Jungle BNB for this mental case the Cheetah, and I’d felt like I’d seen enough out of life to satisfy my confidence for simply calling it an experience.

It was becoming very difficult to get up every morning acting like I wasn’t hunted or being treated like something I wasn’t from many angles.

I was constantly in a hyper-awareness mode where my eyes would never close, persistently scanning every characters movement around me like a Hawk.

Paranoid as fuck but also holding a strong sense of calm inside myself as if I knew everything was happening the way it was supposed to be. What was up with that?

At times when I was working, I’d randomly stop in the middle of my task and quickly turn to my side so I could bury my face in my armpit and burst out crying just for a short, quick-second release of the pressure reaching its limit inside me.

Like I was a giant steam kettle. 

If I’d notice everyone around my station occupied, I’d put my head down on the peanut counting table and expel a huge sob while I’d drop a few tears, then drag myself to stand upright and continue working slowly. 

I couldn’t do this for long and I was ready to end everything at any moment, my jugular was looking like the softest and easiest entry point for the kill.

I couldn’t let my emotion get the best of me so I’d held a deep breath and tightly bottled it within.

——————————————————————Chapter 27.

Another way I’d release tension besides touch and release was playing online chess.

I’d always played in general, my poppa-Dog taught me when I was a young Pup and it’d be something I’d practiced over years.  

A healthy game of intelligence based war to help me relax my mind and body, if again that wasn’t an oxymoron?

I’d returned to the Rooster’s from work mid-week and was playing a round of online battle while listening to music. 

The track was referring to something about not being able to trust life, which felt like no surprise. 

Because everyone literally felt so far away from me, as my heavy thoughts sifted through dust, and the Cheetah’s lies. 

I was trying not to break on the inside but I was so tired of this deceit on the outside. Tension from all directions was trapping my emotion within the tiring time between. 

I’d try to stand on my own 4 feet putting my trust into positivity, which was starting to try my patients and literally take so much out of me. 

I’d hated everything, that I was, on the inside, and I’d wanted to throw it all away, as I’d swore, for the last time. I didn’t want to waste my life on the fear of her. On the fear of her. On the fear of her. 

I didn’t want to waste my life on the fear of her. Her. Her. 

Half-hour into playing the strategic mind game, while having a tasty beverage in my boxers listening to some subtle hip-hop with the volume adjusted to a reasonable level, there’d been an abrasive knock at the Rooster’s front door.

‘Now who pray tell could that be?’ I’d wondered?

I’ll give you all one guess? Place your final bets while I do the lead up to the scene. 

I’d hesitantly answered without the luxury of a peephole, although I was confident nobody knew I was at Bernard’s and this must’ve just been the neighbour looking to borrow some sugar. 

Was that your first guess?

As I’d opened the door with a cheerful smile my pleasantry quickly dropped to surprise then straight-face emoji before blinking then holding a squint upon slightly opening my eyes as if I was trying to see an object extremely far away.

Does that really help by the way, squinting to see far distances? Has everyone laid their bets by now regarding who’s at the door?

(Low and behold ladies and gentlemen, hopefully children of all ages aren’t listening to this, but if they are I hope they placed a bet too because I present to you, at this moment without further ado, delay, or hesitation. 

Please direct your attention to the front and centre stage for a pair of stars brought to you by our main attraction tonight, and every other night for that matter. 

Loyal listeners I give to you, a satisfying sight of The Big City’s own most finest and even more most-handsomely dressed characters entering our program wearing their pink and gold with black polka dotted uniforms. 

Here they are, not one, but two, stinky, flea ridden, tick infested Monkeys that stood tall one proudly in front of the another. 

Weighing in at a combined weight of 365 stones) 

The leader of the two, holding his hands firmly on his hips, concerned face on, eyebrows low, belt on standby, and untrusting of what he’s about to get himself into, takes a step forward right to the edge of the doorway. 

He was very skeptical and suspicious but obviously building confidence to recite his pre-scripted lines. Give him a moment. 

The second of the pair naturally stood behind his leader of the pack, but with his tongue out trying to somehow stretch it into his nose while he’d awaited his next directions, firmly holding his hands in his pockets, hands in his pockets, hands in his pockets. 

61.

Rule number 1 when a Monkey is in your face potentially about to cause stress, don’t let the motherfucker see you sweat. 

I didn’t see them coming though and didn’t have my bestest buddy who’d promised me it was going to be okay, and he’d help me through every situation. I’d felt abandoned then almost shit myself.

The first thing the leader said was, “Freeze motherfucker! Please put a shirt on.” The follower added, “Freeze motherfucker! Ah, can you please put a shirt on?”

I could’ve cause a scene here. “Fuck you you dumb shit, don’t fuckin’ come at me like I’m up to somethin’. You better get the fuck outta here and step down off my property. I said step down!”

I didn’t want to be like that though so instead of pushing the buttons on their belt I’d chose to understand my role and play like the bitch again. 

“No problem here, no problem here. You two handsome devils are so handsome.”

The Monkeys loved it when you’d feed their ego, telling them how pretty or handsome they’d looked in their pink and gold spandex short-shorts.

I’d shook my ass to give ‘em a little tease as I’d closed the door, put a shirt on, then opened it again. 

The Monkeys continued claiming they’d got a phone call about some noise pollution trickling from the premises where supposedly a neighbour was complaining about an alleged party taking place that instant. I said that instant! 

I didn’t understand but wondered if they were joking then, I’d wondered why I wasn’t invited? I’d assumed they were possibly there to tell me about it and give me directions. 

The Monkeys pressed their faces closer into the doorway substantially convinced they’d “knew” there was a motherfuckin’ party going on inside the Rooster’s coup and I was the ringmaster of the entire circus.

They’d demanded l’d put a stop to it immediately, that instant, without wasting another second.

Now let me remind you all the detail of this was being at about at 4pm in the afternoon, not 4am. I’d wondered if music was banned at that time, then I’d laughed very hard in the Monkey’s face almost unable to control myself to even catch a breath.

Laughing so hard I’d almost suffocated trying to speak up before finally gathering myself to blurt out, “Buhahahahahahaha. Are you sure you’re sure because I’m surely positive there’s nobody here except me.” Wink wink. 

My laughing was because I was so nervous and momentarily relieved when the Monkeys said they were there for noise. 

I knew they weren’t there for me and I should not pour it on thick so they wouldn’t get testy and ask for my ID or anything. 

Like a cocaine addict who’d just snorted a giant rail across the length of a coffee table, I’d inhaled as deep as I could then opened my eyes to their full ability while leaning into the pair and making hypnotic eye contact so they’d knew I wasn’t fucking around and they’d had my full attention. 

I’d opened my arms then spoke to them with an open heart. “My brothers! Friends! Compadres! Comrades! Close companions! 

There’s seriously nobody inside this coup. There’s never actually been anything inside this coup besides a cranky Rooster, and now myself. I’m just visiting, he’d actually just ran to the store.” 

I’d gently shook my head back and forth as if to say, “No. One. Here.” While at the same time I’d swung the door open like I was unveiling the finale of a magic trick to demonstrate to these two robotic Monkeys  that I was in fact telling the god damn truth. 

I did the dramatic action on purpose to tease the poor and pathetic Monkey’s attention span because I’d knew they couldn’t actually cross the imaginary threshold surrounding the doorframe unless I, or any occupant of that dwelling removed the deadly spell that prevented all Monkeys from entering any home.

Collective consciousness of oneness in The Big City created a mental law based off the principles of quantum theory where by the unity’s belief if any Monkey ever entered any home without the removal of this spell first, the Monkey’s skin would be stripped off as they’d try to enter, then, would ignite immediately while their skeleton would follow momentum and cross through the threshold but bones would crumble to ashes. 

No Monkey would ever therefore try to test entering a motherfucker’s unit without being granted permission by a character on the inside who’d said the 4 magic words first, “Yo’ cooommmmeeee on in!” 

You’d have to say it exaggerated like that so the Monkeys understood you were talking to them. They, were, slow, so, you know. Speak, softly, and very articulate, was more of a suggestion, than a rule. 

Nobody ever said those words though because nobody was ever stupid enough to let a wild gang of Monkeys in their home. 

So, the Monkeys were forever trapped at front doors unless they had 100% absolute evidence of a 100% destructive crime in progress on 100% digital camera. Before entering. 

The collective consciousness had agreed truth was King and therefore would subconsciously remove the spell temporarily in case the Monkeys needed to do their real job and rescue someone, otherwise they had no invitation into any motherfucking home. 

The catch is if the Monkeys wanted in and didn’t get the spell released nor have evidence to enter, they’d just call their gang members to come and surround the address as hundreds of reinforcements would sit quietly anticipating the eventual exit of the suspected perpetrator. 

The pair still didn’t believe me as the door had swung shut but kept open by my front paw as they’d responded by saying they “knew” there was a slew of wild Animals in the coup because a Rat called in and reported hearing numerous varieties of species singing and dancing.

Singing and dancing, and this was to music! At 4pm on a Sheep-shift night, were we talking crimes against liberty and justice here?

“No sir, no one here except me, please quiet your soul and feel free to look for yourself.”

That’s the second rule of dealing with a Monkey. Never, ever, ever, I mean ever! Invite them into your home.

Quick, rational thinking once again told me not to play hard-ball though with these fancy boys because if they’d sensed a hint of attitude, all they’d have to do was run my name and game was over.

So I’d figured quickly that giving them a tiny treat would suffice their appetite for destruction. 4 magic words time, “Okay ’yo, cccooommmmeeee onnnnnn innnnnn!”

They barged in, the follower of the two climbed over the leader then fell flat on the ground while the leader stepped on his back then head while pulling out his weapon of choice based on the level of danger he’d felt he was in. 

Killing procedure number 4 of his belt’s plethora for this circumstance, the Monkey’s trusted sub-machine hand gun was the best option that he’d pulled out with one hand and waved it scanning the entire room in every direction while using his other arm to push me against the wall on his way by, as if saving me from the monsoon coming towering towards us. 

The other Monkey stood up and hobbled towards the back of the coup, securing the bathroom with Sloth-like precision, then the one bedroom. He gave the thumbs up then seemed to had got distracted by the idea of picking his nose with that thumb. 

That was the end of the search and rescue. There wasn’t much room for a party. 

The Monkey’s hand was shaking, holding his loaded weapon, desperately searching behind every pillow and inside every cupboard, wishing and begging to himself that one character be there hiding so he could use his furious training and unload his arsenal that was strapped around his belt.

I’d known he’d waited for this moment his entire life, and oh lowrd he’d wanted to be the dominate character and show us all who’s the boss. 

We could name this motherfucker Tony but his role was minimal in this scene as him and his partner Mona found nothing and headed for the front door. 

Just before crossing the threshold they’d jumped back around and ran through the coup searching everything again. Rummaging and tossing linens everywhere. Laughing. 

The leader did, the slower follower tried to but when he’d tried to run, he just fell over, then laughed and spit up on himself letting the drool hang off his mouth before playing with it like silly string, banging his head on the ground before standing up. 

By then the leader had searched everything enough to satisfy his urge, nothing was hiding. ‘I fuckin’ told ‘ya.’

They’d returned to outside of the front door in the hallway where they’d turned and looked at each other puzzled. The follower scratched the leaders head for him. It was a romantic moment. He ate a Tick, he picked another then ate that too. 

“Hmmm,” they created a sound like as they’d both walked away. The leader just threw his left hand up as if to wave goodbye and say thanks. 

He was biting the nails on his right hand, kicking his legs in frustration as he’d walked down the stairs and out the door.  

 

I did explain to them that I was playing chess with some music on and might’ve been singing along?

There was no dancing or yelling, I just got back from my Sheep-shift and was doing this to unwind before having a shower. I don’t know, I wasn’t sure what the fuss was about?

The Rooster told me there was a female who’d lived next door and hated him for being a penis lover.

The walls were paper-thin and the female supposedly heard every time the Rooster and his partner were having sex.

She was an angry homo-hater who’d despised fags having fun being their natural selves. How dare they do what they want and she’d have to listen?

She must’ve thought I was him and he was up to his gay ‘ol times again of horrendous anal penetration. She’d obviously not tried it, or, maybe had a bad experience?

I know some males, and females, pretend that they’re Rammy-rammers when they feel impatient, this is out of excitement. 

It must’ve made her cringe though to imagine what might’ve been going on behind those kinky walls when she’d heard music playing. The audacity and atrocities.

Her confusion turned into anger which clearly made her call the Monkeys out of resentment and bitterness. Maybe my depressing lyrics were making her sense someone was being abused? 

62.

The Monkeys did come back up just before walking out to conclude they’d tell the Rat nobody was in the apartment except me, and I’d told them I’d keep the music down going forward. No photo I.D required, and my Lowrd Jebas fuckin’ PHEW!

Well, that was a close one. My heart was beating out of my chest so I decided to chill on the music and singing for the rest of my time at the Rooster’s.

‘That’s how quickly this could all be over.’ I’d noted. The universe could easily “pull a fast one” on me at any moment without any warning when I’d least be expecting it then BLAM, my life could be over just like that. 

I’d humbled myself back down to the darkness of minimal confidence.

Friday rolled around and I’d asked the Fox out for a few drinks. We had some at karaoke before I’d asked her back to the Rooster’s where we had sex in his bed.

I never finished because we were so wasted, but we woke up at the same time in the middle of the early morning and finished our love properly.

She had such a tight body and I’d appreciated just holding her when we weren’t having sex.

It was so comforting to feel her touch me. We didn’t fuck or bang, we totally made love flowing with each other’s energy even if we were drunk as fuck. 

She had caressing hands and I’d felt her heart as well as she’d felt mine because we’d built a true connection for each other off a truer attraction. 

I’d wished I could stay in this moment forever with the Fox, but when we both got up I had to clean the sheets.

For real, I thought about the possibility of building a relationship with this silky Fox. She had a very good heart and I could feel her truth when she’d spoke and laughed. 

She was way younger, but not too much younger than me, and yet so mature and demonstrated her ability in conversations.

She’d thought what I was dealing with was an easy fix though. I could just get an apartment, go in and talk to the Monkeys, keep my job, like, what’s the big deal here?

She didn’t understand the severity of the claims against me or the process I was subject to be involved in, or the mentality of the Cheetah who was a relentless stalker. 

I’d washed the Rooster’s sheets and made sure “no pussy” residue was left behind. The experience was well worth it and no harm was ever found out to be done.

The Saturday before the Rooster’s return the Fox and I went out once again and got really drunk.

I told her my thoughts of possibly leaving the Capitalistic Jurisdiction and going to Paradise on the other side of the continent where a friend told me I could stay with him.

Going to turn myself in was becoming less-and-less of a thrilling idea each day it grew closer because I knew I needed to hire a proper Representative and didn’t have the funds.

Options were minimal where I’d needed to work and bank enough for this great Representative expense knowing these characters didn’t come cheap, for quality that was. 

My other option was to stay in The Big City and not turn myself in, which would inevitably result in the Monkeys coming to my workplace or home to get me. 

I’d really liked this Fox and when we were drinking that early Saturday evening I’d asked her the almighty question that she’d waited her entire life to hear and it went something like this, “Girl, what do you think ‘yo, do you think you’re crazy?”

63.

When I’d asked this, I did so because I’d felt like I had nothing to lose. If I liked the Fox that much, why not ask her if she thinks she’s crazy?

She’d tell me if she was or wasn’t, and what she says will direct me toward either staying in The Big City to build a relationship with her or leaving to travel across the continent to meet up with my childhood friend. Teenage friend, now adult friend. 

She knows herself better than I know her and I had to trust that oneness will communicate with me, through her truth. 

I’d believed we’re all spiritual and made of the same so through this belief I’d trusted the Fox to reveal her true self to me because in that moment I was having serious fucking issues with “choosing the correct path.”

I’d braced myself with a deep inhale right after I’d asked ready to trust whatever she’d say because I knew it was actually the oneness talking advising me of my next move. 

The Fox laughed quickly agreeing with me through her cackly but pleasurable tone. 

Just in case I didn’t believe her, one second later she’d confirmed the notion by stating for the record that it was in fact true, she was “a bit crazy.”

‘Fuck.’

I knew right then our relationship was over. This hot, alcoholic, native female who’s admitting to being “a bit crazy” while laughing.

I had to disappointingly take her word for truth because I knew if I went ignorantly against it, she might turn out to be like the Cheetah in some way. 

Seriously, I don’t know if anybody could be as terrifying as the Cheetah, but it was so sad because the Fox was extremely hot and we’d had some good experiences together, not just the sex. 

As a male, I can become blindly distracted by the alluring fantasy of a female. This one, where we strictly experienced continuous pleasure until no end, was hard to let go of. 

We’d cooked, we’d cleaned, we’d enjoyed a happy life as much as we’d known each other. 

I’m just joking, we’d only really talked at the bar, over text and when she was on break at work. We’d only shared one or two meals and those were eating out. We never cooked with each other. 

I now understood in my heart that this Fox and I couldn’t continue.

If she says she’s crazy then no matter how hot she is, I have to respect her by saying goodbye before it gets too serious.

I’d respected the signs of life that lead me to the Cheetah but maybe I didn’t take the Cheetah’s signs of her self so serious? Which got me into this predicament.

If I’d respected her signs maybe things would’ve been different?

I didn’t know and didn’t l really live by the whole, “woulda, coulda, shoulda” mentality. I had to stand with my integrity against temptation. 

If I could show you a picture there’s a good chance you might’ve been tempted too. 

The Rooster was retuning late that night and had been texting me all day adamantly about going to Garbage Town the coming Monday to do the dirtiest deed of all. 

He didn’t have to work and was saying I’d only spend “one night” in Monkey’s custody at the BNB before being released to him as my SureThing. 

I said, “Sure thing.”

Although we didn’t talk about funds or deposit or a Representative, he just wanted to get it done and Monday was the day to do it, period. The Rooster had spoken. 

He’d also requested repeatedly throughout his vacation that we have sex when he got back and I’d told him there was absolutely no fucking chance every time.

His personality wasn’t doing it for me and what we might’ve had lost its sexual spark a long time ago, if there ever was such a thing.

The Rooster was still all huggy and smiley with me before he’d left, but I could feel his energy shifted, and so had mine after picking up on his narcissistic tendencies.

The Fox and I discussed getting a room for the night but we ultimately went to a park and just sat on a bench making out for hours.

It was reasonably warm into Spring being a moist night with clear sky. The stars were out from a city’s perspective as the Fox sat on my lap facing me passionately working her tongue down my throat. 

A Rastaclat passed by joking to himself how amazing his night had been and how seeing us behaving so freely enlightened him to look for love.

I’d eventually walked the Fox to the train station and she went home for the night, it was a sad moment. We’d hugged as if it was our last time seeing each other.

I went back to the Rooster’s where he hadn’t returned yet, and wrote the Fox a 10 page letter about my emotional state leaving The Big City and Capitalistic Jurisdiction.

Even though I cared for her deeply, unfortunately I had to go, and I’d cried with anticipation to meet up with her again someday, letting her know I really enjoyed who she was.

I’d mentioned if we were meant to be we will be but for now I needed to leave because of my safety concerns due to some serious allegations. 

64.

She’d already knew the primary details of course but I went into depth about my relationship with the Cheetah and the Rooster’s demeaning behaviour that had been escalating.

The Rooster was currently a SureThing for his partner who’d also spilt The Big City, I highly doubted the CourtYard would allow him to be my SureThing. 

I wrote everything I could about why I had to leave and how it made me feel. 

The Fox was scheduled to work the next day so I’d left the note for her in a bag by a dumpster in the ally. 

I’d texted her to let her know its location and the next day she’d found it, she read it and told me she understood my process which I’d greatly appreciated. 

As oddly as the timing was, just as I’d finished writing my letter to the Fox, the Cow randomly started texting. 

It was after midnight early Sunday morning and we hadn’t spoken in weeks.

I’d sent her some texts well-prior to this asking if she was around but she never responded. The air that was blowing my direction certainly stunk. 

She wasn’t the drinking type so I knew she wasn’t hammered but her texts were coming in like, “Hey sexyyyy, how’s it going???”

“How’s that big dick of yours? Feeling better to come over and fuck me silly??” “Where are you sweet thing?? I need to see you.”

I’d wondered if she was mocking me?

I’m all for the dirty talk but if she’d really felt this way why would she just messaging me now?

I’d ignored her because her vibe absolutely smelt like rotting poison seeping through the phone, yet I couldn’t help but notice my instantaneous hypnosis because of the allure of her female aura.

 

The texts went off into the night but I chose to sleep so I could rise for my early departure. 

As I’d laid on the living room floor in the dark with everything off expecting the Rooster to return any minute, I’d figured the Cow was messaging me on behalf of the Monkeys who’d potentially contacted her asking if she could help locate me. 

Before I pulled the plug on my social media I’d added the Cow, Rooster and Fox to my friends list, not thinking. 

The Monkeys started monitoring my accounts obviously because they’d eventually reached out to these new additions whom noticeably weren’t from Garbage Town and clearly, they’d asked them about my whereabouts.

It wasn’t until the day after I’d left The Big City did they contact the Fox by rolling right up on her front lawn with weapons drawn thinking I was inside, but a few days prior, since she was the first added to my friends, the Monkeys obviously contacted the Cow asking for assistance.

Like a good, helpful Sheep she was at heart, she tried hustling me on their behalf by attempting to use her pussy power in effort to try and persuade me into giving up my location.

You sick bitch.

Thankfully the Rooster didn’t use his real name on social so the Monkeys couldn’t figure out who he was.

That didn’t mean the Rooster didn’t have his feathers in a ruffle the entire time regarding the possibility of “harbouring a fugitive”.

65.

He must’ve been getting paranoid on vacation thinking about Monkeys busting down his door and storming the coup, even though that kind of did happen. 

It was a good thing I’d spent the previous week in contact with my friend on the other side of the continent discussing if I’d wanted to make a 500,000 click journey to sleep on his couch. 

‘Why not?’ I’d thought, ‘I’ve never seen the country side and what have I got to lose?’

I was battling back and forth between leaving the even-less everything I’d known at that moment and changing lifestyles and scenery forever where I’d once again try to start over in a magical nation I’d only read about and seen pictures of. 

I couldn’t stay with this Cock as my SureThing, it wouldn’t had worked out at this pace. 

And I might not even get granted freedom which would leave me helpless in the box, potentially forever, or at least for many, many years. 

The Fox had shown me her truth.

I knew this avenue was done as I’d laid on the floor confirming my thoughts to get up early and leave. 

Naturally, I’d researched my adventure in advance. I’d used the computer at the public reading centre so there’d be no trace of my usage on Bernard’s computer.

That might’ve been a little over kill but just in case somebody ever wanted to look at the Rooster’s history, I’d thought it was my best option. 

Rather safe than sorry right?

I’d learned the cost and times the buses departed from The City. It’d be 555 peanuts to ride for 3 and a half days with the earliest departing that coming Sunday at high-noon.

Tomorrow. That was tomorrow. 

Over the hills and through the mountains down to Paradise I’d go, into the Coastal Sea where I’d planned to reunite with my long time soul brother from another mother who I’d known since I was an early teen, the oldest G on the planet, the deadly and ever rapping Velociraptor.

Was this something I could even do though, sit on a bus for 3 days? ‘I’m sure some characters have done it.’ I’d thought. ‘I was sure some have done worse.’ I’d imagined.

 

Who did this while fleeing from Monkeys and a Cheetah prowling the streets together? I’d hoped someone had. Why me though?

In my heart it’d felt like the best option and while I might’ve felt paralyzed in fear, intense anxiety, depressing sadness and agonizing terror. 

Fuck, I’d also felt motivated by fire and excitement feeling lucky and positive about making this decision.  

——————————————————————

Chapter 28.

I had all my things lined up under the couch which was along the wall next to the front door.

Two backpacks, two bags, my handheld toolbox and my work gear. I’d also packed a few lunches into my pale along with washed some fruits, vegetables and took some snacks. 

I’d went downstairs the day before to the store the Fox worked at and made sure I had enough supplies to feed myself for a day or two.

I wasn’t sure if the bus would stop for food or how this adventure was gonna work out so I’d visualized then created my path. I’d even made a whole chicken and stuffed that fucker into a glass container.

When I’d woke up at 5am Sunday, Bernard was fast asleep in his bed.

I’d crept ever so slightly to the bathroom where I’d quickly washed my face and brushed my teeth. The last comforting bathroom visit for a few days. 

A Crow was calling directly outside the window at the exact moment I was getting ready. I’d took note of its continuous caw as if it was telling me to continue forward.

I’d put a backpack over each shoulder and carried everything else by hand. I’d left the Rooster’s key on his table beside the front door without letting him know, as I’d headed down the stairs and toward the street level doorway.

 

66.

Up until now I hadn’t paid much attention to Animal synchronicities and what they might’ve represented. 

I’d always believed Animals represented more than met the eye but never had eyes to see nor time to process, or consciousness to research any understanding of their meaning if there was any?

This was my first comprehension of a Crow, where of course I’d seen the black Bird before but Garbage Town had zero Animals flying in the sky because it was so shielded with a thick, grey smog. They were just not something I’d seen or been used to hearing before. 

Listening to the Crow’s song gave me hesitant reassurance that leaving was the right decision, because this was a big step in life and I’d thought about this move very thoroughly. Obviously. 

All hands, hooves, paws and claws on deck. Time to do this. 

I’d walked out the door and continued to battle my thoughts that were tearing my heart apart, weighing the dream of leaving versus the fantasy of staying. 

I’d understood an ancient wisdom I’d once read that was written by an incredible Sorcerer who’d lived deep in the centre of a Labyrinth’s puzzle and was constantly preaching to anyone able to locate him on his acreage shaped like a maze.

This delicate genius would be hurling differences between dreams and fantasies all day and night long about dreams being something good actually wanted in existence while fantasies were typically something better left behind even though, always fun to fantasize about. If a sane fantasy that is. 

The Sorcerer would relate example after example of most things being truly unnecessary, as per his opinion, and he’d go on about there being priority of needs and understanding time, versus egotistical wants. 

I’d battled the frozenness of fear, and  battled so many options while shedding so many tears. I’d battled options of life and death, but I didn’t know if I could take one more step. 

I knew deeply I had to trust myself, and take this leap of faith while the idea to preserve this life, was seriously taunting me.

Sitting on the train, heading to catch the bus, I’d wished a caring motherfucker would’ve helped lift me up. 

It was Sunday so I’d said a quick prayer as if there was a power beyond me who was almighty and listening. 

One beyond me or my creation that couldn’t be outmatched, couldn’t be outfought, couldn’t be outrun and couldn’t be outdone. Nope. 

So god bless us everyone as this sun rose  with hopefully another promise of a hundred thousand more to come. 

And god save us everyone from the sound of a thousand guns going off while I’d run from every round, oh no. 

I’m trying to avoid all tragedy, taking my life straight into the streets. I didn’t know what was going to happen to me but I knew I just had to breathe. 

Breathe very deep and let thought come opposed to trying to control it which would ultimately amount to fear. 

The Crow helped me believe I could trust this situation, this one step, despite my overwhelming emotion overwhelming my body. 

Emotion that was overwhelming energy in motion swirling inside me, like a fucking whirlwind. 

In reality, the sun was rising over the horizon in the east and I could see that its shining brightness was directing me towards a potentially waking clear blue dream in the west. 

I’d wondered, ‘What that woman Lowrd, had been doing to me?’

Many varieties of Birds greeted my morning with their bittersweet synchronistic symphony saluting the start of their day. 

I was not as cheerful as them but appreciated their performance seemingly directed by a master conductor orchestrating the sound out of heaven. 

Were my prayers heard?

I’d got off the train once downtown then walked a short distance to the bus. 

You can sing along if you know the words. Just gonna play a little song for us all as I sit and wait for this bus. 

“I bought a one-way ticket, as far as I could, until the rroooaaaadddd ran out of pavement. 

GreySound headed westbound, arriving at the Coastal Sea, seeing Paradise made me never wanna goooooo back.

So sad I couldn’t see, so sad I couldn’t see, from the tears that female Lowrd, done god damn brought to me. 

So sad I couldn’t see, so sad I couldn’t see, from the tears that female Lowrd, done god damn brought to me. 

Now, say I jumped offfffff, that mountain ain’t nobody knew. Just left my ass in the gully to die, so sad but god damn true. It would’ve been my only fault, if I controlled a god damn thing, but ‘den I wouldn’t be tellin’ this tale right na, c’mon n’ let me hear ‘ya sing. 

So sad I couldn’t see, so sad I couldn’t see, from the tears that female Lowrd, done god damn brought to me. One more time. 

So sad I couldn’t see, so sad I couldn’t see, from the tears that female Lowrd, done god damn brought to me. Huh.”

Fuckin’ bitch. Don’t die. 

C’mon and hit ‘em now wit’ that guitar.

I’d sat outside the terminal while waiting for the bus’s arrival so we could all load up  our shit and get this motherfucker on the road as there’d be no looking back once I did, I’d be stuck to embrace the journey like being shot into space like a Monkey. 

The air felt peaceful and calm. I wasn’t thinking too much about anything specific except enjoying the rays of the glorious morning sun. 

I knew my options were slim and I had to take care of myself the only way I knew how which in this case was buying my ticket to go as far away as I could.

Listening to others was never my strong suit, minus the whole experience with the Cheetah. 

As a Dog, I wasn’t the best listener because I’d enjoyed more doing my own thing since Sheep were running a muck everywhere. There was enough followers I’d felt the positions had been abundant filled. 

If I’d wanted to chase a Butterfly, I’d chase a fuckin’ Butterfly. If I’d wanted to kick a ball then pounce on it, I’d kill that motherfucker dead as if it was a god damn Cat. 

If I’d wanted to take nap I’d be out like a light, good night, with my belly up but still, teeth showing so don’t be fooled. 

The majority of Sheep in Garbage Town or The Big City wouldn’t had chosen this adventure I was about to embark on to view the countryside. 

The majority would’ve turned themselves in submissively submitting by now. 

The majority would’ve followed the rules and regulations because that’s what’s expected inside the grounds of the Capitalistic Jurisdiction, even if the regulation is illogical and doesn’t make sense.

The majority wouldn’t had been able to tolerate the Cheetah for as long as I did, like a stupid, stupid, stupid boss. So, I’m not actually sure if that’s a positive or negative thing but the timing is definitely one of the most essential parts to this story. 

My point is Sheep would’ve taken the fear route because that’s how Sheep are bred and raised, to take the fear route out of fear and follow, out of fear. 

There’s only one of two motives behind every action in life. Ready? Fear or love. Darkness motivates the masked fear, while light unmasks the motivated love. 

What’s powering your engine, dark or light? Fear or love? That’s true fear and love not drowning in positivity masking fear, that’s the dark. Afraid to acknowledge. 

The addict can’t make change without acknowledging a problem first, correct? Only when they do will they be able to understand change is necessary. 

When we love ourselves our action may look like fear but it’s intended out of love. It’s the intention. This was my exact case, self-preservation. 

When we fear ourselves our action may look like loving but instead it can be arrogant and intended out of ignorance towards the self. In the end it harms more than helps, similar to the outcome of collecting fantasy over dream. 

Let’s once again talk about something though, the current example that shmishmorshon equals murder. Murder! 

When truth of the fact is a character could simply be living responsibly by using a shmishmorchon to act responsibly. It’s this thing that adults do?

God, or let’s lightly say light for now, could be considered goodness, if there was such a goodness or god type energy. 

Could good god light be evil or have evil darkness in it or, is it pure light only? 

Does the darkness of the dark devil have any light in it? Does light show or shine on evil or ugly? 

If I turn a light on and the room is dirty does that show the mess? The mess of the soul? Muhahahaha. 

Some will say god allows evil therefore is part of evil. Okay, well, evil circumstances do happen and to good characters so if this is a good god only planet then yes, evil shit happens in the environment of goodness so goodness could allow it?

But, what if we involved evolution in our thinking and understood that without the dark we couldn’t understand the direction to look to see the flame?

What if this planet’s environment was light and we were just creating it out of dark, out of ashes? 

Rising with another Bird reference as the ashes were symbols from the depths of the Stone Age. A current representation of time past. 

When creating light out of ashes, first we must appreciate their journey of fiery destruction and understand the flame was the initiator of the process. 

We must enjoy the ashes we walk on and where some live below that use it as cover and escape into potentially even more dark.  

Those who live below ashes possibly enjoy dancing more with fire? Why do some like fire more than others? Why do some like to dance more than others?

I think fire dancers are very talented. 

When we understand the process necessary to create light out of ashes, like a Bird who’d rose above the ashes after taking cover in them during a fire, we understand ashes are part of the fire process and clearing to the section involved, like exposing more light?

When man or woman or the team of two created fire, the moment before that life was dark. Black as fuck every night. 

No street lights, no vehicles. No sirens or safety team to call when a Tyrannosaurus Rex came storming across the dessert at 3:30am. 

Or a smaller predator leapt from behind a tree, or a prehistoric male that didn’t speak any words, he just grunted groaned wandering aimlessly with his raging hard-on, ready to stick it in anything that came around. 

Imagine the rapes that took place in that time? 

Goodness didn’t just create fire the human did and it was most likely through a forced learning or evolution through traumatic experiences of darkness, possibly full of hunger and pain that made the character consciously come to the desired awareness that fire was necessary to sustain a decent life.  

Self-preservation. 

So, if having a child and signing up for a 20 year commitment isn’t in the best intention of goodness then “god’s goodness” wouldn’t want any character making a decision that would contradict their personal goodness. If you believe in god giving a shit?

Therefore the shmishmorshon clinic could be a reasonable thing and part of responsible living because accidents happen. 

Responsibility is a learning adventure and prioritizing life is truly the goodness to live a good life. This is all my opinion of course. 

How many parents had their kids and didn’t truly desire them? Didn’t sit down and have a discussion about the intention of creating a life beforehand? How many? Let’s see the hands. 

I’d mentioned I was an admitted accident. 

Believing love is the intention by not having an shimishmorshon when the child is actually unwanted is probably the opposite form of love because creating this life is truly not a heartfelt desire, more fear based because the expecting parent doesn’t want to relinquish the ego drive that isn’t necessarily beneficial to their heart.

Their decision could be based on fantasy opposed to prioritizing their true dream. 

Is the child about having something in life to love or do the parents actually love each other and want to raise a child for 20 years out of preserving the bloodline and lineage? Let’s call that evolution. 

Because when that child is born it will sense in their heart they’re not actually wanted or connected to their parents if that’s the case?

Talk about stayin’ positive. The whole intention is misconstrued and the child suffers their entire life now. Should they be thankful they have a life to begin with, of being unwanted?

I know, I know, I know we’ll tell them to remain positive. That’ll save their emotions in the end, right?

Being raped by blood-brother then becoming pregnant is a perfect example of why a character wouldn’t want to keep a child. 

Energy bred into that experience would be unimaginable and rape victims are commonly emotional and very traumatized as their hardship is not an experience they can get over in a day, a week or even lifetime. 

Then there are some who practice the act of forgiveness by conceiving the rape product anyways, which is their personal choice. 

They choose to look beyond the horrific experience and turn it into a beautiful one by appreciating the opportunity to birth a child. 

So really who’s to judge who’s right or wrong? Who cares what another character does as long as they’re not actually raping or beating another? Or stealing or lying? Or hurting or being dark in some form to another?

I’ve been using the term evil. 

Nobody, in my opinion, is truly evil in their heart because isn’t there a root causing their harmful action in the first place? 

Why does the rapist rape? He or she is just so horny they can’t control themselves? Did something necessarily happen to them, sexually or not? 

Usually they’d been raped or beat in some manner but not always. Would a rapist have a home and family? Pet Dog and white picket fence?

I’d tried to figure out the Cheetah with her happy home, family and easy life of seemingly doing what she’d pleased. I gave up though. 

I’d appreciated following my heart even if it’d meant going against the grain at times, or every time for that matter, by not caring so much about what others might say or do because I’d believed in living at my own core of values. My heart’s values. My priorities for myself. 

That’s our supposed freedom on this planet is to be able to choose how we want to live as characters according to the stars. 

It seemed like my conscious choice to leave or stay, or in other character’s instances, to have or not to have the baby?

The stars are what we’re born under hence our signs we literally resemble as Animals so intently. 

Every sign can testify that they’re that sign by chance not by choice in this consciousness, therefore can understand there’s an astrological alignment taking place out of their control or desire, or positive thoughts. 

Every birth has been aligned prior to the date taking place and those alignments have been making progressive movements towards being created since the beginning of time. 

Meaning, the planets have been spinning the same paths since our time at least, and those rotations have been documented since before fire. 

There’s a chance even the stars consciously created fire through their alignment of creating conscious thought of evolution. 

It was their alignment on their timing. Those fuckers. Someone get me the planetary cycle for those times, the creation of fire times. 

Ever try to move or hurry along a star or planet? 

The planet pushes and it pulls, it’s like fighting with a knot. Sometimes you just gotta leave it and understand that pushing contradicts what you want. 

The internal battle can go ‘round and ‘round ‘til breaks and, understands the cycle by the planets and how they’d never missed a beat, oh no, no, no. 

I knew to take advantage of what I’d got, as in timing, and I knew I had to take my chance with what I’d thought, as in alignments, where everything was truly in due time. 

The sky is on its own pace my good friends. No thing will ever budge it and understanding the principles of unmovable aspects can help a character adjust to the rotations of energy in motion. 

Life hasn’t evolved without these planetary alignments and our emotions, and therefore emotionally based reactions are based on these energies every single day. 

Every moment of every single day and that’s easily probable because scholars have been predicting, documenting and discussing the alignments since before fire. 

Star gazers had been watching the stars and then they’d chant to the crowd, more fire!

My disregard for what others thought wasn’t intended out of ill will or ignorance because it was my spiritual destiny to honour and recognize this move was part of my path. 

Not having a child could be considered self-preservation, and having a child is truly creating a new life and therefore very worthy of a valiant discussion based on heartfelt priorities. Both potential parents priorities. As equals. 

I think being responsible is really the coolest thing to do. 

When Star Gazers would ever need help finding an answer to their greatest questions of: to create life or not? They’d not wish upon a star but simply look into them to recognize their specific alignments and rotations. 

The stars would dance and preform light shows in the sky. Get it? The light would align and dance in the black night sky that could only be seen when surrounded by the darkness of night. 

Is everyone scared? This isn’t supposed to be the horror section. 

The Gazers would wait all day holding their stones in anticipation of making notes on the walls of their cave dwellings. 

This would be intuitively for their self-preservation of family intelligence. 

My relationship with the Cheetah came to a choice and now my alignment was happening where I was ready to take a bus westbound across the continent for 3-plus days. 

The Rooster started blowin’ up my cell as I’d sat outside the terminal blazing a J. I n.e.v.e.r r.e.s.p.o.n.d.e.d t.o the number 1 of his messages. 

I’d spelled in this transcript as a subliminal gift to a potential listener. The kitty knows my tone when I call her. 

I didn’t even glance at my phone after noticing his sobbing tone seeping through text questioning how could I had done this to him? The muffin. 

How dare I leave him after we’d arranged a meeting for the next day? My meeting that he’d wait outside for and I’d never get to go outside again after participating in. Then he’d go home and I’d stay at the Concrete Jungle BNB. 

How dare I think of myself and make him look bad, as if anyone even knew him in this situation. 

Bernard was living in his fantasy and I couldn’t be bothered to understand his Chicken squawk anymore.

I could heard his cock-fighting sounds from a distance, pecking aggressively at his phone with frustration. 

The sun was so warm and the clock was nearing noon as I’d continued to puff my medicine with a band of Pigeons gathered around me.

 

I’d fed them some bread. 

I gave them thanks, then to all the Capitalistic Jurisdiction which included The Big City, Garbage Town, Fungis and a few other rotting areas. 

I’d shed a tear while the bus rolled into the garage. I’d put my spliff out then left it with the Pigeons as an offering. 

I’d originally thought the Monkeys wouldn’t chase me across the continent. Freedom was all I’d cherishing and I wasn’t gonna let a Cheetah, Rooster, Monkey or Cow take that away from me. Not a Fox either, not even my own stupid Dog mentality. 

I had a book I’d been reading prior to meeting the Cheetah about brain science and that’s all I’d took with me on the bus including my food, everything else I’d packed below. 

I rolled a few pinners of what I had left the night before that were in my pocket, and off into the afternoon sunset the bus travelled.

The direction the sun was setting was the direction we were travelling. Fading into its shine for the day as we’d chased it into the evening dark. 

I’d felt like I was chasing this giant warmth home. Orange and yellow oil scented candles filled the cabin of the bus as we’d entered a long stretch of highway that opened up into a pitch black wild wilderness.

I’d cried gazing off into the unidentifiable pastures as if saying goodbye to everything I’d ever known, a-fucking-gain. 

I was so sentimental.  Next stop, Hicksville. 

Just for a quick pit stop before the bus would become computerized to maintain speed and route all night through the backroads without stopping. 

I’d read, I’d cried, I’d marinated in thought about my conscious decisions. 

I smoked one of my three joints at the Hicksville pit stop, I became nervous after because I only had two left.

Purchasing my bus ticket put my peanut flow to 400. I had another 450 on the way from my last week of work, which would be deposited in the next few days. 

I became nervous about funds. 

I ate some chicken right off the bone then slept with my head against the window sitting up. I don’t know how looking back, the herb must’ve been superior. 

Magically, nobody sat beside me for the entire 3 day journey, not once. I’d felt if there was a spirit it was communicating with every rider who’d got on, to leave me the fuck alone.

67.

I was thankful for that because there were only two seats of space to rest comfortably on. Being squished onto one for this duration would’ve been way more difficult. 

The first morning I’d woke up more gently than I’d imagined I would’ve when I’d went to sleep. 

We were scheduled to stop every 5 hours or so. I grabbed breakfast and lunch at our first stop, enjoyed half a J, a.n.d.  intended to smoke the other half when we were stopped for dinner about 10 hours l.a.t.e.r.

The herb made me very emotional and tired. After breakfast, I had a good cry then caught a nap after reading for about an hour. 

I’d still get off the bus at every pit stop to stretch and breathe in the new fresh air I’d never smelt before. Every stop had a different scent lingering and each stop seemed fresher and more cleaner than the one before.

Looking back now, I have no idea how I actually slept for the 3-whole nights? I don’t even remember waking up once any of the nights so would that had been divine intervention influencing my necessary rest?

Because I was stressed as fuck. Uncomfortable as fuck. Stressed and terrified as fu…, I’d mentioned stressed right? I was scared seriously. 

Some of the pit stops were so stereotypical. Country folk dressed like Sheep would get on and off the bus at every terminal seemingly appearing as the same character riding on and off forever.

Stops were placed at random spots along the highway, literally in the middle of nowhere. 

The bus would be doing about a buck 20 then randomly jack the brakes on and come to a complete stop just to pick up one rider. 

When it did tumbleweeds and dust-tornadoes would hail past the door as the wind would howl in. 

Sometimes drivers would swap out in the middle of nowhere. The driver ending their shift would just stop and pick up the other driver randomly standing on the side of the highway.

The  retiring driver would just get off the bus and start walking the direction we’d just came, into the empty desert or forest. It was a vast journey over all types of land. 

I’d watched it happen a few times and concernedly thought ‘hopefully somebody’s coming to get this motherfucker.’

It was just like the movies and as the landscape continued to change, the bus approached its final pit stop for night two.

 

Chapter 29.

Two females sat in front of me before we’d got off at the final rest area on the second night.

I’d overheard them talking about a recent incident where a male in the area got on the bus then waited for it to start moving before he’d cut the driver’s head off using a knife. They’d mentioned this was based on a true story.

I could only assume his blade was very sharp if he’d sawed the head right off.

Disturbed and startled by this tale as we’d drove through a very secluded area, I’d listened to the two females a little more intently as they’d continued to discuss how the Monkeys installed metal detectors  at the next few terminals in order to provide greater safety for those riding.

I loved Big Daddy Ostrich and he was my hero for always keeping us so safe. Soon I’d hoped we had no knives to avoid such incidents.

The bus made its scheduled stop night 2 and I’d decided to be a true friend and throw my bff to the waste side by leaving it in the trash before getting back on the bus.

I’d appreciated the comfort I’d felt from my knife knowing it was always there to listen to my heartache but now I wasn’t sure what the process would be regarding metal detectors or identification required, so I couldn’t risk keeping it around.

I naturally started feeling paranoid being at risk for any sort of questioning but relief came same day as there were no metal detectors or Monkeys at the next, or coming few stops.

I was absolutely thankful conscious awareness came across my path despite my sarcastic let down of no Monkeys, but the experience prepared me for my next conscious decision which was based on love over fear.

My love for self-preservation was demonstrated by following the rules. I was afraid if not terrified of letting go of my bff but I’d loved my freedom more than I’d feared the devil and its chains, or death.

Therefore, playing by the rules was again out of self-preservation. Self-respect. Self-love and worth.

If I didn’t have a knife I definitely had a shot at not needing to explain anything to anybody. If I’d had one, you’d bet this Dog would’ve had some explainin’ to do.

If fear won that battle I would’ve kept my bff right by side through every stop and every step by step, so what would’ve been the future?

Reincarnation had me wondering if there ever was a second time aroooouuunnndddddddd?

Dropping my knife in the trash was truly like falling down that first thrilling descent at the height of the highest roller coaster on the planet except this ride had no security bars holding the passengers down.

It was actually just me alone on the coaster because they’d sent me on this ride to test drive the drop without a security blanket or bar.

They, as in Big Daddy Ostrich and his goon squad. Those fuckers.

Without those two females sitting exactly where they did and having the exact conversation they’d had, I wouldn’t had known about the possible situation ahead that had me able to physically and mentally prepare.

I’d put my knife in the trash out of love for myself and freedom, also out of respect for the rules, evolving my integrity by giving a little sacrifice to gain some ground regarding peace in my life.

I didn’t ever intend to cause trouble, I’d only carried my knife as a form of instant relief if pressure or tension got too high.

I knew all I had to do was give myself a little poke in order to release the valve to my pulse’s line.

Signs of the universe were again guiding me towards my destination, and as I’d got back on the bus I’d felt liberated and awakening to my path unfolding.

My path that was loathed but also getting interesting.

Surrendering to the experience made me think how perfect consciousness was in that moment, and every moment down to every word and thought, because every thing that happened in the two female’s day and mine aligned us all to share that moment.

Earlier day 2 as I’d sadly stared out the window watching time fly wondering why and how this could’ve happened to me, along with all the curiosities of existence.

At a specific moment a Crow swooped into my sideview as it charged towards the front of the bus at an irate speed.

Determined to fight the jet stream the Crow was flying hard like a black, stealth-fighter jet who’d locked into position on its target and was thrusting full speed ahead while holding perfect consistency above ground.

How was it propelling itself without flapping its wings? Like it had enough momentum coming onto the scene it could just ride the air wave against the direction of travel forever.

The Crow’d caught up to where I’d sat and held its eye parallel to mine for a solid moment before holding one wing sturdy in the air as if giving me the thumbs up.

It smiled then nodded as if recognizing me from another existence.

Without hesitation the stealth black jet dropped its speed and swung to its left spinning around on a dime before accelerating at light speed back to its nest.

Light speed, black Crow? Oh c’mon!

Time froze while I’d watched the Crow turn around. Even the bus stopped moving and froze for a split second.

I saw the little dandruff particles fall off the Crow in my direction as it turned to face east. The dandruff shot off in one way while the Crow went the other.

Then life continued at its usual pace as no one riding the bus noticed the time stoppage.

69.

Before our final pit stop then heading into the darkness of night 2, we had an hour layover where I’d ate dinner at a bar.

Craving vegetables, I downed a salad and a bowl of pop. Carbs. I didn’t want meat but the drink was extremely refreshing and helped me balance out before I’d called the Fox.

I was feeling more and more alone with every revolution of the bus’s tires.

The environments around me were becoming so different, there wasn’t any familiarity with any of the new sights, sounds or smells.

The travelling distance and vibration of the bumping seat was starting to take a toll on my mind and body.

The continent was truly grand in size and I was feeling desperate, sad, and like I needed to hear a familiar voice.

I’d left my phone off to save battery, I didn’t know if the terminals would have outlets or if there’d even be time or availability to use them?

I’d turn my phone on every half day or so to check texts, so far just a bunch of trash from Bernard who’d still been going off clucking in the background.

There was a few new drunken raps from the Velociraptor who was anticipating my arrival, and most thankfully this round, there was some encouraging words from the Fox.

I’d talked to her for about 20 minutes before I just about had to get back on.

The sound of her voice was so soothing, like she’d subliminally licked my wounds then washed them with her puffy but so silky of a tail, telling me not to be afraid of continuing on my path.

She’d affirmed everything was going to work out and I’d felt refreshed after eating, drinking and reminiscing about her heavenly nature.

I’d believed in what the Fox told me and I needed to hear her words in that moment because I was deflating fast.

My energy was running low and our talk was as if she’d filled my lungs to capacity with the breath of life.

Then I filled my lungs to capacity with my last J before b.o.a.r.d.i.n.g.

That was it for medicine though, no herb for day 3 being as I’d smoked my second J earlier that m.o.r.n.i.n.g.

I’d figured I could survive one day and really needed that puff when I had it.

That’s another reason I smoked the mother plant was because it’d slow time down for me. I’d actually remember more because I’d actually process more information consciously.

Information such as details of life, like synchronicities, you know, Bullshit. Fuckin’ stoners.

Over night the bus was programmed to enter the Coastal Sea where Paradise awaited as my final destination.

Paradise was located at the opposite end when entering the Coastal region. It’d still take us 12 hours to get there but once I’d arrive, it would be the furthest any character could travel west without getting on a boat, and would literally be the end of the planet.

I couldn’t possibly go any further.

Paradise was where land met the tides and sand sat warm all year situated as the divider of the two.

This setting was the beginning of Seawater for trillions of nautical miles.

Where the sun set on this planet everyday settling its rotations and energies as all bets and debts had been paid off, where all karma collected or dished out of the planets and stars had come to a revolving completion. Like motherfuckin’ clockwork.

The sun went down in Paradise the same time it’d simultaneously rise on the other side of the planet beginning the next daily cycle of energy. That’s how big the fucking sun was.

I’d intended to get off the bus for a sweet treat and quick stretch when it stopped at a remote fuel station before barrelling into the oncoming mountain ranges for the night.

When I’d come down off the stairs and looked up into the bluest sky after watching my footing touchdown, a fortress of ever-green trees and mountains exaggerated my astonishment surrounding the inconspicuous pit stop.

I’d shook off the dust that’d gathered in my coat from sitting on the bus for hours and hours, hours and hours, I mean hours and hours while frequently the driver kept opening and closing the door to let passengers on and off.

They never cared they’d be letting tornadoes of dust in the oil scented passenger seating area.

All this nonsense aside I’d stood perfectly aligned with my tired eyes squarely baring witness to the most intimidating sight they’d ever beheld.

The biggest, most gigantic and mesmerizing Mineral I’d ever knew could exist in all of existence on all the planets was standing proudly abrupt right in front of me.

Okay it wasn’t as big as a planet for fuck sakes but it was huge. Massive. Gargantuan.

The Mineral stretched into the sky so far beyond my vision I couldn’t tell where it ended.

Lost in hypnosis staring into the heavens trying to locate the summit, blinded by the sunlight I’d watched the rock vibrate as if mimicking my Dog movement of shaking the dust off after watching me do so.

Then the ground around the station began to tremble and rumble but once again, it was like I’d been the only one to notice.

I’d looked at the ground and watched it crack as if splitting open then looked up feeling terrified ready to run but not as fast as if the Cheetah was chasing me.

I’d gasped in shock as I’d felt the elder intelligence of my surroundings comfort me. A chunk of the Mineral shivered loose from the gigantisized west side.

That chunk rose itself out of the mass then curled like a bicep into a flexed position, resembling a strong arm emoji, rock coloured naturally.

The Arnold spectacle then reversed a portion of its highest and most westward peak in the opposite direction it was originally curling towards in the east, then formed a finger at the end of that peak before pointing west with it.

A loud, distinct females voice came from that Mineral, it was very touching to my soul and convincingly said, “The beach is that way. Good Doggie, good Doggie, good Doggie. Yes, such a nice Doggie, such a nice Doggie. So good, yes, yes, yes, yes.”

Like a magic trick, a thumb and middle finger snapped onto the scene below the pointing forefinger, holding a frisbee when the wrist from the chunk bent backwards then flicked the frisbee westbound.

The chick’s voice laughed then yelled stating, “Go get that motherfucker boy. I’ll take care of these bloodsuckers boy. They can’t catch up to you boy. No need to worry ‘bout shootin’ it out like a western boy. I got a place I’ll send ‘em boy.

I’ll always keep some water for ‘ya to have a quick slip and slide exit off the scene if ‘ya need T double D. Just run up any of me and I’ll be there for you.”

The voice was talking in code about going for a hike up any mountain if I needed help, and through thought or I supposed maybe suicide, the Mineral was sublimanllly telling me it would be there for me. Everywhere because mountains were everywhere in every direction within the confines of the Coastal Sea.

The T double D slang meant Top Double Dog, my pet name given to me by my original owners.

Instantly the arm of Minerals fell causing a humongous rock slide many clicks up the mountain side, and it still remains to this day a location where many hikers body’s lay trapped in the backwoods because of the landslide.

By chance all the hikers in the accident that day were Monkeys. I guess a local gang was having a field trip up to the summit and because all the Monkeys were hiking harnessed together using a children’s safety walking rope they’d all been trapped as one solid unit by the same section of rock fall.

There were 13 Monkeys. Thankfully all their families were covered under insurance because each legal guardian signed a permission form before each Monkey got on the rented short bus.

They only needed the short bus because there was 13 of them so it would’ve been a waste to rent the big bus.

Just because a passenger rides the small bus doesn’t make them any better or worse than a passenger who rides the big bus.

Go figure the timing of the Monkey’s hiking trip though. May man-god above the height of these skies forever bless their souls.

Cheeky Monkeys. They were always asking other characters if they’d wanted to see their bum?

“Freeze motherfucker. Do you want to see pictures of my bum? I can draw you a picture of my bum, would you like a drawing of my bum?”

The massive Mineral had been displaying its magnificent majesty for thousands of years. I couldn’t help stand in awe as the bus was gearing up to leave.

I tried to take in the moment as best I could by breathing deeply and saying another prayer staring straight up at the great Pyramid.

I didn’t want to get back on the bus. The driver kept patting his thighs encouraging me to come to him but I’d ran past him with my tongue out right into the store, grabbed a bunch snacks, then playfully got back on the bus for one more night.

The driver patted my head on the way by.

70.

More realistically, I’d got on the bus with my head down and very lonely where nobody knew my name nor even acknowledged my existence as if I was an enigma. A figment of your imagination.

There was no mountains where I was from. No landscapes or trees. No clear or blue sky’s. No streams, seas or areas of abundant water.

We’ve discussed no sunshine.

My home town was just flat parks with fields upon fields of peanut coloured tan land and grey drab sky for as far as thee I could see. Not even one fucking hill, just flat, drabby, blah.

The Coastal Sea was something movies were made of and dreams were based off.

I’d never seen or felt anything like the Mineral I’d just witnessed, and being in its presence re-charged my life’s battery.

I’d felt remixed even though I had no weed. I’d felt like I had a fire below me, like nothing could catch me, nothing could hold me, stop me much less control me.

Because when it rained it poured and when the flood gates opened I’d knew to brace the shore.

Carrying my shoulders pressed with such weight, trying to stand up straight despite some of that hate.

Entering night I’d known soon life would get darkest before dawn. What wouldn’t  kill me made me more strong and I’d been waiting for this for so long.

I was looking forward to going down to the river bend and fighting to the very end, so I could wash the poison from off my skin and use the reflection of the water to show myself how to be whole again.

I’d anticipated the water to warm my soul with a novice glow, then that water used I’d compare to the relentless rain that’d never stop falling where I was once from, transforming those sad drops of tears into drops of the dream below.

The dream I tried to see through my cracked visualization of the far but getting nearer castle of glass.

My cracked castle of glass that I’d repair once there. Which was for me to see. For me to see. For me to see, it was for me to see.

That I’d come to this magnificent house of worship tonight, on the night I’d get there, and on every night going forward once there because my conscious would leave me no other choice.

So that I could reconcile myself with wisdom, justice and love. I’d visualized luminous colours bouncing off the glass house from different angles.

Fuck.

I’d really felt like I was standing in the wake of devastation leaning towards the edge of the unknown.

With the cataclysms raining down behind every moment of this bus tour, my insides were crying out save me now as I’d felt so utterly alone.

I didn’t know if I could’ve let go of all this sadness and frustration?

I needed a castle of glass to explode into a burst of light that’d be bright enough to blind every angel, using the momentum to explode the heavens into stars.

I’d felt so cold and lost in desperation, loosing hope was all I’d ever known.

I didn’t know if I could ever let it go. Let it goooooooooooooooooooooo. I didn’t know if I could ever let it goooo.

I didn’t want to feel desperate to live, or love. I was ready to be brought home in a blinding dream through the secrets that I’d seen.

And as I’d headed to sleep that night, seeing this monument of nature was all the motivation I’d needed to once again continue thinking relatively positive.

I’d sat satisfied with a half grin on my face remembering how I was close enough to such a gentle giant,I could’ve flicked a pebble at it.

The sun hid as the bus entered heavy mountain and forest terrain. The day was now dark as we’d picked up speed and dynamics weaving up and down the canyonous highway.

My eyes went numb then my mind went dead as the bus hovered at hyper-speed cutting heavy lefts then heavy rights carving a trailblazing path through the rolling hills as if the auto-driver program was set to race against time.

The bus juked left, then right, then left then right for what seemed like a non-stop  cradling back and forth until I passed out.

After the final stop the bus was packed and every seat was taken except the one next to me.

I was still appearing and smelling somewhat decent despite how I’d felt. I didn’t reek like a homeless alcoholic or anything. No offence.

I’d brushed my teeth and washed my face in the washrooms along the way that were thankfully onboard every long distance vehicle.

I’d took it personal when the universe provided me that extra seat of space to rest my weary head for the night, as it did every night on that journey.

That was the only time the bus was completely full on that night, and I found that to be a tiny miracle nobody sat beside me.

Unbelievable almost but the kids never wanted to play with me because my red coat was different from everybody else.

The final morning I’d woke up to the brightest sun blazing a fatty while blowing the smoke at the bus that would illuminate its rays directly into my face.

I was crabby as fuck though, tired and hungry.

‘Where the fuck were we and how much longer until we got there?’ I wasn’t allowed to ask that question growing up so I’d sat wondered impatiently.

I knew none of the landmarks which frustrated me further but I found comfort in knowing my next stop was to meet up with the Velociraptor.

The bus glided into a bay at the Paradise city terminal. There was no more road for the bus to travel on after this stop, I’d successfully made it to the end of the planet.

I’d been waiting on this moment my entire life, oh Lowrd. I could feel the time approaching in the morning light, oh Lowrd.

This Dog was feeling like a dark man who was antsy to get off his choke chain chaining him to this god damn bus, but was also sitting very patiently knowing I was about to enter a completely different world.

The dark in my heart marked with an X relaxed into the shape of an L which stood for Love, but if I didn’t know love how could I show love?

Suicide and misery were always my only truest friends ever since birth.

Some thoughts were too complicated to escape and no character could ever understand until they’d trade places with another who’s guilty being anxious.

There’s no way in hell I could ever be a rapist, not because of my belief but faithfully believing in a power that’d be for a reason.

I’d went straight to the washroom in the terminal and sat on the toilet in a stall then put my head in my hands and cried for about 25 minutes.

I had no idea where I was on the planet even though I knew where I was in location. My head was spinning and chest was tight barely able to pull in a breath of the most cleanest, crisp sea air known to life.

I knew I had to let my emotion go but also knew to keep the noise down. Sobbing and distraught, I was out of gas.

I don’t think I could’ve handled another minute on that bus.

It taxed all my willpower not to mention I was now living on a 3 hour time difference behind where I was internally so my body was all fucked up.

It was 7 but really 10. I went to bed at midnight but it was really 3, I didn’t have far to go.

71.

I’d brushed my teeth and washed my face in the sink of the washroom at the terminal. The rapping Velociraptor was meeting me close to the terminal since his Sheep-shift was just a few blocks away.

Was that a coincidence?

I’d intended to go back to his dwelling and attempt to create my life again, for the second, third, I don’t know, forth time?

I hadn’t seen the Raptor in many, many years. We’d kept in touch over social and texts but I hadn’t seen him in at least 6 or 7.

As teens, we’d grown up ghetto complex neighbours in grimy Fungis where me being violated by females truly began.

I’d wander the streets while being poked and Cattle proded by judgmental Sheep who’d leave me reacting in every direction like hey, hey hey, hey, hey, hey.

That town was grimy. I said it was grimy.

Fungis had a peanut butter professor who’d host fight clubs, he was grimy. He thought he was man-god’s favourite child, which was grimy.

I’d talk pyramid knowledge with him in between rounds, we’d get grimy.

Sometimes we’d get passionately going toe to toe and the fighters would have to stop the fight and separate us just because our opinions were so similar, then at times so different.

We’d want to kill each other and that was grimy.

The Raptor and I shared lots of bonds together including casual teasing then running away from Monkeys and family issues.

I’d trusted him and felt safe at his dwelling while I’d took the time to get my shit in order.

The Velociraptor was the only one I could trust at this time. The only one on the whole planet.

My sellout momma-Bear gave the Monkeys a list of my most potential friends who might harbour me including their addresses, phones numbers, working security numbers, 3 previous employers, 3 personal references, latest credit checks, mother’s maiden names, criminal background checks, lists of pets and dietary requirements in case anyone on the list was out for dinner, the Monkeys could easily narrow down where based on the menus suited to their diet if there was a special one needed.

Some friends I hadn’t seen for years prior to the Cheetah were harassed concerning my location, as I’d predicted might’ve happened.

Some “friends” and “family” including my momma-Bear tried to collect a reward off my apprehension by getting in touch with the Velociraptor asking him what they’d thought were sneaky questions trying to expose my whereabouts.

He was the only motherfucker who’d maintained integrity and stood firm in the face of fear while protecting his friend out of love while lots of others turned their motherfuckin’ backs.

He knew in his heart the truth about me. He’d seen me deal with aggressive females in the past as I’d dated a few loose cannons in my day.

They’re a dime a dozen really, no offence out there. Most know they have issues and will gladly admit to it if they do.

I told him I’d always remember his gesture and be grateful for it.

If it wasn’t for the Velociraptor and his fierce fortitude while everyone else crumbled and didn’t really remember me in my time of need, I never would’ve been able to go the distance.

I never would’ve been able to get out of The Big City if it wasn’t for him, and I never would’ve been able to see the continent’s country side, and I never would’ve enjoyed laying my eyes on the greatest place that ever existed.
——————————————————————Chapter 30.

I stepped out of the washroom and sent a texted the Raptor letting him know I’d arrived.

I’d left the building and bid farewell to the bus terminal with a salute to service. I never wanted to sit on a fucking bus again.

After taking about 26 paces outside the terminal I immediately stopped at my first moment able to focus.

Captivated in awe again for what felt like several minutes, I was instantaneously marvelled by the surrounding landscape incapsulating the downtown core.

I’d stood smack dab in the middle of park situated directly outside the terminal.

Staring at the 360-degree view of precious mountain Minerals, I’d tried to pause time myself while I salivated at the gloriousness consuming me.

Ancient rocks glistened and smiled at me as I’d circled myself standing in a stationary spot disbelieving what I was absorbing.

Too real to comprehend and the most beautiful moment I’d ever experienced in my life.

I wasn’t expecting Paradise to be so astonishing. I knew it was called Paradise and had obviously seen pictures on postcards but I hadn’t been walking outside this new environment for more than 22 seconds before I’d fell in love.

True love like until death do us part.

I couldn’t believe I’d made it here. It was unreal beyond surreal and it felt so right to be where I’d felt immensely relieved by the welcoming beauty around me.

And yeah, damn I’ll admit it, it’d definitely been a long minute since I’d last hit it.

The image I’m talking about, in my heart where I could never forget it. The spirit saving me through buying this ticket that just prior to having I was really getting ready to quit this, but instead, formed this passion inside asking myself to unlock some compassion.

So drastic. Trying to take back satisfaction, where this bus journey spelled it out for me like a mass closed caption.

I’d felt like all the punks could get at me after now feeling a little made for that. I didn’t want to feel that casket eyes closing  going fade to black.

I’d felt like this was my spot I was taking back so I barked out loud wondering what all the fuckin’ haters were waiving at?

They couldn’t see this terminal I was waiting at. Aching at, and that’s why I did it, because I’m not down to rape females and that’s beyond a motherfuckin’ fact ‘cause…

I didn’t need their blessings now, I didn’t need their invitation. Part of me felt like there was no way to shut me down, or take me off this path I’d taken.

I’d definitely been left out but I’d never let this journey be mistaken, or forgotten, therefore any character against me now could keep their hatred now, all towards themselves where I was never allowed to think out loud and truly feel welcome.

Because it’d truly been a long road and I never really knew how it’d all unfold. I was always trying hard not to sell my soul, my integrity. When the rest wanted to chase me with guns trying to leave this Dog dead on the road.

I didn’t hate ‘em and I didn’t love ‘em. They hated me but I wasn’t judging. I knew it was impossible for me to be above or below them but they kept wanting to disrespect me so then fuck ‘em.

This was my new house I was living in, and I’d just sprayed for Roaches so I knew they weren’t visiting.

I’d felt like a grown ass man watching children while I’d drew some lines around the continent to let them fill them in. The only competition was the fear within but I didn’t care about any her or him.

What did I have to loose when I was here to begin again, drawing lines in the sand this was where I was going to make my imprint again because I had to move on from the fear of this even if, oh yes, I was never welcome.

Oh yes, I was never welcome, but Paradise made me feel welcome. Oh yesssss, yes, yes.

I could see the universal oneness wanted me where I was, if I’d believed in signs I was still learning to trust.

I was exhausted beyond functioning and needed rest, the weight of my bags was dragging me closer to the ground with every moment I’d continue forward.

The Velociraptor worked 5 minutes from the terminal, 10 at a slower pace with me having to carry all my stuff. His dwelling was another 20 minute hike up a city hill after that.

We’d arranged to meet just across the street from the terminal.

(Entering from underground centre stage Donald the Velociraptor)

Strolling from around the block corner, smoking his cancer stick with a lyrically murderous gangster lean to the serious left.

Half-gangster lean from having a shot gun down his pants, half-legit lean because of the stiffness he’d had in his hips from sitting all day operating heavy machinery at his Sheep-shift which caused him to limp.

Donald the rapping Velociraptor always had his custom black sunglasses on, custom black diamond cap facing forwards.

Custom black pants with custom-blacker racing stripes that sagged off his hips, another reason his hips probably hurt from his pants always pinching his hips from them hanging halfway down his legs.

He wore black custom shoes, black custom socks. He chewed black custom chewing tobacco and had a black cat that followed him everywhere but never stepped around him because of his giant talons and all.

I saw the lyrical beast, dropped my bags and ran top speed towards him as if we were having a romantic homecoming in the middle of the street.

72.

I threw my arms around him then lifted him barely off the ground. “Thanks for having me my friend,” I’d said as I’d placed him down gently then kissed his cheek with enthusiasm.

He’d squeezed me back almost crushing me then we stood for a moment while I continued to extend many thanks for his care.

We’d laughed about how fucked up this was and how fucked up the Cheetah was, before making our way to his workplace.

A friend of Donald’s met us there who’d took me back to the Raptor’s dwelling so I could get my first shower in almost 4 days. I took an extra long one and cried.

Then shaved. Then cried more and appreciated the warmth of the water dripping off my head as I’d stood staring at my feet, wondering if I’d made the “right” decision?

The experience was revitalizing and gave me a pleasure I hadn’t felt in what seemed like ages. Comfortable cleanliness with quiet. I knew there was a good chance it wasn’t going to last for long, the quiet I’m referring to.

I scrubbed the stale stench of bus off then got fresh tracks on and relaxed.

The Velociraptor lived a different lifestyle than I was used to. He’d smoked cigs inside his dwelling, I didn’t smoke at all except the beautiful greenery and that was at least by a window.

He’d drank, partied and wrote rhymes obsessively every single day. He’d barely sleep and I thought he might’ve had insomnia from writing so many lyrics.

He’d stay up by candlelight every night organizing the next day’s audiences like a lobbyist who’d had the most obvious of hobbies which was actually eating hearty when he’d go on bloody safari’s.

This was his topic he’d talk about non-stop, reciting raps describing how much he’d loved eating red meat compared to his hate Calamari.

Calamari, Calamari. He’d always be going on about hating Calamari.

I’d tell him I’d never ate the Squid sucker before and it was way out of my element.

Then I’d laugh comically at him because he was wild, built like all 4 elements combined without needing room for any embellishment.

He had a band called My Band, My Band, My Band, My Band, My Band, My Band, My Band, My Band, My Baaaaaannnnnddddd.

(Hey Cheetah get the fuck outta here you’re not in this band. I said scram bitch)

Also known as M Band by the best fans so you didn’t have to say “My Band” so many times.

Donald was the only Dinosaur on the planet so maybe that’s why he’d just like repeating “My Band” so many times? He was a bit of a narcissist like that. He was a bit of a narcissist like that. He was a bit of a narcissist like that. He was a bit of a narcissist like that.

He was also the lead singer of this band who’d had an abundance of females and for some reason crossdressers, who’d flock to him trying to suck his Dinosaur D and hold his front talon hands.

I hadn’t gone out or done anything in society for 2 years plus was feeling very much like an abused Dog.

Donald’s dwelling was a mess and skeletons were everywhere. It looked there was a rave every weekend where vampires would go to feast on party goers then leave the mess which he didn’t clean nor touch anything of for what seemed like years?

I’d felt anxious looking at it but knew it wasn’t my mess.

I eventually went to buy food at a grocery store and when I got back, I saw the condition of the fridge and had to clean it immediately.

I couldn’t put my food in with dead, rotting carcasses growing mold. No hard feelings I’d thought as I’d understood priorities.

I was also in no position to say a peep or meep about sanitation practices within another’s home, since I technically didn’t have a home.

So I just cleaned the fridge like it was my own, same thing I did at Bernard’s.

When the Donald returned from his Sheep-shift he’d opened the fridge door, grabbed a pop, closed the door.

Opened the fridge again as if he’d noticed something out of arrangement, looked puzzled, tilted his head, shrugged his shoulders, squished his eyebrows, then closed the door again.

He let out a Dinosaur call and I wasn’t sure if he’d noticed or if the fridge just looked different and he was sad he didn’t understand where all the old meat went?

I’d took it easy for a few days until the weekend came when the Velociraptor, a few of his friends and I, went out to do a little collective partying.

I’d needed to release the years of pent-up energy that had been weighing me down. Even getting wasted with the Rooster or Fox I’d never felt that complete comfort to truly enjoy myself.

I knew as long as I’d behaved I could enjoy some mingling and excessive bass.

I had every intention to get as fucked up as possible not to try and forget about my Cheetah or Monkey issues but to possibly assess them even deeper or, maybe even discuss them?

73.

Closing time, turn on all the lights because there’s a call for one last drink at the bar. Closing time, every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.

We took this liquid gathering to a female friend’s of the Raptor’s. There the 5 males battle-rapped like it was the Great War of Anytime while the 4 females gossiped in the kitchen.

Then we all danced and sung obnoxiously drinking into the early morning.

One of the females was a very pretty Kangaroo who was crashing at this friend’s place and while we were actin’ fools she kept getting close telling me how she was a boxer in a past life.

The Kangaroo was going on about her boxing skill and how sexist she’d thought it was that females were never “allowed” to fight males.

She was saying how she’d liked to spar with males for fun sometimes but normally when she did, they’d always hold back and that’d make her frustrated.

The males would always act tough but then back out when the round would start, or they’d try to wrestle her and completely ditch the sparing.

The Kangaroo told me with full concentration that if I wanted to go a round, not to hold back. I looked at her with a fuckin’ love for her athletic body but also with thirst for her blood.

She really wanted a male not to hold back boxing with her? She was in luck because I’d been drinking and felt like I could throw a few shots at a female if she’d literally asked for it.

When would anybody get such an opportunity in life? I’d felt very lucky and wondered if she was an angel in disguise here to take some of my pain?

I’d felt an attraction building between us like we were going to fuck very hard but first I had to beat her ass like no character had ever done to her before.

Let me tell you kids, this was a very mature situation as the Kangaroo and her bouncy, cheerful, argumentative state was no stretch of the imagination.

She was very sexy and a very beautiful version of Independent Woman who’d wanted to debate male vs female rights and abilities over jello-shooters then, have an old school boxing match to settle the argument in the playground.

The Kangaroo kept leaping back and forth in my face standing in the living room. Pleasantly jabbing me with an attitude like a fighter would try to intimate their opponent at the pre-bout press conference.

I’d felt a few times she needed to back the fuck up off me so I shoved her back, laughing and pushing her chest above her perfect C-cup breasts as I did, I wanted to touch them so bad.

She liked my shoving her and smiled while getting even closer to me on her return bounds almost kissing me as she’d get right up in my space breathing her warm sensual breath that would intoxicate my senses.

Her energy was all my pleasure.

She just kept talking shit though like I wasn’t going to smash her in the face. Bouncing around, antagonizing me by laughing and poking my chest.

In response I told her if a female wished to engage in hand to hand combat with a male such as myself then I would have no choice but to enter battle with the ferocity of fire that would maintain a path of destruction until everything breathing the same oxygen would be destroyed.

Then we laughed and agreed a better outcome would be just until one of us gave up.

I told the Kangaroo males shouldn’t hold back if there’s a mutual agreement to compete, as long as that’s surely what the female really, really wanted. I’d wondered if we needed to sign a contract?

Her eyes radiated love as if my words rang the ring bell in her mind, Round 1, fight.

Out of respect the Kangaroo put her hands together and bowed her head to me before stepping one foot back into a karate fighting stance.

She’d crouched like a hidden Tiger who was stalking a Crane that was stalking a Goldfish, then she’d raised her elbows while directing the fronts of her palms towards me with her fingertips folded down.

She closed her eyes as if about to collect the most incredible gift she’d ever received.

The Kangaroo smirked, inhaling while holding her breath before letting it out in one giant release of sound as I’d watched and thought, ‘What a great fuckin’ opportunity this was where a female Kangaroo was asking me to knock her the fuck out!’ As I confidently rolled my paws cracking my knuckles.

Facts based on a true story here, I’d always said I’d punch a fuckin’ Lama in the nose if it ever fucked around. Those fuckers spit and I’d always said to any character I’d ever known that if one ever tried that shit on me? Ha, ha, ha, my good Lama friend.

This Kangaroo wasn’t spitting in my face but she was spitting some Bullshit all over the living room floor about wanting to do this.

Kind of intimidating but I didn’t care if she was trained by the creator of Ninja Gaiden itself. That’s an old fighting game for those who don’t know.

I was a starving Dog in this moment licking my chops fantasizing about making ground Roo burgers for post drinking snack out of this beautifully breasted bouncing boxer who’d thought she could handle the heat from my kitchen.

Notice how my fantasy wouldn’t had been a good thing in reality. Was I really going to make her into ground meat? Maybe I would’ve ate her for real but not in a cannibalism type of way.

The Roo didn’t know what I’d been dealing with and was accused of. Never did I ever tell anybody outside the Raptor and his male-friends that evening what I was going through.

I’d stared in her eyes as she’d smiled bouncing back and forth with her dukes up.

Her breasts kept distracting me from the kill point and instead of focusing on the task at hand I’d started to rather ravage her body with kisses, love and squirting orgasms wishing she’d throw herself down to her own willing knees instead of these shenanigans.

Or even that she’d just tell me to stop playin’ and get on my knees for her.

I moved the coffee table with haste as if the war just reached an agreement to commence. We began circling each other like savages with our fists up.

The Kangaroo threw the first jabs hitting me in the chest. I could see she was serious so I returned the favour while she begged for more, verbally assaulting me with reminders of our agreement.

She had quite the audacity, this sweet, sweet vagina.

The Velociraptor came into the room accompanied by the female who’d owned the joint, not to be confused with J, and they separated us from Round 1 with l.a.u.g.h.t.e.r. Ha, ha, ha.

The owner joked as if this was common for the Kangaroo to participate in with males. The Roo did tell me this.

I smiled then whispered in her ear that the war was far from over. She liked that and tried to bite my snout but I pulled back too quick for her. I love when they’re super feisty.

Not long after, the Kangaroo and I made our way into the kitchen, then outback where we stood toe-to-toe breathing down each other throats under the witching hour’s moonlight.

We were not ready to fuck just yet being as it was only her and I in the backyard and this contest had only begun to where we were now ready to erupt on each other making this competition really real as we’d circled once again with dukes up.

Naturally, I couldn’t find it within myself to reign down hurricane magnitude blows of fury and rage upon her sweet innocence and vagina.

Through her liquid courage confidence she’d kept asked for it though but I could only feed her half-body shots to satisfy her competitiveness.

Was that sexist of me, to not give her all she’d asked for? Should I honour her word and give her what she’d came for?

Even in my darkest hours when a female was begging for it I couldn’t pull the trigger.

The Kangaroo and I were honestly just having fun even though she wasn’t joking about enjoying sparring with males.

How far were we going to take this? I could see my jabs were making an impact without putting much drunken effort into them.

74.

After I hit her in the sweet belly meat it took some air from her life and she’d gasped. I hugged her then we decided to call it a Round and keep the peace for the rest of the night.

She was thankful though I gave it to her that way. Sometimes the female wants it very rough and I might attribute that to some sort of past life trauma healing?

Afterwards I was laughing pretty hard inside myself thinking about how safe I must’ve felt to participate in such a scrap with such a feisty Kangaroo.

I’d also felt like it was a very unique gift from the universe being permitted to hit a female.

What symbolism. Truly a once in a life time opportunity and I was glad we’d shared it.

I never got the Kangaroo’s number even though I’d thought about asking for it. What held me back from asking for it? We’d obviously been comfortable and shared a connection.

The owner of the place even asked the Raptor the next day why I didn’t get her number from her?

All I knew was that if it was meant to be it would be.

——————————————————————Chapter 31.

Come Monday I’d applied to some ads for local Sheep-shifts when I’d got offered a position starting the next day at a local shingle slangin’ company.

I’d accepted the position and had to wake up at 4am so I could catch the bus to their headquarters where all the characters would meet at 5:30am before being divided into groups then dispatched for the day to different locations so everyone could be on site for 7.

I’d felt horrendous getting up at that hour even though my body was still programmed to an earlier time-zone. I knew this routine couldn’t last long.

I’d preformed at stupid hours half my working career but I wasn’t a professional shingler and getting up at 4 was serious.

The mind and body should still be resting then, even the farmer is barely up at 4.

As a teen I’d slung shingles for a few days and learned it’s hard motherfuckin’ work making these roofs look so prettay. Then I’d learned I’d rather do something less intense like shooting a basketball or writing a book.

I’d only took the shingling position as a temporary fix to maintain but I surely wasn’t feeling the joy at this ungodly hour on day 1.

I was an excellent working Dog but I wasn’t happy nor social before the light of dawn.

After meeting at headquarters our crew was sent to carry 39 pound panels from a delivery truck parked on the street to the foundation of a building 40-50 paces away, where we’d leave the panels to be hoisted onto the roof.

The panels were awkward shapes of metal, sides thin and sharp as blades each with indifferent grooves, angles and holes cut out of them.

I’d been directed to work with the site supervisor who was not afraid of physical labour and had quickly started doing laps between the truck and foundation carrying triple stacks of panels.

I’d followed his lead and on my first trip to the foundation I was required to hop over a minor ditch that had an unseeable bottom where sewage pipe was exposed.

The hole hadn’t been filled in yet and was technically “unsafe” for any character to be jumping over, but shinglers were savage cowboys and time cost peanuts so after watchin’ boss go first and seein’ he had no problem reachin’ the other side wit’ panels easily in hand, I’d obviously believed I could follow his lead bein’ the company man I was.

This hurdling exercise was only our warm-up event and we had 25 more trips each to get nice and loose for the rest of the labour intense day.

I’d approached to skip over the hole that was shoe size 9.5 times 2 sitting toe to heal, planted my right foot to jump for take off, slipped on the loose edge of the bottomless pit falling toward the opposite edge like a lowering drawbridge.

Bracing my hands for impact, the panel fell directly down the centre of my left hand making one deep cut along the razor’s edge.

I’d immediately assumed I was fired and therefore should’ve remained thankfully positive because I truly didn’t desire this job any more in the dream of my reality.

But! In my fantasy’s reality, I’s more concerned wit’ makin’ boss happy so I’d felt like I’d done big mistake jeopardizing my precious Sheep-shit. Sheep-shieeet, Sheep-shiiiiffffttttt.

I’d took one look at my hand then one look at boss as it was gushin’ blood and I said, “Ain’t nobody got time for dat.”

Impatient or not my body had a different conscious idea to wait a brief moment for gravity to do its natural thing by slowly pulling the skin flap down to expose the bright red muscle inside my hand that was now dripping blood down my arm.

I’d looked at the wound then looked at boss and reckoned I’s fired.

75.

Rule number 1 in Sheep-shifting is: If there ever is an injury within the first few days just count on being motherfuckin’ fired so the rule is; don’t fuck around.

Funny where the mind goes when the body causes an accident, as if my belief was automatically set to: Fear mode and not being worthy. Must’ve been a past life.

I’d sarcastically gave thanks to this life in this moment for placing me on this grand adventure opposed to what I’d thought might’ve been desirable.

My ego was my fantasy and this was my stupid path. This wasn’t looking like it would sustain my goodness.

When the integrity of goodness within a character is gone against, injury, illness, discomfort and even disease will happen over life. It’s an intention thing.

The supervisor-boss became concerned so he’d drove me to emerge. Dropped me of and told me, call him once I was done so I could let him know if I could work that day or the next day.

While I’d understood the need for man-power, that’s all that ever mattered to supervisor-boss, “‘Yo, you got work?”

Same story, any trade. That’s all bosses ever said, “‘Yo, you got work?

Can you work more? ‘Yo, when can you work more? ‘Yo, we need you to work more. Work, work, work. Can you work your life away for us?”

Most donations of time are never enough because there’s always more work.

Once at emerge doc recommended I take a few days off to heal my hand.

I’d received stitches for the first time in my life before being released from their custody. I’d walked outside and had no idea where I was, this time literally.

The supervisor-boss just dropped me off at emerge, he didn’t give me directions on how to get back to the job site or headquarters. He didn’t even give me his phone number.

We drove 45 to get to the job site. Headquarters was 25 from the Velociraptor’s. I’d felt like the job site was north or West, but I had little clue.

I didn’t want to return to the leap of faith to carry more panels with fresh stitches in my hand. I didn’t want to call supervisor-boss to break his little heart for not coming back.

Technically I had a note from emerge excusing me from the rest of the week so I chose to exercise my rights and called headquarters to tell them the situation, they then told me I had to take the water-Fairy from the tiny island I was actually on to downtown Paradise where I could find transportation back to the Raptor’s.

Another fucking bus.

Thankfully the Fairy had a unique scent living near saltwater. She’d also sported a very vibrant resolution resembling a cartoon graphic.

She’d moved faster than the speed of light but because she wore safety reflectors as part of the transportation committee, any onlooker could easily see her taxiing characters too and from the island at her high rate of speed in either day or night.

Plus I was standing on top of a hill so I could literally follow the yellow brick sidewalk all the way down to the water.

This was Tuesday, once at the dwelling I used the rest of the day to casually apply for different positions better suited towards my background.

Being as I’d only took this for responsibility’s sake, I’d started wondering if slicing my hand like a surgeon was a necessary surgery disguised as a virgins blessing?

The cut was so fast there was absolutely no pain minus the stinging on my ego from embarrassment and the stitches now closing the once open wound.

At least I could get paid for the rest of the week because insurance covered time off for injuries suffered on a job site.

I could use the Velociraptor’s computer to find something I’d actually wanted to do instead of this ‘getting up before sunrise’ unhealthiness.

With a white bandage wrapped around my left paw, I’d electronically mailed a few interests then got a call the next day for an interview at a tiny fab shop.

76.

I went to meet the owner, a crafty, intelligent Beaver who was a master builder in his trade of customization.

If a customer could dream something the Beaver could build it out of nature.

All a customer had to do was bring the Beaver some peanuts wrapped in a napkin that had a sketch of a stick figure on it, then the Beaver’d just close his eyes to psychically connect the energy of the stick figure to the customer’s heart so he could actually envision what the customer had in their ultimate desire.

Because sometimes they had a hard time explaining what their ultimate desire was.

He’d of course count the peanuts to make sure there was enough of what mattered most and once satisfied he’d hold his hands out in front of him moving them in a circular motion like a jungliest massaging an invisible crystal ball.

Then finally using the ability of his mind he’d create a 3D hologram right in front of the customer to bring to life whatever was in their heart’s desire.

I’d preformed a test in his shop relating to the mechanics of quantum physics by building a simple 4-sided box out of angled steel that was created from nothing but an intention that started in my heart.

The Beaver watched like a proud father then hired me on the spot.

I’d worked smart not hard by using a fire trick I’d learned a few years prior where I’d accepted the properties of molten lava without being bias towards them.

Through accepting the thoughts about the lava’s natural ways as well as my purest desires based on goodness, I’d understood all elements involved were of the same properties because technically we were all from an original liquid form.

I’d accepted how much I’d loved the beautiful flow and warmth that the liquid lava provided, then I’d froze the motherfuckin’ liquid solid into a box, not by demanding it to but by accepting its form with love.

I needed to give myself permission to be unbiased towards my abilities and the lava’s properties.

The Beaver was impressed at how gently I’d gone through his test. We’d went to his office to talk business and inside he had the number 22 posted everywhere.

It was on posters, pictures and stickers all over everything. He’d wrote 22 on the walls, doors and windows in permanent marker, dry erase and crayon.

He even had a bunch of 22’s carved out of lumber, zip cut out of steel, and molded out of play-doe. He was obsessed and he sure loved building things.

His office was also scattered with building materials such as plastic tubes, steel pipes, wooden logs, wooden sticks, fire wood, a giant pile of wooden dancing shoes…

Planks of wood, sheets of plywood. Scrap wood. Tremendous amounts of sandpaper. Tree stumps. Leaves, pencils, pens and paperwork.

It was hilarious to me because his office was like a warehouse and his shop was like an office. One was a complete mess and the other was completely organized and clean as a whistle.

I’d told him I couldn’t start ‘til the following Monday because of my hand. He told me that’d be okay and invited me to join his team. He then gave me a green and gold uniform that had white pinstripes on it.

The fab shop was less than half a click from the Raptor’s so I’d casually walk to and from my Sheep-shift everyday.

The shift also started at 8am which was much more realistic in comparison to 4.

Was this always destiny to slip and cut my hand? Did this injury happen for a reason to re-route my consciousness to where the incident was always meant to steer me to the here and now?

If I didn’t get the injury I definitely wouldn’t had got the job offer with the Beaver.

He would’ve hired another character because I would’ve stayed tryin’ to be a good worker for my original boss, potentially keeping me trapped in a cycle of desperation and necessity.

Surely our alignment wouldn’t had been the same.

Ever had to do some dirt just to maintain existence? That dirt went against the cleanliness or goodness of self?

That wouldn’t make a character evil, negative or bad if they had to do something dirty against their goodness of self just to maintain existence would it?

I mean I’m sure I would’ve obviously changed positions sooner or later, but it’s much more difficult to find a new position when one’s already draining and time consuming.

Nothing is impossible because potentially we are unstoppable, through evolution, but it sure makes life more difficult and less enjoyable during those transitional phases when change is forced into other experiences.

I could’ve just stayed “happy and thankful” with everything I’d had, and just rested my head instead of looking for something new.

Or I could’ve went straight back to see the supervisor-boss like a good Dog who loved to make boss REAL happy.

Through somewhat of a gentle nudge by the universe I’d chose to follow my heart which obviously desired a better option for my body, and my life.

What were the chances the Beaver’s shop was hiring at that exact time, paying out the exact decent amount of peanuts that would support my exact needed cause while also utilizing my exact and special capabilities to manipulate lava?

It was a very exact alignment.

His business was in perfect readiness to intersect my arrival. Every job he’d completed up to that moment had amounted to him needing me at that moment.

He needed a character and I filled the role like it’d been written for me.

Just like I’d believed in my heart that my timing to leave the Cheetah was always supposed to be at that exact moment it was, so the entirety of the experience could entirely line me up to be here in the now.

Mission up to this point, completed, and that was strictly my belief, I might’ve been naive because part of my Dog was a Crab who was retardedly faithful.

I did feel a trust outside of myself to be where I was. I’m not sure if that was spiritual or my stupidity but I viewed the option from the positive side of the glass.

If there was a destiny to this process, and the Beaver liked how I’d operated, and I’d liked his environment and opportunity presented to me like a gift where we’d both felt an aligned comfortability working beside each other, then I had to call it how I see’s it and figured it was an opportunity brought by purpose more than chance after just crossing the continent.

This being my second job in the previous 2-3 days. That’s a play on the numbers 22 and 23 if you caught on.

They say 23 was the number of the greatest peanut collecting Goat of all time. They, this time being code for the spiritual masters who’d supposedly created letters and numbers.

I’d read their testimonies in a book I’d once found in a public washroom, the dog park I mean because I’m a Dog. My owner used to read it to me before bed.

After a solid week of working I took it upon myself to open a new profile on the same dating site I’d met the Cheetah on.

Fuckin’ spooky eh?

I’d felt like I was ready to reach out and start meeting up with the females of Paradise.

I’d only been in the area a short time but I’d seen so many beauties walking around. When I say so many I mean soooooo many beautiful females my unneutered testosterone was running rampant inside my body.

The given name of Paradise was no shortcoming towards the description of the land nor did it do justice to every glimpse of the surrounding landscape that was beyond the ability of any bad or good witch’s to take a character’s breath away.

It seemed as though allllllll the finest females on the planet had flocked to Paradise as if they were worldly Geese who’d collectively migrated to this more-northwestern destiny.

Females where everywhere and I’d loved their aura so much. I just couldn’t keep my eyes from noticing their captivating and inherent beauty, or my tongue from falling out of my mouth when I’d become so distracted by them.

Then I’d get dry mouth and have smack my tongue around on the insides of my chops remembering not to stare.

Even The Big City didn’t have such a display of fantastic females and it was 33 times the size of Paradise where females must’ve out numbered males by at least 12:1.

Fantasy and temptation was at an all time arousing level within me pondering what each female might’ve been about? Or looked like in her underwear? Or smelled like in her beautiful b-hole?

I’d felt confident enough to try and get back on my pre-Cheetah footing after having some balancing rebounds with the Cow, Rooster, Fox and Kangaroo.

Who were all experiences I’d had courtesy of moments I’d seized in time where perhaps prior to the Cheetah I might not’ve been so adventurous to appreciate the opportunities.

I definitely wouldn’t had been in those situations I’d met those characters in previous to the Cheetah, nor would I had been in them without meeting her.

God bless her for my experiences because through them I’d had some new experiences where in turn I’d released some energy from old experiences so I could be somewhat able to build up my mentally to feel fit enough to take on the enjoyment of a new potential relationship.

Or at least meet some characters with the intention to experience some chatting and casual gatherings, and no I don’t mean sex, I literally mean talking.

Just because I was being accused of doing some heinous shit to a female, where the accusations forced me to leave everything I’d ever known behind, I’d still craved the sensual energy most females naturally gave.

I’d also craved giving my gentleness to them as it’d felt like too long since I’d been able to hold a female of trust for a trustworthy duration of time.

When her touch would mix with mine to intertwine and combine under the purest intentions, I’d always be able to watch our masculine and feminine energy flow together as one soft, fluorescent glow conjoining with one denser but elastic blossom that connected a spark to a sincere moment of satisfaction.

Our body’s would demonstrate that not only through sexual acts but all meaningful gestures of love if we could share true passion even before being in deep commitment.

I’d felt this way before, there was a time I’d vaguely remembered and I’d wanted to get back there. Was that too much for a male to ask?

On the dating site I’d filtered out the non-believers by asking who’d believed an Alien invasion was inevitable where an army would come to steal this planet?

I’d got a few numbers, I’d only texted some of the few.

I ended up meeting a female the Friday before I’d started with the Beaver but she gave me the sketchy vibe where I’d just had this feeling I couldn’t shake, “something wasn’t right”.

I was still stuck on stupid giving her benefits of doubt but the final clue made it evident when she’d got in her car after our lunch was over and it wouldn’t start. Hmmm.

I had to push it while she rolled it in reverse and kick-started it.

She told me she was a Vet and she told me her supposed career path before The Car Incident.

When I was heaving and thrusting hoping she’d just get the fuck out of there, I was thinkin’ to myself, ‘why I got this feelin’ ain’t no vet push-startin’ nofin’?’

They feed peanuts to Animals at the zoos, then they just pocket some after feeding time. This girl was lying somewhere here and I didn’t need any more exaggerators in my life.

During my first week at the fab shop, I’d met a second female for a casual walk after work one day.

It was the classic, ‘not what you looked like online’ situation. The character didn’t match their story. ‘No harm here’ I’d thought as we could all move forward with no harsh feelings.

On the real, I was more wondering if any one could just be fucking honest out there?

I didn’t let it get me down though seriously,  I had a Cheetah still rattling her cage in my mind and I just felt like I was counting dimes. For every dozen I could collect I could exchange those in to the peanut lender for 6 peanuts.

I kept faith by searching through the female’s baggage while finishing my first week at the Beaver’s.

I’d enjoyed what I was doing even though I’d had an ever-looming feeling that a Monkey could come bursting on the scene at any moment, “Freeze motherfucker!!!”

I did find a new best friend in the form of a knife to keep by my side like a true SureThing who’d truly get me out of trouble before anything actually got started, and sadly my bff did help me feel safe living with this situation going on around me.

77.

On a more positive detail I was alive and Paradise had me feeling interested to continue living because the nature and abundance of females was truly exquisite.

I’d felt like I was there for a reason and felt called to a purpose unknowingly unfolding.

Despite any fear or mental discomfort there was no denying I’d felt an impression of comfort. As if I was needing to go through these paces.

I’d remembered as a Pup I used to draw the Paradise flag in my dreams. I didn’t even remember those dreams until that moment walking back to the Donald’s on Friday evening just before getting wasted to further forget my aspirations and unobtainable desires.

The Velociraptor, his typical Friday night crowd and I, set out to drown our sorrows in a fiesta of drugs and alcohol.

Long-story short, we drank and did ecstasy all night which lead into Saturday morning, leaving me so mentally scattered come Monday, I’d called in sick.

I’d become so depressed from the drugs, alcohol, new living situation, “home” sickness and Cheetah/Monkey thing I ended up calling in sick on the Tuesday too.

Wednesday came and I woke up saying  fuck my life for the rest of the week so I called the Beaver and told him I’d come down with an illness. Technically my brain was not well.

“For some reason” the Beaver understood and told me not to feel pressured coming in for the rest of the week.

He told me to take my time and get better so he could use my services for the busy summer approaching. Hmmmm.

He really surprised me with being so generous and compassionate by allowing me to take time to return. Hmmmm.

I was so depressed really thinking I was ready to say fuck it all.

It’d meant a lot to hear his care when I was feeling so down even if the level within myself was partially self-inflicted.

My self-infliction was partially influenced by my desire to escape something I’d felt terrified of and not completely responsible for.

Technically I tried to walk away from the Cheetah many times. Not answer her calls. Not answer her requests, not think it was a good idea to move in with her.

Because of the Beaver’s kindness I’d felt I could trust him and working at his shop, so I’d ended up staying there for the next few months.

By Friday of my sick week I was feeling much better physically and mentally.

My system had emptied the radicals I’d consumed and I’d felt more comfortable flirting online once again, sorting through opinions of who’d believed professional competitions were fixed or not?

I’d received a tender message from a sweet Ladybug claiming she’d thought I’d resembled a rare breed of Husky.

In response I’d asked her a trick question wondering who’d she’d thought god was? One of those rhetorical questions.

She’d spun my head like a top giving me a trick answer in her response by writing back with confidence and without delay, “I am God.”

What!

Hahahahahahahahahaha. Who the fuck is this chick?

The Ladybug’s words rung through my body’s temple like the gong that’s been going off to start every chapter.

A bit distorted but also a symbol symbolizing a profound truth represented by the crashing of a cymbal.

I’d never read anything like her words in my evolutionary history, except in one past life when I’d read scripture from the Golden Tablets that were secretly located at the End Of The Rainbow which by this time had actually been situated under water in the middle of the ocean’s sea for the past 777 years, times 77.

Reading the Ladybug’s words was a pivotal moment in my journey because she’d sublimely reminded me I’d lost my map of where the End Of The Rainbow was located under water, which I’d actually still didn’t realize prior to that moment, I was on a mission to find.

You see, my life’s journey was to travel to this “End Of The Rainbow” to grab these “Golden Tablets” that were lost 444,000 leagues under the sea’s ocean but I’d honestly forgot the memo a while back reminding me of my duty, which was again drawn conveniently on a napkin.

Once I’d lost my napkin I’d forgot about my duty being a silly Dog.

On that napkin with the memo I’d also had a map to the End Of The Rainbow with the Tablets specific coordinates on the backside.

This was all on napkin because I, as god, didn’t have paper in the spirit realm when I’d agreed to go on this mission of locating the Golden Tablets at the End Of The Rainbow, because nothing was material over there so it was impossible to write anything down.

The second I’d incarnated into this Dog suit, I’d quickly and blindly scribbled down my duty along with a map to the End Of The Rainbow and Tablet’s coordinates.

I’d used a napkin near the bedside at the vet because that’s all that was close when I’d shot out the pussy.

Once breathing air I’d had a premonition in that moment where I’d knew I’d eventually forget how to get to these motherfuckin’ Tablets being as I’d needed weed at all times as part of my deal with god to come to this planet and go on this god damn mission.

So because of smoking weed like a chronic I’d kept this napkin, until just like my sunglasses, I’d lost it despite god telling me to keep it safe. I’d used the excuse with myself that sometimes I’d forget things from smoking so much herb.

Forgetfulness was a tiny side effect from smoking quality medicine.

I had a good memory as a Dog and would always remember lots of details after the moments went by but inside them, I’d always forget minor things like putting an object down then forgetting where I’d put it before I’d even stand up straight.

This could be common even if not elevated  by Mary Jane let’s be real.

I’d actually never loose my keys because they have a distinct sound I can hear in my mind so I’d just shake them telepathically if I’d ever loose them, and then I’d hear their location.

I also have a hook by my door for when I walk in my home.

This loosing shit wasn’t common to me although commonly I’d leave my sunglasses on my head before letting myself out, then I’d get distracted by chasing my tail after looking for them for hours eventually giving up thinking they were lost.

The Golden Tablet map was truly lost and that happened well before I’d met the Cheetah, on a day I was bushwhacking unknowingly making my way to her.

I was far off the beaten path and very lost so I’d stopped to puff some mother plant and connect to the planet so she could help me find my way.

The intention in my heart was so strong to listen without bias to whichever direction I’d needed to go, a metaphor for life, so I’d had the thought to check the map BEFORE smoking, which was buried deep inside my wood barrel Dog collar around my neck.

The barrel was provided to me at birth by the vet for my safety and the safety of those ever walking or hiking around me. I could always go help whenever needed, if and when needed.

I’d kept some personal belongings in my wooden barrel including my map from god of where the Tablets location at the End Of The Rainbow were, and of course my lip chap. Something I’d never leave home without.

I’d checked the map standing in shoulder thick, heavy bush that day before lighting my…J. Understood my bearings.

Understood the path to take. Smoked my s.p.l.i.f.f. focused understanding my way, then marched onward with my trek.

Completely leaving my map on top of the pussywillow cattails I’d left it on while excitedly sparking and finishing my dube.

Naturally forgetfully walking away blazing a trail for the next character to come through.

The Ladybug’s godessness reminded me of my journey and that I’d lost my god damn map.

I’d checked my wooden barrel after getting out of the bush that day after having a moment of realization upon exiting the forest that maybe something’s been forgotten? But since then I’d forgot I’d even forgot it.

My mission wasn’t designed in this consciousness so I really had no clue. I’d barely remembered from a Pup that I had some sort of mission to go on, and that I had to remember, but really I just wanted to bang on some drums and play all fuckin’ day.

The Ladybug and I did the online thing. We’d became familiar with each other. We’d realized we have a lot in common concerning our ideals of god.

We’d met up and in the moment our eyes connected, the Ladybug instantaneously said she’d knew I was “the one” she’d been searching for.

(Enter from the ceiling stage floating down in rose peddles and a light mist only made of the cleanest, crystallized H2O drops ever. The precious Ladybug)

Her smile was blinding white light, she had dark, almost black hair but the sun tinged it a bit brown. She’d wore it in a bun and also wore a red, fitted summertime dress.

She was sleek and curvy with 4 wings tucked behind her back. Her smile was enhanced by her matching, red lipstick that screamed beauty from ear to ear. My first thoughts were, ‘Holy fuck she has a beautiful smile and her boobs are huge!’

She actually hates when I say that but the Ladybug’s breasts were lusciously bulging out of her almost too small of a red dress that was barely synching her juicy body.

She’d approached me looking ready for a meal, I could see heart emojis fluttering off her torso but I was so distracted by her incredible breasts aggressively rumbling towards me, I couldn’t help be hypnotized by their illustrious texture.

“Oh my god just fucking slap me with them!” I’d wanted to say. She was too smiley for foreplay and was approaching staring me down with starvation.

Her breasts intimidated me for a moment but I’d broke the mind trap quickly and looked her in the face to appreciate her smile that was so wide and bright.

This Ladybug was very excited and enthusiastic to see me. I was more hesitant but also very attracted to not only her body but saturating energy.

We’d hugged and her luscious boobs mashed against my body. She’d held my hand and was eager to start communicating by being super chatty and inquisitive.

I wasn’t sure if I could handle her energy, it  was a bit intense and made me feel skeptical and nervous as to why she was being so nice.

Her breasts definitely weren’t fake, which was a good thing because I’d never got the point of plastic balloons inside the body, as our internet conversation about god continued.

I still had the cut on my hand from my panelling accident, which was pathetically covered with a bandage too small for the injury.

It had healed well but not fully, and my hand was sweating so the tape on the bandage wouldn’t hold, the one side kept coming off, flapping in the wind as we’d strolled down a water walkway.

The Ladybug never seemed to judge.

She’d actually wanted to hold my injured hand and care for my discomfort within the first few moments of coming in contact.

We’d walked and discussed many topics.

She’d tried to hurry me into opening up about why I’d came to Paradise. I told her I’d reveal that in time because it wasn’t really first date conversation.

I’d seen and felt an honest and joyous expression of Rabbits and Chipmunks playing on grassy habitations inside her eyeballs.

She was harmless although her breasts could’ve poked a fucking eye out. She had a deep-child inside her that was playful and loving. Non-judgmental, caring and affectionate.

She was sensual and carried herself strong with a very straight and tall posture illuminated by pride.

She was forward, able to communicate and seemed to show legitimate interest in who I was opposed to the ‘ol interview type questions of, ‘you know, so tell me about yourself?’

Let me tell you about myself…

The Ladybug and I walked and talked. We’d sat upon our own grassy habitat within a park within the middle of Paradise’s busyness section.

It was afternoon and the sun was belting rays into the endless blue sky. We’d enjoyed a tasty beverage and puff as we’d continued meaningful discussions.

78.

I’d asked her the almighty question she’d begged me to ask her since we’d started talking, so I’d figured now was the best opportunity to let her have it since we were gelling so well and getting a good day time buzz going.

I’d also knew she’d secretly been yearning to be asked this inquiry her entire life. Since a tiny girl similar to all females who’d been prepared by their moms to expect from a male, this magical question at one time in life or another.

Brace yourselves for impact. “So, sweet lady of the Ladybugs. Would you say, my sweet, sweets of the sweet lady meats, that you’d consider yourself to be, oh, I don’t know, fuckin’ crazy?”

I was ready to run.

The Ladybug barely flinched then laughed extremely harder in my face than I’d laughed at her original response to my god question, then saying after becoming very serious, “No.”

She didn’t laugh or flick her hair like a bimbo. She didn’t even break eye contact or blink. She’d just looked at me like I was crazy for asking her that.

I’d ignored her moment of wondering about me then we’d both remained silent for a moment neither of us speaking a word.

If either of us knew what we were getting ourselves into at that moment. We were connecting though, it was natural and truly we were feeling each other.

Neither of us knew the other but we’d both felt since meeting there was something auspicious going on, which we’d acknowledged in the moment.

We just couldn’t put our fingers on it, there was some sort of “magic in the air” that we could smell brewing. We had no idea the extent of what we were talking about or what that feeling actually meant.

Was this a past life connection and did we create this experience as spirits before we’d incarnated? Why’d we feel so familiar to an almost eerie extent of comfort?

The Ladybug and I rode the wave of getting to know each other in this flesh. Walking, holding hands and simply talking.

Allllll the way back to her cocoon where we’d made passionate love like Animals on her living room sofa.

Even more truthfully our love wasn’t displayed in its finest form during our first experience.

Our excitement made it more of a face down, ass up, raw Dog was the only way I was able to fuck this girl, type of session.

Although it was beyond just her ass in my face serving it to me endlessly as if she was serving me lunch.

We’d also enjoyed the presence of caressingly touching each other which we’d both seemingly missed out on in this and perhaps our previous lives?

We had so much to get caught up on and didn’t know the half.
——————————————————————
Chapter 32.

After my daily Sheep-shift would end I’d go hangout at the Ladybug’s cocoon since she’d asked me to keep spending the night shortly after we’d met.

I’d spent 6 days at work, 6 evenings with the Ladybug then 6 nights huddled with her in her cocoon.

On the 7th night of the planet’s rotation I’d left her place after dark to return to the Raptor’s so I could recycle some clothes and sleep on my own air-mattress for convenience’s sake, when by the time I’d arrived at the dwelling I’d already got a text from the LadyB asking me to return to nestle in her slumber.

It was kind of late so I’d kindly declined but  casually accepted her offer to return on the 8th evening after my shift was over to complete the cycle of infinity, and when I did I’d never looked back.

I’d never gone back to the Raptor’s minus one occasion when I’d gone to collect my minimal belongings.

The lovely LadyB didn’t want me to leave her side and she’d told me this once when I’d got there that day that sealed the phase in the heavens.

Shortly in the coming weekends we’d each participated in a few doses of ecstasy that would quickly help our progression become aware of each other’s trauma.

During our second two day period of work-free time together, and on our first trip of getting on the Ecstasy Express to head over to the Land of Love for a night out, I’d told the sweetest sweet pea-sized Ladybug all of my dirty secrets and details involving my ongoing Cheetah and Monkey issues.

Again, she’d looked at me as if I had some sort of mental disorder then immediately responded in her own authority that we’d handle this together.

Let me take a moment and talk without boundaries about this Exstacy Express we’d took over to the Land Of Love. This tiny, little confident red and black polka dotted Bug and I.

This trip was brought to you by us taking a pill that was possibly red or blue and definitely produced by the scientific labs of satan itself, to specifically waste our lives down deep, dark, desperate and distasteful depths of nothingness, where in this filth of drug use our experiences of previous traumas would be communication about, assessed in a realistic manner, then potentially solved as well as maybe made humour or love over.

Let’s get into it. I’ll use the abbreviation BTD when discussing “both these drugs” in reference to ecstasy and mdma. Two similar tools for potentially healing trauma.

Here we go, big topic.

79.

BTD’s can be used to help conscious or unconscious pain caused by traumatic experiences evolve into peaceful and compassionate emotions.

The dope can promote a dope character to open up to conversation about traumatic experiences that might’ve been buried in fear, or ignored through ignorance and attemptingly discarded as if the experience never happened.

It’s hard to acknowledge trauma, sometimes we just want to move on already, but what happens to that traumatic energy?

Does moving on mean the energy captured in the experience is just left behind because thought becomes positive and the experience is simply not further acknowledged?

Like sweeping something under a rug? Will a mess under the rug not build up if that habit continues?

The mess wouldn’t remain right, because thinking positive or pretending the mess was never there makes it nonexistent?

Is it fair to say the mess would definitely still be in the home? The body’s temple?

As if just deciding to move on or thinking hard enough beyond the trauma can magically make those cells in the body that experienced emotion absolutely turn to rain and wash their pain away to be forgotten?

Walking such a narrow path between resentfully smoking eyes and desires in the skies where a character can barely tell the difference between darkness and light can be trying when all they want is light.

They want to have faith that they’re seen by the truest and most unseen because when there’s something wrong it’s hard to believe life will prevail. So, magic will take that by belief right?

That’s our faith, that it won’t rain all the time because imagine there wasn’t anything more to believe in besides the pounding feet on the pavement in the streets below where a window breaks and a woman says she’d fell.

We wish the sky wouldn’t fall forever.

Imagine assessing trauma had a different image of complaining?

The hypothetical answer reminds me of Garbage Town where complaining was considered to be anything outside complimenting the weather, even if it was fuckin’ grey all the time. Don’t complain.

The memory of trauma can make tears fall forever, or if not tears maybe instead a brick wall to be built around the wound causing those fears in the heart?

In the soul?

Hard, rigid, closedness deaf to the spirit asking for faith in the purpose.

The night might seem long and lost but the sky of tears won’t fall forever within a changing reflection.

Like the memory of a nightmare that never changes, or a nightmare that replays itself unchanging.

See what will be unseen.

Back to BTD’s being used to heal trauma through communication because of their ability to crack open the heart’s centre when elevated to this other level of consciousness.

That’s all we’re talking about here is a different level of consciousness or awareness where the Land of Love is a destination within the literal breaking open of the loving energy surrounding the heart’s core.

Space ship, up, up and away! Blast off. Purple Heart emoji. Aweeee, sweet neglected heart.

When the core of the heart is open to a new level of consciousness, the conscious heart becomes aware of the spiritual evolution as a whole.

We could call this spirit. The driver. God. Astrology. Astronomy. Heaven. Hell.

The heart and spiritual awareness are conscious of this connection through the heart and once this is known in the mind there’s no turning back from ignoring the truth.

This is the Land of Love without BTD’s where there are no rules of bondage around the heart.

No fears or bias. No ropes, chains or ball-gags even though I know some of you might be disappointed by that. Most importantly there’s no room for judgement by the self.

Comprehending the heart’s connection to the conscious, spiritual process opens up the power of making it impossible to unnecessarily judge the self.

Judgement becomes mathematically impossible because the process of trauma becomes understood.

This liberty leaves deeper space for understanding the purpose behind the trauma in this and maybe other lifetime experiences.

BTD’s help the despicable user heal these traumatic emotions if they have courage to reflect on the already replaying experiences in their heart.

When looking straight into the emotion that’s trapped or being refused to let go of, the honest perspective on BTD’s can extend grace to view the experiences in a new light. A new illumination from dark to light.

Cleaning under the rug for a cleaner perspective of the dark and hidden emotions. That dirt hiding in the shadow?

The user sees the mess then understands why they’ve let it get to the condition it has, as the entirety of trauma becomes related to life.

The light’s now turned on and all the bugs of emotion can be seen, faced, assessed, then solutionized. How is the user going to clean up this mess?

The realization is made without bias or fear truly honouring the energies in motion as simple emotions that are reasonable and originally part of a previous experience.

The user comprehends their truth of their experience beyond their veil of deceit.

Which they can see as only pain, something real but purposeful for evolution, like hunger nauseousness in the dark loneliness that can sometimes be too overwhelming to even get up and assess.

Regarding the desire of positivity to be truly positive, is not the notion of sweeping experiences aside or simply moving beyond them creating more mess instead of reliving trauma and cleaning the mess through honest and happy eyes and heart?

How and why do you think I’ve put this tale together?

This is my example of healing trauma and no, I didn’t drop Molly before writing any of this although I might’ve found a few wild mushrooms I’d taken earlier in the day when establishing the idea for an Animal community.

It’s fun right? Trust me I haven’t had the most fun writing or telling this but it’s been about healing as I’d mentioned at the start.

Sometimes feelings of trauma can come out of nowhere. Memories with no conscious memory can be felt from within but accompanied by no experience.

Any character afraid of heights? Clowns? Spiders?

What about a fear of commitment? Orgasms? Joy? Feeling attractive? What about eating food? How about perhaps the worst fear of all, self-expression?

Where would these fears come from if there wasn’t a conscious experience to initiate them?

Is it possible that we all hypothetically have a spirit that is the driver of our body, and our unexplained fears were of that spirit?

It was the spirit’s fault, that fucker. Keeps bringing back its shit and making me deal with it. Haha, as if there was any separation?

Would that mean the spirit’s issues would be my issues? My progressive experiences of evolving through consciousness trapped within? Oh my fucking god.

Here we go around in circles with trauma in life of living lives trapped by emotion from within. Who’s seriously going to clean this mess and do the work it takes?

Not fuckin’ me ‘yo, I’m goin’ to the beach.

I’ll give you my serious opinion on who. The motherfucking god damn self.

I’m only asking these questions and preforming what seems like logical mathematical equations here.

How could we understand what we’d need to heal if we didn’t have a conscious memory from this life?

I’m just terrified of spiders, or of true love and can’t explain why. How would I fix that, if I wanted to, fall in love or handle a Spider until I vomit out the fear?

Could I locate this buried memory if it did exist?

Perhaps these memories are of tragic death where there was no opportunity to live beyond the experience in order to clean the painful anguish?

Just hypothetical, but where would that energy go if there was such emotion in the motions of life?

Characters get into car crashes and die all the time.

Over history I’m sure a few have been thrown off a cliff to be sent plummeting to the end of their life down the bottomless pit.

Is that character dealing with their emotions on the way down?

Talking about their feelings trying to feel better before impact? Maybe they know their role and are strictly remaining positive thinking about how life was about a dream, and they’re probably feeling extremely thankful for their opportunity to be alive and thankful, before. Splat.

Nope, no trauma there.

So, if there’s a spirit is that energy carried over?

Did an asexual character get raped to death in a past life? Or maybe their trauma was less intense and they just had their heartbroken by a long time lover?

Never had sex again because of that drawn out tragedy.

Maybe they were a rapist in a previous life and felt so ashamed back then that they’d carried out that trauma they put onto another into this existence, as a karmic balance where now they don’t even have sex?

Imagine that, but who’d really know and how could we find out either way? At least know one way or another if past lives are true or not? How?

Psychics will talk about past lives but not every character trusts their ability.

I can also say every character has a story and behind those stories are thoughts, experiences, fears and desires that can be unexplainable.

And of those unexplainable energies, many reasons behind emotions within those energies can be explained, with proper assessment and work.

BTD’s can be used to assess nightmarish memories that lag in the mind as living dreams from this life or potentially previous ones, if reincarnation would be true?

That’s the true potential healing power of BTD’s where it’s been scientifically proven they have the ability to rewire brain cells that have severed causing depression.

Truly connecting to heal old wounds.

BTD’s are not always intended to get “fucked up” on because the experience before, during and after can truly be mental effort because it does take effort to clean doesn’t it?

Imagine a hoarders mess? Positive vibes only? Refusing to see anything other than their ideal which can be unhealthy and destructive to the self and those around the positive hoarder.

I love getting high and cleaning. I always do such a thorough job. The “high” from BTD’s is not necessarily about cleaning the house or partying to trance house music if there’s an actual mess or trauma that needs tidying.

Tidying requires work and work can include everything we’ve discussed and then some, but the bottom line here is that feeling emotion can be very intimidating and potentially trying at times, torturous or liberating.

Good or evil, negative or positive, dark or light, black or white, all characters have emotions based off experiences and sometimes those experiences stay with the character throughout their life or potentially many lives if such a thing was true?

As if carrying luggage through the ever revolving security turnstile of birth then death then birth then death never, ever ends.

How much does every character love life in positivity now thinking they’re here on this planet until every room in their soul’s  house is clean?

Some might consider that hell. The frustrating sound of gnashing of teeth? Aw, fuckin’ god damn frustrating is right.

Finally, work on BTD’s can include role playing for fun or the purpose of communicating.

Sexual-exploration, dancing, signing, playing instruments, meditation and nature tours among anything else fit for the eye of the beholder are on the menu.

This can be used to open the true heart and heal social anxieties which was one reason I’d started doing BTD’s in my day.

They’d helped me evolve past my trapping tendencies of being over analytical, hypocritical and even unequivocally judgmental towards myself by assisting me in my openness and comfort within this  god damn body I’m stuck in around others.

BTD’s helped my introvert become more extroverted which was something I’d wanted for own goodness in life. Not for any other character’s sake. Don’t get that twisted.

When elevated I’d recognized my heart and spirit shared the same truth through understanding my personal processes of emotional discomfort, then I’d continued to understand how every experience seemed to be for my greater good.

Under the influence of BTD’s I could easily see how I was supposed to go through every experience I’d gone through to become who I was.

BTD’s helped me see my experiences through empathic eyes. Granting myself grace.

80.

Dark became light, light became safety. Safety became communication and expression which in response created compassion, honesty, love and solutions within the self.

That’s where the label of “drug abuser” can be confused.

It’s not so much about the abuse of a drug as much as it’s about not knowing how to deal with the emotion that the drug raises when elevated.

Abuse happens when the intention is wrong. Some have so much wrong done to them that drugs help as a coping mechanism, then the drug becomes dependant on compared to being a working tool.

If a character uses drugs to unravel their experiences and dissect emotions then that’s responsible drug use in my opinion.

Crack kills a motherfucker and I wouldn’t suggest meth but some substances can actually assist in understanding a character’s process. The catch is the character has to be open.

If you’d thought there’s been horror in this tale please prepare yourself because my next words might shatter some.

Necessarily drinking coffee, booze, being a happy slave at Sheep-shifts, having sex, not having sex. Masturbating, intentionally not masturbating, eating food or religiously not eating food.

Controlling others, trolling others, popping prescription pills, watching sports or redundant shows, gambling and creating problems can entirely be addicting actions. The list is endless really.

Some have nothing better to do than create trauma or as some say, drama, which can be very addictive.

Some can’t go a day without coffee, or half day for that matter.

Don’t make a character leave home without coffee these days. Ever see a meth addict loose their pipe right at the moment they’re about to get high?

How about a character who need a glass of wine to “take the edge off”? That’s an edge of being alive or working so diligently, right? And this is a nightly necessity is it?

That difficult emotion to deal with is from being too busy and having too much positivity isn’t it?

I can’t even mention the whole sugar, oil, opium or plastics in the food things as I’d be here for a fucking month.

Crackheads smoke crack during the day, maybe for many days before needing a helping dose of heroin to assist in their come down.

Just like the airplanes and jet streams, what’s injected above must fall below. Fall below, fall down. Look out below. Tomato, tomatoe.

An addict always finds a way to justify their behaviour regardless if they’d had trauma or not let’s not be picky.

The Ladybug and I were intending to get high but with an intention of opening our hearts to each other for the purpose of sharing and maybe healing.

This was how I’d explained all the hideous shit happening to me without feeling ashamed, angry, aggravated, disgusted, damaged, disrespected, desperate, dirty, depressed, degraded, embarrassed, frustrated, fearful, helpless, homesick, hopeless, judged, lonely, objectified, petrified, sad, terrified or even tearful.

I’d gone over lengthy details quickly but thoroughly. What I’d dealt with was dark, disgraceful and demented coincidentally the same description as the Cheetah’s fur coat.

Full disclosure was the only efficient manner of sharing every detail because aware of it or not the clock was ticking to have this situation dealt with.

Dropping the red or blue pill helped me enter memories of pain I’d stashed away and didn’t even fully remember.

81.

The truth was so much, it was impossible to cover in one night.

It would’ve taken me ten times longer to discuss everything if we were sober, not to mention the feelings I’d explored during our trip probably wouldn’t had been acknowledged if the wasteful drugs weren’t taken.

The Ladybug and I did the same thing a few weekends in a row, continuing discussion about situations and solutions.

She was the sweetest pea-sized Bug ever and I just wanted to squish her out of love. Instead I’d started calling her the Sweetest Pea that I’d never want to step on.

This female was turning out to be the female who every male would dream about when they’d picture a solid female by their side.

She was saying all the right things and touching all the right spots sexually and comfort wise. Physically and emotionally, realistically and subliminally.

I could honestly speak my mind with her, even at times talking about bitterness, quashing any positive vibe inside her tiny cocoon.

I was frustrated in life and the Sweetest Pea gave me attention I’d needed to feel heard, respected, cared for, but most importantly, believed in.

The Ladybug was exactly who I’d needed her to be when I was near death. She’d given me strength by assuring me we’d deal with this together.

In my mind I was skeptical and even told her “no thanks” many times. That I was “okay” and “this was something I had to deal with on my own.”

She’d insisted on helping me though and continued to flutter around my ear buzzing  genuine sounds of care.

It’d been so long since I’d been offered support without asking or begging for it, and through her intentions she’d helped me gain a hint of relief that slightly repaired my heart, which I was very thankful for.

Our conversations didn’t heal me like a miracle cure, I’d just felt less tense having understanding and the offer of help.

I’d continued to attend my weekly Sheep-shift at the Beaver’s while trying to remain calm and assess my next steps.

The Ladybug was coincidentally going on a vacation of her own in the short time to come, so I’d stayed at her cocoon and fed her 3-legged, diabetic, Siam Meezer. Relaxed, enjoyed freedom and put my feet up.

During this downtime I’d received a call from every character’s favourite blocked number, it was Chimpanzee The 1st.

I was a little surprised it took the motherfucker so long.

I hadn’t changed my number anticipating it might’ve not mattered being so far away. That might’ve avoided this.

I obviously didn’t answer but Chimp the 1st was kind enough to leave me a message stating with his voice of authority that my list of accusations had been upped from 2 to 5.

The joy of him to share this where I was truly thankful for the update.

When the Cheetah originally went to the Monkeys she’d returned multiple times to make numerous statements that ultimately amounted in two accusations.

A1 for accusation number 1, was when I’d supposedly jumped on the Cheetah’s back and rode her like a cowboy until she’d fell to the ground skidding her knee on the way down remember.

Next as A2 conveniently alleged, I’d timely sat on top of her balding stomach in that moment after she’d allegedly been stopped, dropped and rolled over by me, purportedly latching onto her head with lockjaw.

That’s the supposed moment and only supposed moment I’d said something sick to the Cheetah simply sounding like, “You silly Cheetah. You need characters like me to point your fucking finger at and say ‘there goes the bad guy.’

You just know how to hide Cheetah. You, know how to lie. You’re not good. Me, I don’t have that problem. Me, I always tell the truth, even when I lie, so just fucking say I fucking said I fucking destroy you.

In your fucking dreams maybe, and in your nightmares really, because if I fucking die over leaving you, silly Cheetah, then as a ghost I become I’ll haunt you like the evil fuckin’ spirit you are inside.”

I really said that last part in the reality of this story but I’d got off her in my imagination and simply walked away as originally intended many moons prior.  That all never happened.

Chimpanzee The 1st claimed this all happened in a bowling alley parking lot the final night I’d seen the Cheetah when he’d knew the final night I’d seen the raggedy, mangled Cat was the multiple-motel night when the Monkeys preformed a welfare check on me with the Cheetah in the lobby.

He was the supervisor that night laughing watching cartoons in his car! I’d seen him through the window when I had a moment of thinking about jumping out the 8th story between hanging up with concierge and the intrusive knock seconds later.

Chimpanzee The 1st explained the original allegations when we’d spoke on the train that day in The Big City.

His message was now alluding to 3 new allegations brought forth by him and the Cheetah, equating me to a subtotal of 5.

Cover your ears if you’re squeamish but trust the worst is still to come.

A3 was professed that on one occasion I’d almost broke the Cheetah’s baby back ribs by side-kicking her in the stomach.

She’d claimed it was a random event when  she was casually walking through her lair.

I’d supposedly leapt into the air from behind the couch, floating down beside her using mental alchemy to support my anti-gravity.

Touching ground sideways and parallel to the Cheetah’s stance, I was accused of pulling my right leg back slowly like arming a catapult, then releasing its full capacity to unload on the Cheetah ninja-style.

Bladdow!

It was written that I’d T-boned the Cheetah with firm boot sending her straight across the room where further I’d allegedly kicked her so hard she’d got tattooed against the wall before pro-gravity slouched her down into a fetal position on the floor.

She did not remember the time, date, year, season, or address this supposed event happened at. The allegation was simply based off happening, “some time” during our so-called relationship.

Hmmm.

A4 aggressively alleged that I’d choked the Cheetah’s chain too hard over many, many, many occasions. So many alleged occasions that she’d sworn on record I’d had a twisted infatuation over asphyxiation.

Which was funny to me because I’d never felt comfortable despite any female’s request for that. I also didn’t have hands so it was practically impossible for me to grip a neck with paws but whatever.

I’d honestly liked to bite necks back then not grab them. Now a days I’m a little more free within myself.

The Chimpanzee plays the hero in this scene though so we don’t ask questions as I could hear his cape flapping in the background wind of his message.

The phrase (Chimpanzee The 1st: “Hello Mr. Dog, the phrase is: On so many occasions”), “on so many occasions” was indicated by Chimpanzee The 1st to accuse me further that I’d specifically stuck “foreign objects” down the Cheetah’s throat over the duration of our entire “relationship”.

Ready?

These objects did not include my penis as you might imagine but instead were described as a plastic bag, dish towel, my fingers, toes, pieces of crumpled paper, Billy-bong water and even absorbable Kitty litter which has concrete in it.

I’d got a hold of the report one day coming up in this story and all of the above were noted on the legal document as one continuous run on sentence.

I’d wondered if Chimp The 1st had health problems from lack of oxygen running through his blood?

Concluding with A5 being the most reasonable of all accusations as being claimed I’d supposedly used the bathtub as a “weapon”.

Illogically dragging the Cheetah up two flights of stairs with the second only being a set of 3, before entering her living room then bathroom where I’d supposedly smashed her already mangled face against the bathtub, prior to ripping it out of its housing foundation and using it as a weapon to purportedly inflict further harm on her.

It was my humble opinion that if a character believed that, 51% of their reasonable thinking brain might’ve  disappeared or had been nonexistent.

It’s a heroes day though so don’t ask fucking questions.

The glorious day in the future came when I’d actually got my paws on that document and read that motherfucker, and Chimpanzee The 1st spelt bathtub like, better wash your ears out for this one, “bad tub.”

That’s a B.A.D. for any character high as fuck off a J right now and unable to make s.e.n.s.e of that s.p.e.l.l.i.n.g.

How could I not believe he must’ve thought I was “bad”? Or in his mirror he was talking to himself about doing a bad job?

Common theme here of character’s I ignore, are ones who say I’m a bad Dog. I’m very good despite some of my colourful and opinionated language.

This also coming from the same Chimp who couldn’t spell “a lot” a short time ago.

Where did they find this fucking character?

Chimpanzee The 1st was so focused on the fantasy of a female victim who was viciously attacked by a “bad Dog”, he’d forgot to double check his work like I’d known he was taught in elementary education and Monkey training.

I’d also known as a professional he’d been writing different allegations on the exact spreadsheet of paper for 30 fucking years. The format had never changed.

This was the only thing he did was accuse males of abuse by writing those allegations on this one piece of paper. For 30 fucking years.

He’d made this many errors in this short of time with me?

How many times did he make such idiotic spelling and grammar mistakes on other character’s lists of accusations?

He’d believed the Cheetah in part because I’d ran, so it must’ve made him very super excited to go after this bad guy.

That’s how he’d started talking to me over voicemail, as if he was this rich, mafia gangster and his henchmen of Monkeys were his cigar smoking backup crew.

He’d kept calling me mang when leaving his message, telling me he needed me to say hello to his little friend, at the moment I’d thought I could hear him jerking off impatiently in between taking a breath when forming his next sentence.

There was no evidence of any of this besides a number of imaginative stories that conveniently aligned with a few colourful pictures illustrating an injury had occurred.

An injury had occurred, I’d concurred to that notion. I’d also argued in my mind that all these pictures allegedly happened BEFORE the Cheetah and I had shared the pleasure of getting fucking married.

So both these nincompoops were saying I’d beat this aggressive, feline carnivore practically everyday leading up to our marriage, which was only a month or two prior to my escape from her Alcatraz.

She’d built a good fortress, yes, a good one opposed to a bad one.

How a PI could believe such dramatics after having Monkeys at the lair numerous times reporting nothing but shrieking and documenting nothing but the Cheetah’s structure and mentality.

I couldn’t understand how he’d come to a 50.5% belief inside his brain any of this could be true.

Let alone 51% or more underneath his thinking cap, but then again I’m a canine and he’s in the primate family so it might be reasonable to trust he’d be able to calculate information a little gooder than me but seriously, how much intelligence would a 2 year old have if they couldn’t spell a 3 letter word?

82.

Chimpanzee The 1st might’ve seen the Cheetah as mentally deranged but regardless he’d continued to pursue her claims thinking he was funny and assuming there’d be no way she could be lying at this extent.

How could this be made up? Who’d say these things if they weren’t true? A mentally ill character.

What if they’d never been admitted and even had a reputable career? They wouldn’t be mental right?

That’s impossible.

Good call to myself for listening to my sixth-sense and making the seemingly correct judgement against turning myself in. Against the grain intimidation.

Obviously Chimp The 1st could get facts wrong. Despite the seriousness of his voice, I’d felt hopeful about my actions and changed my number immediately.

I’d sent it to the Velociraptor and Ladybug, they were the only two who knew my whereabouts.

Besides the Beaver when I was in attendance at his shop of course.

As mentioned, I stayed at the Beaver’s for a few months. Whenever I’d be feeling down, the Ladybug would be right there texting me with inspirational messages.

Every time I’d be dropping in confidence, her text would come through like a gust of wind lifting me off my knees.

Her words kept feeding me love while I was working in fear, afraid some Monkey might be lurking around the wall, ready to jump into action sprinting towards me at any minute, summoning his gang to swing from the rafters above him.

Petrified for my life I’d try to remain upbeat at the Beaver’s establishment.

A few months into the position I’d been put on a special project melting bronze into liquid then casting it into bannister railings.

I’d channel telepathic fire to heat the material then once it’d dry, I’d sand, grind and polish the pieces making them smooth as satin just using my mind.

Bronze can be a toxic compound if it’s made with a high zinc content. Zinc is a material that can be poisonous at high doses, I didn’t know this at first.

Here I was working on this project for weeks when I’d got a little sick.

A little turned into almost waking up near death then having to go to emerge for another round, not the same one as the first time though.

I’d got blood tests, medications, then was told to take a week off. When I’d went back to my position, I’s fired.

Beaver didn’t want any heat for toxic materials being in his shop. He’d let me go the day I’d returned “just in case” there was an investigation courtesy of emerge.

I wasn’t surprised.

I’d understood he’d actually hired me to do this bronze project so he, or his long-time friends who’d also worked there, didn’t have to inhale this toxicity.

This was why he was so cool with me taking time off when I’d passed the interview, because this was his plan for me all along to do this project.

I’d told the Ladybug I’d felt like I’d failed. She’d held my head high saying she’d take care of us and not to worry because I’d find something else. I’d believed her and felt faithful.

The Ladybug had a very respectable Sheep-shift of her own. She’d worked by contorting meat on a character who’d needed help releasing stones stuck in their muscle fibres.

She’d had the intelligence of 10 genius’ backed by 10 practitioners, supported by 10 scientists who were all well-compensated as individuals but as one, she was truly one of the most unique and deserving for her efforts.

She’d only worked part-time because she was so skilled, she didn’t need to dedicate her life to a full-time Sheep-shift.

Once healed from my zinc poisoning, the Ladybug and I had more time to spend together doing things we’d enjoyed.

She’d lived in Paradise her entire life so she knew the area well. We’d walk by the sea together, have drinks and talk about what we’d wanted to be when we’d grow up.

We’d questioned why we were going through this and what we had as options, which was an everyday discussion.

One time, near a campground on the beach, we’d sat on a log that stretched across the shoreline as we’d watched the waves crash into the shore scurrying in attempts to make their way onto land.

The sky was a grey shield and the air carried a cool breeze. We’d talked staring into the endless horizon for what felt like hours before a group of Birds started gathering around us.

Two by two they came forward as a pair of Seagulls, Crows, Pigeons, Loons, Robins and Herons all came to form a circle around us.

The Ladybug and I both noted the moment, tripped a bit with soft but hysterical laughter, then continued joking as if Noah was coming in hot lookin’ to load up his arc.

The air fell silent and not a wave moved as the energy disintegrated. We’d discussed the potential signs of the universe, if there was any.

A short while later on another occasion, the Ladybug and I visited a local forest in Paradise.

We’d stopped for a snack when 8 Raccoons came to see if we’d share.

We’d fed them and one got on its hind legs to put its front paw on my thigh, reaching towards me with its other as if to request more food, or my paw as a sentimental gesture or greeting.

We took selfies kneeling beside them like they were our long lost family, arms around each other with big smiles throwing up gang-signs with our left hands.

It was another special moment in the magical moments of my life up to that point.

I had to be in the right spot, Raccoons were my favourite since I was a Pup. We, had to be in the right spot.
——————————————————————Chapter 33.

83.

The Ladybug knew a female Camel who’s partner, a male Camel, worked at one of Paradise’s financial institutions.

This was a ghetto institution where neighbourhood opium pushers could go cash their monthly community support cheques because they didn’t have ID’s or official financial accounts of their own.

Every week the male Camel who was the manager at this institution, would get a list containing identifying information about the continents most wanted and even more hardened criminals.

Like an overnight celebrity, my social outlook twisted from a slow jam lifestyle to some sort of a champion, opposite the most positive status after my bio made the list.

My face had done made it momma.

The Camel recognized me and told his partner who’d relayed the sighting to the Ladybug, making her aware I was now being sought out globally.

I’d never looked at the post but the Sweetest Pea said my image was hilariously placed between a bunch of hoodlum Anteaters and Armadillos who were all sporting mobster grills.

She’d mentioned she’d scrolled down seeing scowl after scowl of angry mugshots when she’d come to my picture. Cue the rainbow music here.
It was my profile pic that I’d used from the dating site I’d met the Cheetah on.

My promising zeal matching my giant grin gleaming from ear to ear as I’d stood outside in the sunshine as to extenuate my sheen and dazzling red coat I’d naturally wore.

My eyes were an ocean’s crystal clear baby blue while all the G-thugs had black, spiritless eyes of the forgotten devil.

Hearing the LadyB notify me of this reminded me of a track I’d loved as a Pup.

“One of these characters is not like the others, one of these characters doesn’t belong. Can you tell me which one isn’t like the other by the time I finish this motherfuckin’ song?”

That was just the intro, feel free to join in.

“Keep, these secrets in the dark because they all pretend.

Keep, me in the dark until this all, begins.

Set down my skeletons, stomp a mud hole on their throat marching in.

Bury fear so deep creeping up this steep hill burying part of me, 6 feet.

Reap what I’d sowed in this mud, sinking in this hole I’d sadly dug. Same old.

Life is temporary yet so permanent so I will barely give up, now behold.

Never surrendering to pretenders on adventures throwing tempers tantrums like beggars.

Who’d recommend both genders lend them their ears while handing out offensive fears. So clever.

How could I resemble some others and not be myself?

Extending truth to another is the only way I can share good health, true wealth. Call me stealth yes, here’s some truth exposed. Ready?

We’re just talking here, got ‘ya didn’t I? ‘Yo check this.

I’m the voice inside my head who faces my own fear.

I’m the true creator considering if I want to hear.

I’m the man, the soul, the energy and enemy, I stand before myself bringing truth meticulously.”

That’s when I stand and ask myself so honestly, one question.

“Who, are they? Who, are they? I said, who, are they? Who the fuck are they? I said, who, are they? Who, are they? Who, are they? Who the fuck are they?”

Sometimes it’d help me to sing inside my head. It helps get the emotion out. Cheetah hit us one time (Yes!).

“Who, am I? Who, am I? I said, who, am I? Who the fuck am I? Who, am I? Who, am I? I said, who am I? Who the fuck am I?”

They like to keep you in the dark because they all, pretend, but what if I said in the end, I’m not like the others?

I didn’t know who these characters thought they were.

The Cheetah used one of only two pics she’d had of me. Coincidentally the dire yet entertaining one she’d snuck at the wedding when I was signing the god damn papers.

Mouth wide open, eyes distraught, standing uncomfortably shaking uncontrollably in misunderstanding shock.

Her keepsake was a shining reminder of the great times between her black hearted love and myself.

Possibly a perfect demonstration our “relationship” was a trap?

The Cheetah’s swift and sneaky tactics snapped something so precious, I was thankful she had something she could treasure forever.

When I’d heard she’d used that pic to advertise my continent wide warrant I’d felt flattered then became glad she’d took the photo when she did.

Chalk up the win going to “everything for a reason” on that one.

The Ladybug and I decided to move into a place of our own together.

I was actively looking for a new Sheep-shift but continuing to run into these “coincidences”.

I’d got a call for a position, I’d barely missed the call by a fraction of a second. I’d call right back, the secretary would already be on the phone with the new employee.

I’d feel confused as to why the universe would do me so dastardly?

I’d believed with all my heart that I could’ve got any job. I had an overly abundant resume showing ample skill and ability, but life outside myself, a.k.a the universe, just didn’t seem to want me to have A position “for some reason”.

I’d got denied for everything I’d applied for over the weeks and months to come.

Growing frustrated because I wasn’t supporting myself, I didn’t egotistically realize the universe, as some sort of intentional energy, was secretly protecting me against a mafia of Monkeys.

Little did I have any awareness that the Monkeys had actually gone to the Beaver’s shop looking for me. They’d also gone to the Velociraptor’s.

Thankfully, the Raptor and I said goodbye to each other a couple weeks prior because he had to go back to Garbage Town to be with his family.

There was an illness but talk about universal timing.

Donald the Velociraptor was forced to go back to Garbage Town because of some other character’s disease, and if I’d arrived any later in Paradise he might not had been there to help me land.

The universal energy outside myself protected me against my own egotistical thinking self while I was doing the only thing a dumb, workin’ Dog knew how to do and that was work.

Months were going by and I was becoming fearful that my “inability” to find a job was disappointing the Ladybug.

She’d naturally hit me with another compassionate statement saying we needed to get a Representative to help us out of this situation.

84.

Terrified thinking of that thought, my heart knew I had to clear these allegations from my name.

I’d spoke to the Ladybug on many occasions about committing suicide, or running into the great depths of the unknown within the Paradise Rain Forest.

Knowing I was listed as a fugitive, I couldn’t get a job or feel comfortable going anywhere. I didn’t use my ID or believe in having many options to go out.

The Ladybug and I kept our strolls local, visiting only quiet restaurants and the beach where I’d sunk deeper and deeper into a sandy depression becoming too paralyzed to experience life.

The Ladybug offered to pay for a Representative if l’d found one I’d approved.

I desperately didn’t want her being responsible and told her I was the one who had to pitch in for my own way, but she’d trusted in my story and believed me enough to share her sweet nectar that nourished my hibernating heart.

Her gentle generosity opened up healing in my wounded spirit as I’d felt immersed in her brave expression of love.

She was not afraid and it wasn’t about the peanuts to her as much as it was about giving trust to another.

She’d wanted me to believe I could trust her not because her words or actions but because of her heartfelt intentions that spoke louder than both.

I’d spent a few days researching Representatives near Garbage Town.

Finding one wasn’t just like ordering a pizza. There’s different types of Representatives for countless different areas of expertise, similar to females and their unique individual qualities.

What level of mastery did I need? Hmmm.

Some Reps didn’t know Jack-shit about regulations while some knew every text in all the books of every college library.

I’d spoke to about 7 or 8 who’d hummed and hawed talkin’ out their ass about things they could and more importantly couldn’t do.

Most said if I’d turned myself in I’d be spending at least one night in lockdown at the Concrete Jungle BNB which was not what I’d wanted to hear.

I didn’t want this to be about some know-it-all just telling me what I’d “have” to do and what they “couldn’t” do, so just “suck it up”.

I was the one about to get on a very dangerous path for the purpose of longevity and self-preservation.

I’d felt like the Representative saying I’d spend the night was not very supportive of my desires. My freedom was the reason I’d came this far in the first place.

Even though I’d actually despised myself, and life, I truly wanted to live beyond this experience. I didn’t trust getting out though, and knew if I didn’t, it might’ve been years before I’d seen the light of day again.

If my Rep wasn’t confident to have me released same day I’d turn in, I wasn’t sure I could handle going through this.

I’d started sobbing and talking to my bff considering giving this entire process up when I’d decided to call one more. One final round as my 9th attempt.

I didn’t know if I could take anymore rejection but I’d put my last effort on the table.

I’d phoned, no answer. That wasn’t uncommon.

I texted then electronically mailed the guy, he’d responded telling me to call him back right away.

The Representative was golfing and never answered his phone when he was out, but, “for some reason” my mail got his attention.

His first words to me after I’d told him about the pictures, stories and allegations were, “Oh, c’mon! This is fuckin’ Bullshit!”

He’d spoke my language.

I’d explained I had a few other electronic mails from the Cheetah saying I didn’t do anything along the lines of her accusations. Even some audios completely contradicting her, saying I was a good partner.

The Representative’s next words were, “Dude, I want to see everything in your mailbox and listen to those tapes.”

My fuckin’ saviour!
——————————————————————Chapter 34.

The Representative and I talked in detail over the next few months about the case and looming situation of arranging an appropriate time to turn myself in.

We’d actually set a date but Chimpanzee The 1st forgot he was going on vacation after we’d all agreed so it got delayed 31 days.

A prime example though of timing outside my control or desire because all 4 of us including the Ladybug were ready to get this surrender process going.

By the time I’d gone back to Garbage Town it’d been over a year since I’d left.

Five-sixths of a year with a continent wide warrant which translated to global. Two-thirds of 365 days without hearing from Chimpanzee The 1st. Not even close to long enough since I’d seen the god damn Cheetah.

The sweetest Pea and I flew out on a red-eye into the time difference of travelling back to the future through a pitch black sky eastbound across the continent.

We’d taken off from Paradise around 11:13pm and touched down in The Big City at precisely 7:07am the next morning.

The flight was only 4.5 hours where really it was 4am our time and our body’s were really feeling the drained tension.

I’d barely slept on the flight even though we’d smoked a giant whalley-gagging chong before getting on.

We’d arranged for a chauffeur to taxi us from the airport to McPatty’s Shitty Burger Shack located directly adjacent to the Monkey’s Concrete Jungle BNB.

The LadyB and I ate breakie at McPatty’s breakfast bar then the moment was followed by the utmost worst, utterly horrible, intensely incredible homesickness  I’d ever felt from what seemed like every microorganism’s loneliness on the planet collected then being weighed down against my mental state.

85.

I had to vomit bewildered by the memory of how we’d got to this place and how I’d got back to this place.

I’d ran outside to let my emotions free by a tree. The Ladybug approached like a Pixie floating up beside me as I’d tried to focus all my positivity on all the “coincidences” that had came our way during our time together.

The number codes, animals totems, gracious timings, gentle nudges, universal signs, sex magic, and most importantly open communication that bonded our fashion of belief.

Our sensual touching, compassionate talks and passionate sex full of multiple orgasms often was what really created us to be where we were.

Building up to the weeks prior to flying out I would keep get these random texts from star 3333. I had enough storage and everything to that respect if you’re curious.

The moment Sweet Pea and I walked out of our cocoon, the star quadruple 3 texted me at that exact second.

I’m talking about, I pushed the door open, walked outside and as my second pair of feet touched the ground, the text came, so precisely.

33 was written by scribes in some ancient scriptures to represent the master teacher.

22 represented the master builder or master creator, and 11 repped master intuition or master planner while we’re on it.

Pea-pod and I believed god was texting in that moment, teaching us to be masters of our own evolutionary expansion as we’d set off on this most hazardous, dangerous and greatest adventure male or female had ever embarked on.

We’d seen what we’d honoured throughout our relationship as truly god’s blessing from above the clouds. Above the clouds somewhere in the outer worlds where the mysteries of creation existed.

A 33 was brought for each of us marked by a literal star signifying a spiritual gang were en route from where the moon and planets resided, and where new hopes for knowledge and peace rested.

As at the moment we’d left the cocoon, I’d stopped to respond to the text asking for the sender’s blessing.

The text responded immediately stating the Ladybug and I should prepare for takeoff.

The text also included a grassy knoll emoji, one single bullet emoji, a Cheetah emoji and a winking face with a heart-kiss emoji.

A paragraph in quotations came through as a second text which read directly quoted as, “Myself, lord as master, shall bring disaster to evil factors who’re demonic actors that’ll be captured by kings.

Such as thee who holds original infinite skills creating miracles and warriors who’re spiritual holding down energy like getting on a plane without feeling overly miserable.”

Again with these fuckin’ riddles, so I’d replied to the quote with one of my own typing back, “You know my steez” adding a cool guy shades and chalk board emojis at the end.

These translated to confirm my understanding of the Robin Hood Theory teaching where royalties would be paid out by god to those who’d evolve starting with less as the last, prioritized over benefiting those who had more and did less evolving during their process.

That’s a little prelude for any character keeping score out there with their ears barely above water, regarding the far and distant future.

That’s what this memory of betrayal could be eventually pertaining to is teaching the youth about not keeping it wrong, but keeping it, real.

This has been a process in the making for many moons back to fireless and tireless times.

Keeping it real is different from the cliché all those fuckin’ posers out there recite over and over again going, ‘yo, ‘yo, yeah. ‘Yo, ‘yo, yeah. ‘Yo, ‘yo, yeah.  ‘Yo, ‘yo, yeah, tryin’ to act like rockstars in their minds.

For them the future was far from over being now. Just like the Cheetah, they had thought the way they live was okay even though posing wouldn’t save their day even when standing in a rented convertible drop top.

Imagine being so ignorant you’d never think you’d have to quit. To stubborn to realize or apologize, trying to play god yourself .

I’d guessed at least half of the posing haters hadn’t heard about 100 literally meaning the percent of support behind a character’s cause when in true need no matter how ugly it was up in there. Up in their life, anywhere.

That didn’t mean pick and choose convenient charity, it meant whether in a timbered land of the forested north or dirty depths of the dank south, if a motherfucker needed genuine help, then the 100% character would be down to support their cause, unless truly a poser themselves.

If a motherfucker asks then it’s fair to assume they need the assistance unless it’s a fully known fact the motherfucker asking for help is the one playing the poser.

That’s a known fact not a judgmental call. Slander’s use their time wisely.

Any character of any condition who asks for help obviously needs their hunger or thirst satisfied, that could mean spiritually or literally. Emotionally?

It’s them who judges themselves as per the position they’re in. If it’s too scary to lend a hand without being judgmental then maybe just take a picture for the legendary moment.

How else can I say it I don’t speak no other languages? This whole moment came from nothing. I knew they couldn’t handcuff us all in any moment.

Now switch it back.

The current moment of truth was always evolving bigger like abilities were always elevating.

The collective is to elevate the focus on an individual character’s programs that need to be updated with the times and formulas built into the moons and stars. The constant modern evolution of times.

So I guess it’s time to start the show? Here we go with some war tactics against the minor ego that can be like a Minister lacing the mind with sinister tracks.

A style of absorbing information that’s elevated constantly when the drive to understand is evolved. Operator error if the drive is neigh, neigh, neigh.

In the end it’s work that’s necessary to gain on an individual’s status for escalating towards victory within an astrological process of understanding the self.

God could be argued as simplistic in synchronistically signalling sensations to alignment sensations with purpose. It’s fair to say most characters have 6 or 7 senses.

Instincts, not to be confused with negative or positive fantasy’s, go along with tastes, touches, sounds, scents and sights during our path of progression which could possibly align a character who’s searching, to understand more detail about their unique journey if in a moment of unknowing.

Could senses be stimulated beyond the simplicity of smelling a flower or grabbing a butt cheek? Does the timing of a musical track have implication on the timing within the individual’s path?

Something I’d noticed often was aromas that would brighten up my dark path which would come on as the smell of the mother flower in very odd places where there’d be absolutely no chance of the herbal essence being present.

I didn’t have long hair for this portion of the story either so the fragrance wasn’t lingering if you’re picturing that.

I’d always take in the whiff as if my spirit was comforting me through a trustingly devoted stank.

Or Animals would align that’d represent a message within my conversation at precise moments bringing symbolism into the words spoken.

I had no choice but to believe in something deep and some things within me knew it was going to work out even though I was a deathly pale, white ghost shivering in the hell of loneliness on the outside.

My hired Representative, a big, thick-ass Rhinoceros motherfucker who was extra beast sized and liked to killed for fun, was on steroids that had injected steroids into the molecules of the steroid.

He was too over-sized for his body. Any more added trim of muscle might’ve made his head exploded he was so colossal.

He was grey with a perfectly filed, single white horn. He had green eyes like a bandit, wore reading glasses and sported a few scars on his face and body from attempted poaching attacks and territory conflicts.

He’d always had on a very fancy set of white gloves and shoes, a matching white tie and an even more matching white curly wig that had long tight spirals almost touching the ground.

Every time the Rhinoceros would exhale he’d blow smoke or fumes from his nostrils.

Mostly smoke because he’d always have a J hanging out of his m.o.u.t.h which would be his medicine he’d use to prevent himself from getting overly jacked up when solving the puzzles within each case, which he’d need to solve in order to successfully relive each client from their escape room.

The Rhino’d always blow heavy, exaggerated and elongated breaths that were animated to indicate he was extremely frustrated.

The weed would help him calm and keep his marksmanship focused until he’d pass out sleeping standing up where he’d stay all night after the CourtYard would let out as if staying on guard of the closing energy.

He’d crash overnight standing in the same spot before awakening early enough to leave to be at his next working location the next day.

He was a fuckin’ hero, and a water truck full of coffee would wait outside every building he’d worked in, so when he’d leave every morning he’d have fresh ground brew to start his day with, which would just follow him around everywhere.

He’d said he’d meet the LadyB and I at McPatty’s shit shack so we could all walk into the Monkey’s shit stained BNB together.

After I’d vomited I’d gone back inside the shack to try and eat again, he’d texted me again saying he was stuck in bumper to bumper stagnation so I’d have to go into the Monkey’s by myself.

What the fuck was he talking about? This wasn’t in the game plan and I hate last minute audibles.

‘Don’t worry though’, I’d told myself, the Rhino assured me he’d meet the Ladybug once he’d got there and they’d rescue me.

Oh god please don’t leave me in the dark when I feel so lost and incomplete, unable to see from the basement pit where there’s weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Cue the blasting bass strong enough to bump the speakers off the jack-stands now.

I’d went outside and vomited once again then broke down in tears keeling over.

“I couldn’t fucking do that”, I’d texted back. The Rhinoceros didn’t respond, the fucker.

I’d texted a few more desperate thoughts and emotions begging and pleading for a different life before reluctantly agreeing to go in.

He’d finally responded typing, ‘I was a good Dog’ and he’d, ‘see me in the Bullpen’ located in the basement dungeon of the BNB.

I didn’t smoke cigs as mentioned but needed one. I was nicotine stressed so I’d bought a pack then stood across the street from the Concrete Jungle having two in a row staring down my destiny of entering the bush like a ravaging wild Barbarian savage.

The Ladybug and I sat on some steps outside the Depository. The holding tank  where deposits were made and where those captive were held until a friend from the outside organized enough peanuts to support their escape plan.

If peanuts were not suffice then the victim would be shipped off to a bigger, more expansive Jungle BNB. The culprit’s home for the next 6-24 months until a resolution is arranged.

This Depository was directly across the street from the fuel centre we’d just bought smokes at, and diagonally across on our north side from the Monkey’s BNB.

Puffing my cig like I was trying to stealing all the drags I could get, who was this I’d see strolling our direction coming from the north side making his way down the slight declining sidewalk?

Whistling like a Bird on his way to work, cheerfully carrying his lunch pale, twirling it while casually bopping his head and heart from side-to-side as this character was wearing white shorts and a red t-shirt.

Also a pair of red and white striped knee high socks, a red and white scarf even though it was early summer, and he’d wore a red ruby filled crown that had amethyst, emeralds and pearls in it as well.

This Frog was eating a red apple, hopin’, skippin’ and jumpin’ along his merry way. Was it merry or marry?

Anyways, his name was Hodgkins which was short for Scuba Steve Hopin’ like Popcorn.

The meaning of popcorn hopped into Hopcorn then just evolved as a joke from there.

Hodgkins would always introduce himself like, “Oi fuck me, I’m Hodgkins I be token like the guy from Nottingham don’t mind my responses.”

He’d said that because he’d never let anyone answer him as he’d continued during his introductions, “Oi fuck me, you know what I mean ain’t no one like me. I only turn all of my haters to some over night fiends. They live watching me use my tongue to catch Fly body’s like I’m working crime scenes. Juice ‘em then I spit ‘em out like I’m chewing dentine.”

Truthfully I knew this character who was the Lord of my old land approximately 6 cycles of the sun prior to this moment in the story.

My ears perked up right away as a memory struck my recollection. ‘Is that the fuckin’ Frog?!’

I’d stood to shake his front pad as he’d continued to give me something new he must’ve been working on.

“Oi fuck me, hello motherfucker hey, hi, how you doin’, everybody movin’? Ribbit.”

He was wondering if the Ladybug and I were moving along because we were just sitting outside a Daddy Building, one that’s overseen and regulated by the Ostrich and his goon squad.

The Frog was working security in this building and protocol didn’t appreciate characters loitering outside at any time.

Characters working at the Depository were required to leave their hearts at home when upholding silly regulations like: No sitting outside.

I’d laughed out loud because I’d known this fucker’s soul so I’d mocked him saying, “Stop, stop, stop,” as I’d kept laughing and patting his chest.

Before he could interject I’d pinched his fat lips hushing him to shut, the, fuck, up.

I’d let go of his slimy face as he’d instantly flicked his tongue at me as fast as lightening stopping it half a hair’s thickness from my nose.

Then he licked the very tip of my snout. I tried to nip him back but he was so fast retracting. He knew my playfulness and that I was obviously playing because nobody ever talked to security with such attitude.

“Oi fuck me, Atlas, is that you my Dog, whoot da fook’s up?

I’d answered saying I was trying to sit still, criticizing my own effort for feeling the need to build a self-improvement room within myself.

Which of course would be to maintain my practice I’d been a conscious student involved in, fluently brewing rituals meditating in a blueish hue over many moons.

I did have attitude when I’d spoke and was trying not to be crabby after trying even harder to eat McPatty’s shit filled sad Ratty beef burger that was stored in a pantry.

The Frog quickly asked me if I’d needed some candy to sweeten my mood and if I’d seen daddy? He was referring to Jerry the Ostrich.

I’d laughed jokingly admiring how cute his humour was fully knowing big Daddy Jerry the Ostrich would never poke his head around because he was too busy hiding it in the sand, avoiding giving a shit about injustice or shitty poo being in the Rat, beef meat served in my breakfast burger.

Once I’d turned 133 in Dog years and momma-Bear said it was her time to live for herself so she’d gave me the boot, the Frog’s treehouse was the first place I’d landed when moving out of Fungus into Garbage Town.

I’d actually worked hand in hand with the Frog slangin’ rubber on the upper east side of the hill near the landfill for about 182 days back in G-Town.

For a few peanuts he’d bought a marshy area under the treehouse where he’d rented a few Lilly pads out to some peeps in the area with no family.

He had 6 Lilly pads and I’d chosen the first before 5 females eventually took over the others.

Naturally, I’d ended up dating 1 of the 5 after a slight competition between 2 of the feisty fantasizers.

The winning female ended having a lapse of manic-depression within a few outings so things didn’t quite work out to say the least.

Regardless the Frog and I had a good relationship from our time working and getting to know each other.

We’d always cooperated energetically and supported the other if and when we could, for some reason. Sometimes you enjoy just being around a character right?

He was a funny fucker and a friend who’d saw me as the same. He was originally from across the pond so we’d always make fun of each other’s English. Who had more correct annunciation?

My final answer was always, “Fuck you mate.”

The Frog was hardcore Wankster so he’d spoke with attitude and heavy accent, and always preferred others to talk to him that way too.

He was really a humble character who was a very bubbly lad, young, chipper and had a specks of green dots in his eyes.

We’d stood and stared looking directly into each other’s eyes, then we’d burst out laughing. The Ladybug shed a tear and we all hugged.

I’d explained very briefly what we were doing there then the Frog stomped.

“Hey, Oi, fuck me, I want you to know I feel for you and want you dead. Don’t be late for your execution.” His eyes bulged holding in his self-amusement. He bumped his hips against mine.

“Oi, fuck me, I hate you and your apathy.” He’d told me humbly, then reminded me with sarcastic respect that he’s more than basic security street sweeping inside the Depository, he’s the god damn supervisor of all the Slug-guards that worked maintaining guests.

He croaked I’d be seeing him once I was transferred over after checking in.

He got serious like he’d just witnessed a pure massacre take place that instant telling me with the straightest face a Frog could make, “Oi fuck me, don’t even worry Dog I’ll take care of you inside.”

Double patting my head then playing patty cake with the Ladybug and I for a few seconds before having to leave to start his Sheep-shift. We’d shared a very auspicious moment.

Now, it was almost 9 local time and he’d had to start his day, and I couldn’t just stand there smoking forever.

What were the chances I was going to go through this chaotic process after coming from so far away, after being away for so long, after catching the red-eye, after puking, after smoking, sitting there contemplating constellations with the sweetest thing by my side, that this, comedian motherfuckin’ Frog came waltzing by on a routinely grey, hazy morning, same as every other morning in G-Town, as if there was no change in routine and noooooo body who knew his routine duties that day?

When he’d saw me.

I’d looked at the Ladybug shuddering to think of what I was about to do because I had this sweetest Pea of all the sweet Peas providing me with her forcefield of love around me as she’d sat on my shoulder breathing peace into my heart and soul.

Her armoured wings open, holding me close when I wasn’t hauling my dart.

Her eyes had an intense look of unknowing fear mixed with a focused cutthroat glare coming from her internal foundation.

She’d nodded like a rock. I’d said to her, “Let’s rock, Polk High style.”

We’d walked to the front door, kissed like it was our last prior to entering. I’d held the door for her under my own volition then followed her into the Jungle lobby.

“Hello there.” I’d wanted to greet the greeter with the same enthusiasm I’d been receiving over the phone courtesy of Chimpanzee The 1st.

“I’m here to see Chimpanzee The 1st, I have an official appointment.” I’d spoken with a sarcastic smile covering my traumatizing fear rising to the surface while I’d scanned the surroundings looking for an escape route.

There was a steel door separating the greeter and I as the Monkey went to get the Chimp.

The pair had returned in a short moment when Chimpanzee The 1st started beaking off through the bullet proof glass at the same time he’d swung the door open with conceded efforts.

(Entering smack dab just off centre stage because of his cripple, after climbing over then through a pile of Bullshit by the back left curtain.

He is the one, thank fucking god the only, stinking-ass flea ridden, depressly balding member of the Monkey family, representing G-Town Special Interests Of Investigations For The Less Invested Intelligence Operations Operated By Idiots Association.

Ladies and Germs please give a lacklustre welcome to one of the less evolved characters in our story this evening. A true MAN who loves objectifying MEN in his own special nature.

He is a true champion in his own right and let us have no further delay with his introduction, put your front feet together for the motherfuckin’ juvenile yet old as fuck, Chimpanzeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee Thhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
Firrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrsssssttt)

“Weeeeeellllllllllll, weeellllll, wwweeeellllllll, well, well, well, well, weeellll, weeeeelll, well.  Mmm, mmm, mm, mm. Heelllllllllooooo Clarise, I, I mean, mmm, mmm, mmMr. Dog, what do we have here? Mmm.

Yum, yum. Please, come (!), bring that juicy piece of male bum meat right this way.”

He’d looked my body up and down multiple times then looked at the Ladybug and huffed like a snob.

Then he’d unveiled the path to me waiving his left hairy palm like an illusionist as he’d held the thick steel door open with his hairier right palm like a gentleman repeating again trying to be a funny guy.

“Ppppppllllleeeeeeaaaaassssseeeeeee, Mr. Dog. Come the fuck with me.”

The Chimp tried to kiss me on the way by after I’d given the Ladybug one final kiss before welcoming myself to the jungle where we were about to have some serious fun and games.

I’d entered.

Initially walking inside the fury of hell’s gates were walls lined by solid concrete with steel door after steel door alternating both sides the entire high school hallway length down.

The Chimp lead the way and I’d followed him from the dim that was slowly getting dark with each step.

Chimpanzee The 1st eagerly pranced and played doing what I’d assumed he’d thought were fancy tricks pulling cart wheels against the wall and picking his nose then eating what he’d find up there.

As if this took talent? I didn’t get why he was showing off to me in particular because I’d thought we were there on business not to play circus.

He’d playfully scooted ahead to a door at the end of the hall, holding his tail still to one side. He’d appeared to be very proud of himself.

Finally! His moment aligned where he was collecting what he’d believed wholeheartedly was “good karmic energy” by sending his fucking army to take down the bad guy!

Even though I’d surrendered.

He was possibly delusional as he’d opened the door to the basement and as I’d approached to enter, he’d spat on the floor right at my feet. Then when I’d looked at him to question simply, ‘what the fuck?’

He’d put his fingers under his chin towards the back of his throat then flicked his fingers from a magnifique position to a voila moment.

“Oh yea that’s right Mr. Dog.” He’d said shoving me into the doorframe on the way by.

I’d just eyeballed his bitterness knowing it was his karma here because where I was from in the spiritual realm “fuck me” really meant “fuck you” in the mirror, “bitch”.

“You handsome devil, you.”

The Chimp’s hatred was not subtle so after he’d pushed me I’d got aggressively in his face asking him if he’d had an issue and if we needed to go back outside to settle this like the men of yesteryear?

That’s when he’d pushed me down the set of 16 stairs, then quickly scampered down to help me up, brushing the dust off while coping an extra feel of my ass and package while he did.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh sorry about that Mr. Dog.” He’d mentioned as he’d pervertedly smiled then elegantly extended one arm out to present to me the next path which was indicated as safe to proceed.

Concrete Jungles didn’t have bars on the bedroom doors like in the movies, too many characters hang themselves. That’s a true safety precaution.

All bedrooms did come fully equipped with a 4 inch deadbolt that’d automatically secure the door for guest’s safety and convenience sake though.

Cloudy, bulletproof glass was the tiny window used in the doorway, again for safety and usually autographed with graffiti from past occupants.

The walk was making me claustrophobic.

The Chimp and I followed a second set of stairs leading into a more treacherous basement full of tinier concrete rooms that were even colder and damper.

This was not a place for any living thing to work or spend the night.

When we’d finally got into an interview room and sat down, I’d finally got a good look at this Chimp’s face and couldn’t believe THIS had been the motherfucker in charge of the investigation, talking so much shit to me.

Of course he was a tad bit out of shape. Older then me by far and had skin that resembled dehydrated dad meat who’d been pounded out flat looking tired and distressed. Sad, sad meat.

Despite my situation I’d felt like a little bit more of an adult, then chuckled to myself thinking about all the garbage this troll had been spewing to me this entire time.

“Hellloooo Mr. Dog. Turn yourself in like a man. Just man up and deal with what you did like a man. Man up and start living your life like a man. C’mon man, be a manly man and man your ground. Take a man’s responsibility and man up for your actions.”

Dude, you have no idea the man I’ve been not reacting to many types of characters  including speaking my mind towards your punk ass, bitch ass-self. Keep talking sounding like you have severe daddy issues.

Or super closeted ones where the word man turned him on, I’m not sure?

Every message he’d left would always have me thinking this Chimp seriously had no idea what he was talking about when trying to downgrade my adult manhood.

Only if he’d knew how to communicate, spell and logically think like an adult, let alone a male, maybe I’d consider him reasonable to debate with.

But honestly and obviously the Cheetah had successfully manipulated Chimpanzee The 1st to enter her little house of adult horror.

Where she’d aligned his fears by using her soft, triggering depictions to deceitfully decapitate his critical thinking if he ever had any?

What could I expect though and you’d honestly understand if you were able to get a look at this character.

He didn’t look well and seemed very willing to do anything immorally if it’d meant he could have a female look his direction, or could appease her.

Or maybe he had mommy issues and always wanted to make her happy so this was his root of motivation?

Or maybe, he was afraid of females and vaginas so he’d believe any Bullshit that’d come his way just so he could use these claims as excuses to get close to males?

Prior to Q and A time he’d needed to search my person.

Chimpanzee The 1st rubbed his hands together as if freezing, then blew on them for good luck as if prior to rolling some dice.

His demeanour changed approaching me to a very slow, almost tip-toeing creep trying to go unnoticed.

I’d got agitated sensing his energy, feeling like a special angel compared to this demon in front of me while I’m wondering what the hell am I doing here with this weirdo?

I didn’t fucking belong here, but I could see he was so fucking special, needs that is, and I just wanted to ruuuuunnnnnn.

He’d licked the backs of his wrists one at a time then used them to brush back his two strands of stale fur until slick.

He’d closed one eye as if puckering up then held it closed asking me to turn and face the wall so he could frisk me.

I’d seen him drip a drop of drool when he closed in and his vibration felt pleasantly happy. Clearly it was starting to show.

By that I mean, it! Was starting to show.

Now, it’s like we’re on a game show playing truth or dare here where I’d followed his orders to turn around and, put my handths genwee aganthst da wall.

Spwread mwy wegs wike the wings of a Eago. Sensing his bwody twembwing I’d twied too rewaxed anticipating anal pwenitwation.

On the real I’d wondered, ‘why was he shaking so violently?’

That phrase “on the real” means I was 100% legitimately wondering why this Chimpanzee was vibrating so hysterically when he was supposed to be the hero in this situation?

He’d pattied around my waist, front to back, back to front. Front then back then back to front leaning in to become inspired by my not so fresh jet lag stench.

I’d looked down at his hands and they were nervous. Did this Chimp want to fuck or what?

He’d honestly seemed like he was thinking about it going through the motions of it while playing strip search with me.

His hands slid down my left leg and I’d sworn I’d felt his enjoyment poking me from behind.

He’d bumped me ever so slightly and briefly not to make anything of his possible truth burning inside of him urning to actually want to do me from behind.

You know when a character really wants a desire but they’re too afraid to go after it, and once they get that chance to obtain it, they move too fast through the experience?

Or sometimes a character can’t even look at the goodness because of the intensity of the brightness and it being too much?

Because the character is actually so excited, engaging might make them overly react in some manner?

86.

Like when a teenage male becomes extremely excited he ejaculates too early?

Or a female says what she might feel then believes it was the “wrong” thing to say at the “wrong” time?

Both males and females do both these examples I’d say.

Chimpanzee The 1st really wanted my slice of pie but never would I ever consider this immature child on the most perfect of days.

He was lucky I’d chose to come see him at that time so he could touch what he’d never have over 100 lifetimes.

Chimpanzee The 1st wanted to tickle every muscle on my leg, stomach, back, hips, waist, penis, testicles, toes, fingers, hands and brain.

He was trying to be so gentle scanning for my weapon but since I’d had experience visiting the gentleman’s club, I’d learned to recognize when a male wanted to grab something he shouldn’t so I’d sensed what he was up to.

Luckily for me there was cameras in the interview room and I was totally ready to scream rape if I’d needed.

Not that anybody could hear me anyways because once I was in hell, only the devil could’ve heard me at that point.

The room was difficultly cold and I’d hoped someone would’ve turned the furnace up so maybe that’s why the Chimp kept shaking?

Despite his gentleness it was fairly apparent he’d wanted to dominate me and be very rough but in his own soft, good Daddy type of way.

Like I was a bad Dog as usual and needed to be taught a good, stern lesson by Daddy with spankings and crying orgasms.

I’d felt a sickness thinking about how disgusting he really was. Seeing his mug ruined my fantasy in the moment after trying to escape the desperation of reality and his chauvinistic, unattractive qualities.

It was like he’d gotten his PI certification out of a Cracker Barrel of Monkeys box, and now he’d wanted to show me all his capabilities by wanting to fuck me then throw away the key.

Chimpanzee The 1st reeked of shit stain and tick medication. He’d handed me a document to read.

I’d glanced it over then couldn’t help blurt out laughter in his face. I didn’t know if he serious?

Some of the incidents described read like they’d been dishonourably stolen out of a fantasy novel.

I’d seen some Bullshit in my day but this literature was on some serious CGI exaggeration made of cartoon quality artistry where it’d be impossible to not see the obvious fake crayon colouring and plasticine molding.

I’m talkin’ lights, camera, action. I’d wished I had a fat-fatty being in the spot I didn’t wanna be in.

This fruity “investigator” was playing director in the lost Cheetah girl’s screenplay she’d written just for him. One of the best ever put together in my opinion.

A musical with a special song about supposedly being the abuse victim of a choking incident apparently involving her thong, and getting pissed on after I’d allegedly been pissed off when we’d experienced a visit from the G-Town Monkeys one day at the lair.

I’d looked at the Chimp then jumped half my body out of my handcuffed seat, throwing my one hand in the air.

Gooooooooaaaaaaaallllllllll, fuckin’ troll. You’re clearly confused and now exposed like a crack fiend will tip-toe through withdraws, easily pissed off while I’d rather just piss on this verbiage.

I’d humbled myself back down and figured he could be the star now known as the hero and I’d just submit to him as the bad guy.

He was having his moment of interrogation and had stacks upon stacks of statements based off statements, so something within me just wanted him to have his time to shine.

I did ask a few contradictory questions after reading a few more allegations such as, is it 51% believable evidence to simply take a character’s word, hmm?

Because I have a word too, but Chimpanzee The 1st moved on sweeping my words under a rug without acknowledging. Hmmm.

Okay.

I’d mentioned how the Cheetah had forced me to marry her. He’d laughed.

I’d told him how I’d tried to contact his Monkey office BEFORE I’d ran so I could forewarn them of the Cheetah and her intention to share her fabricated story.

He’d laughed so hard he’d started crying. Hmm.

He’d read off some Bullshit,
“Mr. Dog, you’ve committed assault, threats, assault, assault causing harm, assault, aggravated assault, assault, assault, assault,…”

He was a robot stuck on stupid replay and couldn’t stop himself.

I’d tapped his noodle and it rebooted him after delayed hesitation in his mind.

When I’d tried to contact the Monkeys they told me it’d be 100,000 peanuts an hour to speak with their Representative.

What the fuck did I have to pay for, justice? An investigation? Awareness?

Once I’d known I was going to leave The Big City I’d sent an anonymous letter to the Monkeys stating ‘I was a male trapped in a basement where I’d been coerced to stay for over a year against my will.’

I’d asked if I could ‘speak to anyone, please?!’ That’s when they told 100.

One hundred right? They were not down for the good cause.

The Monkeys were at the lair numerous times over my relationship with the Cheetah, and the only things they’d ever reported was a female acted adamant, irrational and exaggerated.

The reports were right in front of me. Needless to say this was becoming an extremely terrible, made for me bad movie.
——————————————————————Chapter 35.

The claims on paper alleged the Cheetah was choked, slammed, choked slammed, beat randomly, beat over dinner not being quality, beat over my hat being dirty and punched over crumbs from breakfast not being cleaned up.

She’d claimed she was supposedly thrown around like a rag doll, had a gun I’d never owned in my life used as weapon on her, used the gun to threaten her and naturally, used her head like my personal maid by mopping up any mess with it.

I guess I’d held her upside down when I’d purportedly did this. How is that even possible?

Maybe she’d meant we’d both got on our knees and I’d imaginatively drug her around the house that way? That’s something a very disturbed character would do in my opinion and well beyond my capacity.

Back to the mirror again though.

To draw attention away from the self sometimes sociopaths will create attention talking about others as they only know themselves to be, or fantasize about their own misconceived egotistical character, usually a victim, within.

They’ll point and cause a scene to make others viewed as negative when in the reversal of their mirror, they’re the one’s standing identifying their issues.

Take note of how the bitch only gets mad when she’s called a “bitch” and how when the pussy only reacts out of fear when called out on being a “coward”.

Some pussy’s are pretty tough by the way.

Pussy’s can take beatings and poundings for hours that can be fairly intense so why a coward or weak individual is referred to as a “pussy” is beyond me?

Even Cats are tough and will stand their ground when necessary. Pound for pound a Cat will take on a Dog ten times their size.

They’ll take on Raccoons, Squirrels, Birds, Dogs and especially other Cats. In the wild a Cat’ll take on a Buffalo who can weigh up to 900 K.G.’s.

A combatively skilled character normally doesn’t get emotional over being called names such as pussy, because they have faith and believe in themselves.

The bitch knows she’s a bitch that’s why she only reacts defensively because she knows she’s been seen for her truth, and it’s not so much being seen that makes her irate but more she’s most likely mad at herself for being such an identifiable beeotch.

The Cheetah made serious accusations and maybe she’d wanted to do these things to me, or not even a personal attack but more, anyone?

All speculations aside her claims were supposedly committed before we’d atrociously got married.

Regardless of my excuse and if I’d been forced or not, what character gets beat by their partner for over a year then marry’s them?

I’m sure it’s happened and there’s definitely a few examples out there but seems fairly unreasonable to me.

I’d suggested to the Chimp maybe he should call her mommy to verify that female’s story about Boarder Control, satisfied that might’ve opened his mind to the possibilities of the Cheetah lying, but why would’ve he investigated that?

You’d think a Private Investigative Inspecting Detective would’ve called around to maybe do a background check, or research a character who’s making numerous inconsistent allegations over many inconsistent dates, but I also could understand those efforts might’ve been a bit too much for his lazy ass.

Or he just really wanted to meet me?
Hold me? Thrill me? Kiss me? Kill me?

Seal the deal by getting me to role play with him where I’d be a dirty, riddling southpaw agent named Clyde and he’d be a fat masked man named The Fake Crusader.

His theme song would go like, “Hello ladies and gentlemen. Hello Mr. Dog, M.Band. Welcome! Thank you all for having me.

(Clears throat, taps mic)
Is this thing on?

My name is Chimpanzee The 1st and I’m the 1st because I’m number 1. Now listen up flunkies.

Standingggggggggggggggggggg, like an ego maniac on top of smoke stacks acting so destructive like I’d planned a fuckin’ bomb attack.

Pardon me for talking fast or using mathematics I enjoy backwards methodologies causing bystanders static.

Ha, god dammit I’m S.M.R.T like I might be head of psychology so psychologically don’t try and fuck with me or fuck me just because when you’re not looking I’m secretly into cosmetology.

I give no apologies since I’m always in a bitch on my knees got you thinking I’m doctoring in gynaecology, fist fucking your ideologies.

Now what do you think about that?

Don’t answer just turn around and make me take my cuffs out, mask off to show you what a Sasquatch is all about.

Roooaaaarrr.

Better use caution when I shoot first asking questions last as if it’s the latest fashion while I’m laughin’ hazardously killing with a passion.

Did you get it? I’m talking here.

I love to chain ‘em then send ‘em to the pit spitting fire fitting synonyms using raw iron, displaying myself as ridiculously exaggerated as pretending to be a part-time ventriloquist, meticulously speaking without moving my lips while juggling fire.

I like to think I’m inconspicuous, like a ghost where I float and make those close to me shiver off my wickedness and make them straight up flat out and fall into a standing fucking backflip.

Now who wants to talk fast? I’m fast actin’ with trash talkin’ back it up all day like I’m moon walkin’. That’s red leather forever brother I’m better than top 5 I’m top 1 with 9 lives.

Thought I was done there? Sounds like you got allergies son. Don’t let your cunt hairs trigger sniffles that discern you from recognizing who brings the heat with another riddle starting off by asking who’s the most brittle icicle when I raise the temperature up to triple digits, that’s Fahrenheit for all you midg…”

Whoa, whoa, whoa, excuse me there, excuse me there but Chimpanzee The 1st goes on to use the word…(whispers) “midget” at that moment so I had to cut the fucker off because that’s socially inappropriate these days and he should know better.

No offence to any character shorter than the average for speaking the word as an example in this moment, I actually get huge crushes whenever I see the shortest of shorties.

I can never stop myself always being like, ‘Yo shorty. ‘Yo, over here baby girl. ‘Yo, where you representin’ shorty, east or west coast?

What whip you roll in? You puff lye? That’s street slang for car and herb, if ‘ya hear me say right, right, right.

We got this block on lock and it’s all the same, so we can all pretend the Chimp said a different word to describe the short character he was talking to or about, and we’ll just move on.

We were considering the nature of allegations and how they’d seemed fairly unreasonable and sarcastically probable to be true, but again I’d granted the Chimp the benefit of the doubt with positive, passive understanding as to why he might not have being doing his whole job.

It was okay because I’d understood and forgave him.

Good thing my freedom wasn’t up to him ultimately. The Chimp was just part of the Monkey family who were, as a whole, entirely working for the cowardly Ostrich.

Chimpanzee The 1st didn’t really care about facts he was just doing his job of dragging characters through motions.

If a female said a male did it, he’d just shrug his shoulders and slap cuffs on the accused.

Following procedure and protocol and process and orders was all any Monkey had to do as long as they had a face to match the allegations.

The quicker the Chimp would solve a riddle in an unsolved mystery then the quicker he’d be a hero.

And regardless if I was found a proven bad guy or not in the end, it didn’t really matter because he’d still be in line for his pension of peanuts to retire on regardless the outcome .

The Ostrich had created quite a system of lower level intelligent characters getting handsome peanut packages to do whatever they were told, no matter how redundant or illogical the script, they’re main duty was not to ask questions.

Every single Monkey had full permission from Jerry the Daddy Ostrich to lie, cheat, steal, beat, fuck, coerce, eradicate, manipulate and/or bribe any alleged perpetrator to get them to say or do whatever they’d wanted.

Q and A time was complete so I’d been led to a holding tank where I’d await my next steps in this liberated process.

A 6 foot by 7 foot by 8 foot box. Where day light no come and me want to go home.

Concrete mattress, stainless toilet. Day light no come and me want to go home.

Take a nap while I wait with nothing. Day light no come and me want to go home.

Cold and damp being watched on camera. Day light no come and me want to go home.

Day! Me miss daylight, but daylight no come and me want to go home.

Day! Everyone join. Tarantula dance and a dance, dance, dance!

Been up all night and need some rum! Tarantula dance and a dance, dance, dance!

A 6 foot by 7 foot by 8 foot box! Tarantula dance and a dance, dance, dance!

Someone tell the Jelly Man maybe eat banana? Tarantula dance and a dance, dance, dance!

Grumpy Chimp needs some Tropicana. Tarantula dance and a dance, dance, dance!

Day! Me miss daylight, but daylight no come and me want to go home.

Next up, I’d travel from one side of the street to the other, from Monkey BNB to Depository, here we go, next round.

Chimpanzee The 1st sat ready to see me off like a voyeur, voyageur, I mean a boat loading butt Monkey transporting my ass that was his asset locked up in his crony’s back passenger seat going to and from his trading posts, better known as, from the BNB to Depository.

Isn’t that a funny coincidence between the commonalities of my experience and the description of voyageur? I’d thought it was an amusing synchronicity when I’d researched the possible connection.

The pair of unidentified transporters stuffed me in the squad car supporting me to “feel” the phrase “watch your head” more than I’d heard them say it as I’d simultaneous received a ringing in my ears to accompany their forewarning.

Once seatbelted into the child seat I’d waved bon voyage from behind my back to Chimp The 1st as I’d been chauffeured to the Frog who was anticipating my arrival literally 44 seconds away.

It might’ve been about 43, I didn’t bring my stopwatch nor was I allowed any jewelry as I was handcuffed behind my back and wedged like a Sardine.

The Frog opened my door as nice guys who finish last always do, then he’d greeted me with a sneering smile at the basement back door of the Depository.

Nobody in that building knew we’d known each other and he’d wanted to act professional but just couldn’t contain himself being evidently overwhelmed with a giddy and gruff, playful attitude.

Now this was supposed to be a guilty until proven innocent situation, right?

I’d felt like those involved outside me were truly guilty all the same as I’d entered the Bullpen fully restrained and had yet to see any so-called evidence.

Please someone tell me again how there’s no other way? Treating everyone else as if they’re too sick to be ashamed.

Who’s pointing their finger at who in their mirror looking for a character to blame?
Committing guilt with no shame?

So tell me again that I already know how it is when the bosses hands are filthy?

Systems pretend to rebuild off corporations getting wealthy?

I’m only talking to myself because things are just rearranged like falsely generated solutions spoken with intention of being faulty.

More ball-less then ballsy and too sick to be ashamed when at the same time enjoying the opportunity to be guilty all the same.

They will know one day though, when there’s no one else left to blame. I think you all already know who the ones are who play this game?

Smokescreens behind blind flames? Trying  to force good workers into being good slaves and those who obey?

The Frog removed my restraints and told me I’d been granted a moment to speak with the Rhino inside a quaint 1 foot wide by 3 foot long even more confined concrete closet.

This was the typical plexiglass phone scene where the ear and mouth piece were attached to the wall, minus a seat or space to turn around in for my circumstance.

I’d picked up the tele and,

(Raging through the patron entrance and down the centre isle with an annihilating centrifugal force.

Please leave out all the rest when it comes to bleeding away the shadow of your day by finding comfort in his resting place for wounded heads and hearts.

He has an exuberantly titanic range of skill that displays a mammothlyg terrifying temper of excellence plowing full steam ahead of time to be the saviour of a motherfucker trapped in their horror.

The overloaded, hyper toned, fancy shoes and matching wig wearing motherfucker is one of a kind and one of the stars of our shoooowwwwwwwwwwwwww.

All in attendance give him an inviting round of applause being as he is a true crime doctor who’s an expert at chasing down threats. A rare breed indeed where his kind is facing extinction, thhhhheeee big aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaasssss Rhinocerrrrooooossssssssssssssssssss)

Who’d immediately told me, “Down boy. Calm down and stay.” I was ready to climb up the wall though.

The Rhinoceros dealt with this situation for a living so it was easy for him to say that in this moment. I didn’t call him a fucker or anything because he was about to tell me something I’d really wanted to hear.

As our talk didn’t last long, we’d knew the game plan going in so it was simply time to execute.

This was where the Rhinoceros would shine by going upstairs to stir his magic cauldron of voodoo brew he’d personally manufacture for every case.

He’d used specific potions, precise amounts of salts and perfectly scaled flower extracts to influence or alter the Lovebird’s mind, who was the character setting the amount of every deposit required.

87.

To determine the amount a SureThing would have to deposit, a debate would be held privately within the Depository between every Representative and a Lovebird.

There were many Lovebirds of course and they’d all rotated in and out of different Depository’s over multiple locations as to not create a bias or relationship in any town or city.

There were multiple colours of Lovebirds such as reds, blues, greens, yellows, blacks and whites while at closer glance, they all had very different stripping and translucent patterns that made their individuality easy to identify.

The Frog told me to call him when I was done meditating with the Rhino so I’d started to pound the thick, steel door like an angry inmate.

“Frrrooooooooggggggggg.”

You have to really let them know you really want something around these BNB’s or they’ll just literally leave you forever to rot.

There’s also crackheads and drug addicts yelling constantly in the background so Slugs and supervisors are trained to ignore all disruptions.

Hodgkins was the supervisor so a master of ignoring anything he didn’t want to hear.

Once a character was in the BNB they were officially viewed as a “piece of shit” by all employees and outside workers within the facility, so most cries for help would ultimately go ignored regardless of habits.

I’d been accustomed to accepting ignorance most my of life along with being ignored so I tried to have fun with it, then I went extreme.

“Let me out of this god damn motherfucking cage!!!” Barking and kicking absurdly, trying to jump up the door as if that would open it for me.

The Frog came and unlocked my cage laughing also telling me to calm down, throwing me a Dog biscuit he’d conveniently had leftover in his pocket from walking his own Dog earlier that morning before he’d come in that day.

I was still boggled he was there and I was looking to him for comfort because I was in a very truly scared and uncomfortable place outside and inside myself so his good nature sure took a load off my swollen heart and tear ducts.

There were 4 other males in the Bullpen who were all awaiting on a Lovebird’s final decision on deposit amounts.

The 5 of us all had SureThings to pay on our behalf or else those who didn’t would be shipped off to the next bigger and darker BNB in Neverland where boys became men and men became boi’s.

That boi’s, B. O. I’s, is how I’m saying it.

That special spelling of boi means the character who holds that title has become someone’s special pet female Dog. I.E. oral licking sex slave for either male or female.

One PenPal just got picked up that morning while out for a stroll carrying his loaded weapon while on his way to sell a small bundle of crack.

He’d shot at the Monkeys then ran from them and obviously got caught.

When in the Bullpen he’d kept going back to sit on the community toilet every one minute and 31 seconds to dig inside his b-hole to retain his stash.

Don’t feel too disgusted because there was a concrete barrier between the toilet and general seating area so none of us onlookers could see him rummaging.

PenPal’s head would keep looking down then popping up yelling to everyone about ‘minding their own business’ and ‘never speaking of this shit storm again’ while still having one hand half way up to his wrist inside his anal cavity.

I was sure he’d felt embarrassed but if you gotta go you gotta go, and if you got crack or blow then ‘yo, do you good pal, good buddy, good friend.

Almost every creature on the planet has had their bums wiped by another at one point or another.

Dude, just seriously don’t fuckin’ come near me with those fingers.

The rest of us sat in a circle like at band camp except without the fire, fearlessly sharing horror stories of how we’d ended up in that synchronistic moment.

I’d discussed being on the run for over a year then everyone laughed at me saying I wouldn’t get a deposit that day.

I’d be too much of an imposing risk to society, and over the possibility of running away to avoid the Courtyard process.

The attention span wasn’t abundant for these thugs so during our sharing time a few got up to pound the wall-length, sliding steel door yelling for a Slug’s who wasn’t listening.

The anxiety level was building and these males were becoming exaggeratedly agitated caged Animals.

It’s a true fact that some actually did dirt or cause trouble to get there. It’s one thing if a character gets caught red or blue handed, or shoots at Monkeys like an idiot, but regardless this wasn’t humane.

A group of 5 rambunctious males in a 12 by 12 holding tank with one toilet, all of us sitting in a circle on the floor.

Waiting in unison all day in frustration to hear if release would be granted by the grace of one Lovebird’s decision.

One Lovebird on all the planet was solely in charge of saying where I’d spend the next 2 years of my life.

How much did freedom cost that day? The verdict was almost in.

It was still long before my turn upstairs where after the private meeting between the Rhinoceros and Lovebird, the SureThing and myself as accused would be revealed the grand results.

To stay or not to stay? To leave and be or not to leave or be? Those were the questions.

I must’ve been last that day because I’d been sitting in the same spot on the floor for hours after lunch time. The characters who’d all went up all came back down like gravity.

No one had paid a deposit because they were either denied, didn’t have enough peanuts or didn’t have a SureThing present.

A Slug did slither by and throw 3 sandwiches to the 5 of us at some point, forcing the 4 to fight over scraps like a pack of wild Hyenas.

I’d passed because I didn’t know where the meat, bread or brown lettuce came from so it was just the 4 scuffling in the corner.

The Frog came to get which was uncommon of his duties but also part of the job if needed, so he’d stepped up his self-volition at the times to support my process.

The light upstairs was much brighter than the one downstairs, I was sure that was intentional to keep the demeanour down.

The Ladybug was sitting in a half empty room with the Rhino when I’d walked through the basement doorway.

The setting felt sensationally warm. I couldn’t resist reciting my favourite poem that I’d repeat in mind during times of stress. It was pretty much my most consistently used mantra.

Please use it if you ever feel stressed because of an outside circumstance.

I have no choice but to not forget this is not the end and it’s not the beginning.

Waiting for the end might be silly but understanding my outcome might be out of my control.

Giving me some motivation to put meaning into life’s rhythm, trusting in the ultimate tone.

I’m not sure what’s going on or giving me the strength to stand but I know it’s all golden while my thoughts race and I clutch my hand tightly condensing an empty palm of sand.

Close to invisible in my lonely grip. Stimulated with enough equipment to make a commitment. Declaring my mind stares at a simple course of action, but I’m too stuck in the feeling of lacking. Despair.

Even though I’m aware when I’m in this place to make peace through picking up the pieces in order to start again.

Reclaiming my mental regiment as in a rocket rioting by some pure vision coming in like a prevalent sentimental statement to myself evaluated from within.

That’s the truth in my eyes, and the doubtlessness in my faith. I’ve been busy living at the mercy of perceived pain and assumed fear so I recite this prayer.

I recite this prayer. I recite this prayer. So I recite this prayer. I recite this prayer. I recite this prayer.

This meditation, this self-acknowledgement being self-cognizant within my own embodiment where I throw two stones and make a single splash wishing for thoughts of logic tolerance.

Managing myself versus rhythm trying to figure out what it’s like moving on.

Because the hardest part IS starting over living at the mercy of composing life exposing the supposed path like a chauffeur.

Directing emotions towards the end of one process to trade them in for another expecting them all just to roll over.

Little things left unsaid can be left in demand to the god damn discipline where no misunderstanding can be mislead.

I can’t say what kind of things I’ve said. I can’t say where my mind has went, and I don’t know how it feels to motherfuckin’ lie.

Instead I can only supply myself with the ability to comply on the opposite of denial, comprehending the feeling of alive when I might’ve felt I’d been holding on for way too long.

At the sound of light I sing a sad song about waiting for the end to come with my wings out wishing I had strength to stand.

Instead I land on god’s abstinence expanding as planned purely aligned with timing on some outwardly demand. Now cram that down my own throat, thank myself again, Amen.

I’d shivered knowing this wasn’t really what I’d planned and these next moments were out of my contollllll.

Hoping I could get ready to move on and hold back the urge to cry, all I’d wanted to do was leave this place without looking back.

The Lovebird, a blue male named Toni Scarboni who’s both names ending in “I”, was originally DNA checked before hatching and verified to be a female but once he’d broke out the egg he was factually a male.

So by the time his gender was actually noticed, since it’s hard to tell with any Bird at first, Toni was mature enough to decide for himself if he’d wanted to change his name on his tracking tag around his ankle, but he’d just left it with an “I”.

Not only Toni but all Lovebirds had celestial functions that pertained to the creations of art and music, where they’d all controlled aspects of calendars revolving around space, time and the evolution of language.

Meaning, they pretty much originated art and sound deciding when new trends would be implemented into society.

This timing of implementations was for the purpose of all characters coming together as part of their day of reckoning according to the calendar, meaning astrology.

The Lovebirds never spoke, they’d only wrote in hieroglyphics on chunks of cement as ways of communicating and maintaining the integrity of their discussions with Representatives, documenting their results of regulations and deposit requirements on these permanently recorded records.

Toni stood tall, over 10.5 big Bird feet in height. Thin but not boney, very muscular actually with a white and grey chest that stuck out very, very far with a greatly arching back to match.

Toni wore a turquoise robe that had a purple cashmere lining inside it with black tribal art sewn all over it.

The robe had flickering white stars that randomly sparkled as it was long enough to drag on the floor.

The dazzlingly attire was fitted to drape over and around his blue wings to allow him to easily flow when he moved. His robe had evenly spaced out, black solid lines.

Toni held the cement stone straight out in front of him with his left hand then cast a piercing light onto it with his right.

That light ricocheted off the stone then onto the wall where we could all read the glyphic.

It was Aztec symbolism where it wasn’t even words just drawings so only the Rhino was educated enough to interpret the native sketches.

The Rhino mumbled a few words to himself looking at his hand as he’d translated the codes.

I was too lost in exhaustion and the pure beauty of the godly white light to give a shit what was happening. The warmth also made me feel very calm.

The Rhino charged before hammering the stained glass that I was standing behind then yelling out, “Granted motherfucker, 800 peanuts! Let’s get the fuck outta here!”

I’d just stared at him like a wasted heroin addict coming down. I didn’t quite understand.

For such extreme allegations the price for freedom would normally be like 5000 peanuts but I’d found out after I was rotting downstairs, the Ladybug was outside the majority of the time hustling and bustling working her magic.

The main segment of her saga saw her approach a picnic table where the Rhino, Lovebird, Frog and few Slugs all ate their lunch together as if great friends.

She’d begged any of them to reduce the amount they’d privately discussed which was originally 2000 peanuts but because she couldn’t get that amount out of the machine, because her daily limit for withdraw, and she wasn’t near a home branch or local financial institution of her own, she could only get 800 that day and therefore had to go, while maintaining her sincerest integrity, ask very nicely if anything less could be accepted?

Toni looked at every character at the table then etched on the picnic table with his extremely long, delicate but strong finger claw, the number 8.

The Ladybug kissed the Lovebird on his prolonged hooked beak then flew to the furthest north side of Garbage Town to find a proper institution where she could withdraw the proper amount of peanuts.

Then she’d flew all the way back to the Depository to post our fully refundable deposit.

The Depository didn’t just release me that second.

I was brought back to the Bullpen by Hodgkins who was telling me how he’d put in a good word to the Lovebird on my behalf regarding good behaviour.

Then I gave samples of blood, hair, nails, spit and semen before having to wait in a smaller box again while peanuts were counted upstairs.

No card interactions allowed on some gangster, laundry washing funds clean type hustle here.

The Frog escorted me from the box back upstairs for my final time. Now I had to be read the description of hoops I’d have to jump through for the next 2 years in exchange for my freedom once I’d return to Paradise.

No contacting the Cheetah, no weapons like crossbows, guns, snapping Turtles or giant dildos meant for stretching unless she’d asked for it IN WRITING.

Bad tubs were allowed under monitored supervision only so like an infant I’d have to be watched when taking a bath.

Finally I’d have to check in on every first Friday of every month by calling Garbage Town Monkeys BNB and making a personally appearance same day at the local Monkey’s BNB in Paradise.

How redundant, having to call saying I was in another city?

“Hello Mr. Chimpanzee The 1st!” He actually didn’t like that I called him the first time, and told me just to call the general contact line next time. That fucker.

Regardless it didn’t seem like anyone thought about the fact I could’ve just called from anywhere and just said ‘I was wherever’ because when I’d call I’d simply have to say ‘I was at home.’

Huh.

Like, it wasn’t like I had to call from a specific number or anything, just call and say ‘hi, I’m at home.’

The Frog treated me great under his care so I’d have him a good hostess review online.

When I was being lead back downstairs after reading the writings on the wall, the Frog gave me a juice box to drink along the way. Sneaking it in, in a moment when the other characters couldn’t see, telling me to drink it fast.

He did my samples as we were both laughing and having an enjoyable moment without getting into too much detail about life.

I was then freed to go.

I’d opened the door to the outside and saw the Rhino and Ladypea standing in the waiting area anticipating to greet me.

Her luscious breasts, beautiful smile, sweet personality and I hugged for what had felt like a lifetime since the last time we touched so close. It was time to get the fuck out of there, the Rhinoceros was right.
——————————————————————
88.

Chapter 36.

I didn’t spend more than 7 hours in that slop when all the previous Reps to the Rhino told me I’d have to spend the night, those lying Bullshitters.

That sleepover was never in my desires and I’d succeeded at obtaining my goal. How’d I do that for real, all by chance I’d just found the “right” Representative?

Did my integrity of not accepting less actually give me more of what my heart desired?

Did my belief in what I’d felt responsible to accept truly make a difference?

I’m not so sure if I’d believed I’d deserved the best as much as I’d known what I’d wanted as my best scenario for my life, and I’d held firm to that self-riotous, deserving desire aside from numerous professionals who might’ve “known better” try to tell me otherwise.

Every Representative I’d spoke to said the same things over and over, “No, no, no.” Like broken records skipping, “no, no, no, no, no, no. Nope, nota, not, negative Nancy neurosis. Nope, nope, no.”

These wanna be kings didn’t understand I’d spent enough time being trapped by some inbred daughter fetching pales of water pretending to be a partner when instead she’d practically picked roses and planned to pack the thorns into tissues hoping I’d fall down wiping my tears with.

I’d wanted a character to give me the “yes” chant.

Index fingers times two pointed straight up to the ceiling. Bending at the knees then jumping in one spot chanting, yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!

Consistently getting louder and faster with each supportive display and word I’d speak.

I had a strong grapple hold on the ideal that the Rhino was a lock to cover the yes potential as if he was in fact high on some unique and quality good, good, good vibrations.

Like I’d met him at the beach where the Rhinoceros brought his best buddy aura even though he was fully steaming in a forward motion at all times.

He’d always seem so chill and mellow on the deep, very deep and quiet inside despite seeming a little full of rage on the outside. I’d imagined his job stressed him out a little bit.

I’d also imagined I’d knew what was best for my life and my self-riotousness was again, only out of self-preservation and respect for my desired living experience.

It wasn’t to be an asshole, or jerk, or an ignorant fuck. I simply didn’t think I was ready to go through this process if I’d had to do things outside my respectable parameters, which were ultimately only desiring for myself to sleep in my own home.

The Sweetest Pea and I did have to make a sacrifice by taking the red-eye but that was just our cost to be the boss because to be one, there always has to be a sacrifice, it’s a balance thing.

The Ladybug and I were on our way out of G-Town in our pre-arranged rental car that we’d picked up just a few blocks away from the Depository.

I’d drove past the CourtYard on our way and saw Chimpanzee The 1st outside gabbing off on his cell where I’d stood earlier and had a smoke.

I’d rolled my driver side window down to give him the finger and while I’d leaned out honking the horn like someone in front of me was breaking through a green, I could hear the Cheetah screaming and screeching through his phone’s receiver.

I’d slowed to turned the bass up and overpower the stifling noise, rode the centre line so the Chimp surely saw me driving at a tricycle’s speed, and as I did I could see the Cheetah’s pungent vibration radiating from the disappointed Chimp’s ear.

She was pissed, not much seemed to had changed. I’d got the sense Chimpanzee The 1st was relaying to his highness that I was free, as I’d imagined the twin flames must’ve figured this was all a trap for me to enter into the whole time.

It was the Rhino, Ladybug and myself who’d shared our honest hearts which got the magic done.

The hatred of the Chimp and Cheetah didn’t win this round but there was still a war to be finished where I was 100% behind the idea of coming back to Garbage Town at least one more time to say, “Hello Chimpanzee The 1st, you fucker.”

The Ladybug and I had our plane tickets and hotel room already booked planning for the best, so we’d returned back to that hotel then flew back to Paradise first thing in the morning with further plans of getting my life back on track.

I’d got a new job, new ride, license renewed along with address officially changed. I wasn’t happy but I’d felt happier than I was being the last few years.

The Ladybug and I were calm at the cocoon but still traumatized over the past year of holding tension.

We’d spent the majority of that time nervous as fuck. Thinking every Monkey had a facial recognition system built in to their memory banks, petrified every moment that any one of these goons might recognize me then attack.

The Bug and I went to the cinema once before The Great Return and as we’d exited the building onto a busy Friday night city central neighbourhood, two Monkeys dashed out of nowhere trotting at their highest speed coming from around the corner chasing a troubled youth.

It was a parallel moment when I’d walked out the door and as my 4th paw touched the ground, I’d seen the twin power towers running right towards me full tilt reaching for their belt of weapons in slow motion, starting the pronounce their favourite rehearsed catch phrase, “Freeze motherfucker!”

I’d almost started running right then and there but thankfully I didn’t or they would’ve tackled me like they were the linebackers and I’d just got the handoff walking out the door.

As if the quarterback just lobbed the ball at me then these muscle heads were non-stop runaway trains.

What I didn’t notice was the troubled youth who’d blew past a milli-second before we’d walked out. Whom I’d saw running after the Monkeys dashed passed me hurling themselves down the strip.

All that remained in the dust was the protector’s scent of spray on hair and of course, flea medication. Then I had a panic attack and needed to sit and stay for a moment.

It was never any fun being on the run wishing I either had a gun or a dozen roses to mark my tomb stone by.

I wasn’t sure if I’d even used the “C” word once towards the Cheetah, or if I was gonna die young, and, I definitely didn’t know if I’d needed to slash my throat before seeing the outcome of this situation.

After turning in I knew I could at least try to have such fun again.

Understanding this was the way it had to go down helped me start my process of healing. Continue my process of healing.

It was never my time to turn myself in until it was that exact moment and afterward I’d felt undeniably confirmed in that timing when looking back seeing the Frog along with being granted the 800 peanut deposit.

Gaining confidence believing the universe seemingly made every character try to please me, fitting me on a path to follow that seemed to had been paved in front of me so damn easy, that it was easy.

Aside from the torture and terrorizing aspect of the full conscious experience of course.

I mean overall there was no devil using my illusion of fear to create life against me.

My faith was not so easy or patient but once back home I’d started to pick pieces of my heart up off floorrr.

I’d started to very slowly wake up from the inside out, feeling free but simultaneously still in fear a character was chasing me.

Trapped by the lasting effects of trauma, just the same as the Ladybug was feeling these lasting effects stomping and moshing against her tender shell.

I had difficulty moving on still caught in the system, having obligations being out on deposit, fearing now harassment and bullying.

I’d intended to start healing my lack of trust for life by getting out more and consciously exploring the feeling of safety and comfortability.

I’d believed the universe was on my side after all this although I didn’t live by that faith fully. I ate a lot of cookies because I was stressed. The ladybug had some crumbs sitting on my collar.

I’d started working again, took up hiking in the mountains during my free time, and going for road trips around the Coastal Sea.

Never once did I get harassed or pulled over, except for when I was leaving a trailhead one day after hiking all alone which was my usual.

An unmarked patrol vehicle had pulled over half on the shoulder and still half on the highway’s entrance ramp.

I didn’t appreciate their positioning so as I’d drove along side I’d let the driver know what I’d really thought about them by laying on the horn for an obnoxious moment.

Then I’d decided to get out of my ride so I’d pulled in front of them, got out and pissed on their back tires, quickly driving away sounding the horn, waving my middle finger as I’d left.

When I’d looked in my rearview can you guess what I’d seen? But good ‘ol Smokey rockin’ the black and yellow lights on.

It was the Monkey’s Highway Patoe-Po Division. You know, I was instantly like, “You fuckers.”

They’d tricked me good like a bunch of tricksters they are but still good sir and I had a good laugh about common traffic issues in the Coastal Sea, where some eastern travellers could never seem to comprehend lines or road signs so I’d apologized with a blow job and many, many good sorry’s.

I’m just kidding in that last part, there was no ticket for noise pollution just a warning for honking like a maniac. No sucky-sucky and no sorry’s were given in the replaying of this reality.

Good Monkey sir was truly a little disappointed I didn’t touch his penis but after I’d told him he could keep playing with it in his car, he’d bounced away seemingly forgetting all about me, throwing his sirens on to join his lights, peeling his tires off the scene then tossing a banana peel out the window.

Our new wheels came with 9-speaker surround sound sub-woofed stereo audio where I’d let that fucker bang the beating of the drums all around Paradise, never got harassed once.

Part of my regulations to abide by after posting deposit was to physically check-in at a local BNB once a month so I could notify a babysitter I was still in the area and hadn’t ran away.

“For some reason” the Depository in G-Town asked the Ladybug for the closest BNB to our cocoon’s address when they’d released me, opposed to them knowing it or being helpful and finding it themselves, so she’d told them XYZ address.

The XYZ address was actually a training centre for wannabe Monkeys which obviously the LadyBug didn’t know.

We’d periodically see Monkey’s go in or out of this building situated by our cocoon, as well as it had big gang logos and street art spray painted all over the side and front so she’d fairly assumed it was the closest BNB to our home.

This was not however, an actual BNB with a check-in centre.

At every BNB there’s a Snake working a small check-in centre that every character out on deposit has to go see.

The Snake is usually a female who usually rotates the local BNB’s as a babysitter.

The XYZ address by our cocoon was a  rookie training facility for up and coming Monkeys. It was also a day time lunch room for protectors who’d worked the street beat in the downtown party area where we’d lived.

I didn’t know any of this info either until the day I had to check-in at XYZ then realized we’d arranged the wrong address to check-in at, clearly seeing it was not a BNB nor did any Snakes work there.

The Snakes little check-in centre was a hole in the front lobby of the BNB’s where they could slither in, see a few clients, then onto the next address. I was in the totally wrong spot at the totally wrong time. This was a big woopsie doodle.

I’d say a mistake but I didn’t really believe in mis-takes. If anything I’d believed I could just take a re-do of the situation but  this was not always the possibility.

Like in this moment when I had to sign in at a specific address to satisfy the deposit’s tracking device I’d carried with me, in order to receive my gold star for a month’s of good behaviour, which would be transmitted back to the CourtYard on the other side of the continent.

Contacting them and having this changed now was next to impossible and not checking-in would have my deposit revoked, where if ever happened I’d be escorted back to the Garbage Town BNB where I’d await a resolution inside the sunless box.

89.

This address was just where Monkeys come to train and take breaks. Nobody actually worked there and the location was definitely not a check-in centre.

I had to sign in there though, that day at noon because if I didn’t there’d be a system of algorithms that’d go off notifying a gang of specialized Monkeys to come find me because I didn’t follow the regulations.

What the fuck?! As panic sank comfortably beside me like we were best roomies about to watch a movie together.

The movie was a scary movie about being lost in the woods as a group of sexy teenagers couldn’t find their way out while killer Monkeys found them one by one, ripping their heads off and eating their brains.

The door to XYZ was locked, the sign said, “Be back at noon.” It was noon plus one.

Great, this fuckin’ nightmare will never end.

I’d felt like things could easily go sour at any moment, and just when I’d thought I was on my way out of fear, the fear started pulling me back in.

Paradise had a non-emergency line so I gave them a call. I gave my name, birthday, Garbage Town tracking number and told them I had to sign in at XYZ but nobody was there.

They’d laughed and laughed then told me they’d send a Monkey over right away. I’d appreciated their kind gesture after feeling slightly mocked.

A male Monkey showed up with a member of his organization, one following the other marching towards me with high-stepped enthusiasm.

They’d halted then saluted me as I’d told the head I was supposed to sign in at this address. We’d went inside and he’d checked a computer in the front lobby then asked me what he should do?

‘I don’t fuckin’ know, sign me in? Make a note on my account that I’d been here?’

He’d agreed, shrugging cluelessly. His main man shrugged as if mimicking him.

I’d asked if I could have his business card then asked him for his identification number, just in case he decided to play funny Monkey with me and say I was never there.

He pointed to the radio on his chest, there was a number that read 8830 so I’d wrote that down.

‘Was that it?’ We all had no idea. This was very sketchy but I guess all good because there were cameras inside. ‘Get me the fuck out of here.’

Later I’d found out that 8830 on the Monkey’s barcode was the same standard number stamped on all radios for the Paradise City Protection Cartoon Goon Gang. P. C. P. C. Double-G for short.

The head I’d spoke with was a shyster and didn’t give me his proper ID but at least he did sign me in appropriately, I’d assumed.

I’d went to the cocoon to call Garbage Town as part 2 of my obligations and spoke with Chimpanzee The 1st, “Hello.”

He’d noted my call and ordered me not to call him next time demanding I just call the front desk where any Monkey would answer god damn it!

The Chimp was cranky and had his panties on backwards wrapped around his head.

17 seconds after I’d hung up two casually dressed Baboons tappy tapped on my door. I’d checked the available peep hole then answered with attitude.

They’d laughed, pointed then mocked my attitude. I’d leaned back holding the door with a grin then stepped forward towards them opening up dialog about how innocent I was and how this might be considered harassment.

They’d started to back away slowly down the apartment hallway with their hands up still laughing but implying seriously saying, “Okay Dog, okay, okay Mr. Dog, it’s okay, calm, caaalllmm down, caallm down.”

I’d kept walking after them down the hall like an angry Bird protecting his nest. I would’ve been the red one.

“And another thing, don’t let the doorknob go straight up your candy asses on the way out!

Next time just call me if you want to talk you filthy, dirty, rotten scoundrels. You’re more than welcome to join me for lunch and have a sandwich if you pieces of shit want to at least let me know you’re coming in advance.”

I’d figured that’d let ‘em know I wasn’t tolerating intrusive harassment. They’d asked for the Ladybug by name but she was in the shower legit. They’d said they’d wait outside so I got the broom to shew them off which was when they’d decided to leave.

The only reason I’d ran was because of fear, terrified of the process and the Cheetah. These heartless thugs didn’t know my story nor did they care, they were just following club policy to help when the call of duty came up.
——————————————————————Chapter 37.

I’d do the same routine next month and every first Friday until this situation was to be resolved.

Meaning all claims would be thrown out or I’d receive some sort of penalty to face ranging from BNB lockdown for up to 4 years or down to a slap on the wrist and bare bottom which I’d knew was 100% highly unlikely.

As I’d approached the address at XYZ for Round 2, a Monkey pulled his ride up right beside me three-quarters onto the sidewalk.

I’d went to ask the fine city worker if he could help me, cautiously confronting the good fellow saying, “Excuse me sir, I have to sign in here, do you think you could…,”

“No.” He’d remarked without letting me finish asking for help. Then he walked away entering the tiny building.

Was I supposed to call the non-emergency every time?

Before I’d opened my phone to call, a tall skinny Monkey got out of her ride after parking a few spaces behind the 1st hero, then she’d started walking towards me.

She took her shades off as if she’d just finished terminating robots of the past who she’d caught sneaking around in the future, rocking a cool stroll all the way to the XYZ door.

Unannounced in the moment she’d been on the street beat since 4am and it was noon so she was gonna take a break.

I’d approached her very reluctantly, very trepidatiously with papers in hand fluttering very nervously.

I’d began to explain before she’d quickly interrupted without letting me finish by simply saying “no” then walking past me and inside her safe zone.

I stood then cried for a split second questioning if these protectors got to pick and choose who’d they’d actually assist?

And as I’d went to dial my call, the skinny, female Monkey poked her head back out of the door saying, “Hey Dog, come in here and let’s talk about this.”

Seriously, oh my god thank you.

I’d entered. She’d went in the back room. I’d stood there for 5 before I’d started to wonder if there was a problem?

She came back and told me it was all good and that she’d made an executive decision to have me meet directly with her every month until this process was completed.

She’d explained she could see I was supposed to sign in at the XYZ address, but the address was in fact not a sign-in office where this usually was handled.

She’d told me if I was going to change the address for signing-in it would take so much work contacting so many characters all over the continent, it would just create havoc, possibly resulting in a mishap for me.

You think? She was a smart Monkey.

The Monkey gave me her contact info including electronic mailing address, work phone number, cell phone number, actual badge number with business card and full name printed on it.

Then she told me she’d worked the streets for many years and seen all sorts of madness go down therefore helping me would be something she’d be happy to help with.

We’d arrange to meet ahead of time, she’d sign me in, have her lunch in the break room, I’d remain free. It was a true score!

And a true gift from the universe because this calling or having to change locations wasn’t looking promising and I was beginning to feel stressed out.

It’d worked out for a few months where I’d contact the female Monkey, she’d respond, then we’d meet.

It’d become that simple and routine that I’d given the Monkey a pet name being as we’d grown so comfortable together. I’d gone with Shylah which meant loyal to god or truth in this instance.

The 3 of us, myself, Shylah the female street Monkey and the Ladybug would go out for breakfast on days I wasn’t signing in, at a restaurant that had doors shaped like two Parrots kissing each other with their beaks forming a heart as the entrance.

90.

We did this weekly and started to build a relationship outside the helping situation.

We’d never spoke about the accusations, kept our talks about life as Shylah opened up to us about her kids and ex fiancé who was her baby’s daddy and fellow Monkey co-worker.

One of her baby’s was autistic and having issues needing special visits to the ER on a regular basis.

She’d claimed her ex to be the typical jerk, naturally, and was generally normal outside her uniformed character.

She’d invited us to her home on the mountain plains for a Harvest dinner once. Pea and I had met both her children and non-work related friends.

We drank wine and lightly celebrated the spooooky season as this even scarier comical joke of the universal was our cinema based thriller come to life where I was having dinner at fuckin’ Monkey’s house.

I’d brought scalloped potatoes and apple pie that I’d made myself of course, partially the day before and partially that morning.

Quite the contradiction for me to be in such a fear of Monkeys now being at one’s home. With her family and close friends.

She being a female AND I’d smoked weed before I’d went so I was maybe a little paranoid?

The Ladybug carried me that trip by holding onto my walking harness. She was in fact that strong in her mind, body and spirit.

It was honestly not strenuous for her to latch onto my hooks that were threaded  from my skeleton through my harness.

Courtesy of the Cheetah of course who’d tricked me into taking some roofie one time when she’d teased me playing like, “Ah, come here boy. I got some roofie for ‘ya and ‘dat d’almost does sound good now roof roof now baby woof, woof.

That‘s what it means, it means good for Dogs so, you wanna to tryyyy?”

I’d gullibly agreed to gobble down the delicious drink that this so-called “roofie” was hiding in, then I’d started to feel a bit woozy there. Eventually passing out for a solid half a day.

When I’d awoken in my bed to the land of the living I’d had 4 hooks screwed into my back and rib cage.

I was in pain but my heart commonly hurt more so the physical discomfort at this time was minimal compared to that consistent throbbing.

After the procedure I’d always wore my body harness camouflaging the bolts as if they’d sat on top.

I’d never considered removing them which worked out because the Sweetest Pea-sized Ladybug enjoyed carrying me around Paradise using them to hold onto in flight.

Checking-in went on for 18 changes of the calendar page when the Rhinoceros called me one day saying the CourtYard offered a bargain by extending their figurative hand desiring to put this all to rest.

The bargain was based on me accepting responsibility for the first two allegations of dropping then tattooing the Cheetah along with threatening her existence.

The other 3 of endlessly beating, stuffing everything in the lair down the Cheetah’s throat and using the bad tub as a weapon were all dismissed in exchange for my acceptance of responsibility where I’d receive a two year babysitting sentence.

This meant I was 100% guaranteed to attend relationship counselling for two years including a class on respectable, boyfriend etiquettes.

If I’d behaved myself for the entire two years, then the Cheetah’s saga involving my life would all be left behind.

I’d stay in Paradise and she’d hopefully stay on the other side of the continent living within herself forever.

How could I not accept this bargain? The deal couldn’t be any sweeter because if I’d said no the LadyB and I would’ve had to fly back and forth at least 3 more times to prove my innocents.

These accusations were not for the faint of heart and the Rhino said in 5 years from accepting, I could have this bargain outcome erased.

I simply needed to complete the babysitting requirements which was practically the same as checking-in, then it’d be over.

Hallelujah! Because I’d thought this story would never end.

“Alrighty then!” I’d said to the Rhino and Ladybug, let’s fuckin’ do this.

We’d paid 10,000 peanuts for that result and it would’ve been at least 3 times that much if we’d said no.

The Sweetest Pea and I flew back to Garbage Town on a normal hour’d flight the day before my acceptance speech.

We’d met the Rhino outside before going in for real this time. We’d walked in to accept the bargaining deal, then walked out of the CourtYard 30 tick toks later.

We’d caught the first flight back to Paradise the next morning. Same routine I’d done for the Depository. I’d meet a Snake every first Friday of the month this time at the Snake’s fixed hole in the wall.

Instead of my deposit being revoked this time my bargain would’ve been if I didn’t jump through the appropriate hoops.

My general freedom was still at risk but a little more lenient as I just had to attend my obligated meetings and keep the general peace and good behaviour which I was normally accustomed to.

Obligated meetings were once a week for two hours over the span 3 months.

Then every 4th week during that time and beyond I’d also have another 5 hour meeting called Mastering Respectable Relationships Counselling Session that lasted a total of 6 months.

These meetings were in the middle of the day. Default on any of these meetings and the bargain is void.

Late, forget it. Don’t show up? Pack your shit. Sneeze, and it’s time for the Concrete Jungle BNB.

The objective was to sit, listen, shut the fuck up, then answer when spoken to. Do not flinch otherwise, do not twitch, scratch or fiddle in the seat.

The meetings had another 15 males in them, all “convicted” abusers. Or dudes who just took a bargain so they could move on from a stressful situation.

Simply because they’d plead one way didn’t mean they were assholes. Most of them were still with the partner they’d allegedly “mistreated”.

Most of them had kids with their partner they’d “gone through the struggle for”.

Half didn’t show up to the first meetings which didn’t make them look good and the other half who did, acted like idiots when they were there which also reflected poorly on the group.

Very juvenile making fun of words and careless counsellors.

The counsellors were careless and didn’t have much concern besides reading their script that was prescribed to them by Jerry the Ostrich dictating how to think, talk and respond to comments in meetings.

The counsellors were robots who were not present in the respectful relationships meetings, babbling on mindlessly staring at their clipboard of weekly topics to discuss, having no care or compassion driving them.

It was honestly a joke to think this program was constructed for adults. There was even some poetry explaining the difference between cookies and boots, and how good behaviour gots cookies and bad behaviour gots boots.

These professional psychoanalysis were talking about kicking me with steel toed boots on as a form of training me if I’d made a mistake. True part of this story.

That’s not very helpful for rehabilitation purposes in my opinion. The whole reward system should be heartfelt communication. What do I know?

Would giving boots and cookies be learned behaviour then? Lead by example?

Does that mean the delicate genius gets a boot when they make a mistake pronouncing my name?

“Sorry about that. Sorry, sorry.” They always say. ‘Sorry about that.’ Sorry.

The Rhinoceros told me to say “sorry” when I’d accepted the bargain but I never understood the reason? Such a cliche.

Unless it’s an accident in the moment, preventative thinking usually cures the need for “sorry” before it’s warranted.

Does the “sorry” make it seem like I care more than I do? Because that would be a lie.

So many characters say sorry but what are the sorry’s for? Something they could change?

I’d also had regularly scheduled meetings to check-in like I did with Shylah, every first Friday with a Snake.

This was when I’d get personal with their sliminess as they’d spend most of their time acting super nice and considerate, but were secretly itching for me to fuck shit up so they could collect commission off returning me for breaking my bargain.

A little enticement fed to the Snakes by Jerry the Ostrich to try and keep the system busy with repeat offenders.

Because once you were in, you were in for life.

The Snake would smile when I’d enter but would secretly be hoping I’d go against my grain of obligations by not keeping the peace or good behaviour so she could ultimately masturbate feeling the power of a prosecutor.

She couldn’t find a purpose within herself so instead of searching deeper she’d decide to shape shift her confusion into a tantric practice of becoming aroused whenever she’d think about catching a character by his or her tail or toe, or in their hole outside their hole.

The Snake would entertain her life by playing eeny, meeny, miny, moe with each incoming client.

Then the lucky chosen one would get squirted on by her deadly venom that she’d also spray paint the walls of her office with as the client would walk out of her shallow hole following the meeting.

And that’s regardless if they’d made it past the holes being squirted in when they walked in. Emphasizing her final word and low frequency vibrations that matched the dark purple and black pulsations inside her hole.

It was sticky in there, and the air was moist and thick, chunky almost. It made me cough catching my throat every time I’d walk in.

The Snakes commonly looked down at others which was an oxymoron because technically the character seated across from them was always bigger and taller than they were.

The Snake always looked down when she’d talk, that was just her nature of character. All Snakes talked towards the ground as if.

The Ladybug and I talked things over as she’d suggested not to worry about working during these classes since my employer was kinda like, “Hey, what the fuck man?” After telling them I’d needed mandatory time off in the middle of one day each week.

This relationship counselling was not conducive to my relationship with life and my personal responsibilities.

I’d wondered ‘if Jerry created the program this way on purpose?’ Because that Chicken shit loved to make life difficult for some.

The Bug and I trusted I’d find something more suited to the part-time schedule I had to follow.

I’d spent my days during the coming time learning some harsh realities about the general population.

Where ballot giving ballet dancers would preform shows in tight spandex, wool socks up to their knees, and string thongs buried inside their acne filled butt cracks.

Publicly prancing around urging those voluntarily gracious enough to participate in a showing of hands to cast their vote into the sky indicating whether they’d waive ‘yea’ or ‘nay’ towards the condoning of future shenanigans.

General population loved live theatre and shows like Stockholm At Sundown which was the name of the ballet performance portraying a lonely and sad depiction of losers trying to control others.

The plot from today’s special was where a department store came to life and replayed all the identical plots from the last episode of Stockholm At Sundown, minus the ever changing wallpaper colours constantly adjusting along the background of every scene.
Why would anybody want to control others, you might wonder?

Their song introducing each show, went a little something like this;

“Never safe when the heart is ignored. Satisfaction might be knocking at the  front door.

It takes brilliance to peak while the planet softly sleeps, speaking on what we want is a new technique.

Leave the light on from the hall in the middle of the darkness turning bitter into softness.

Should we care about another’s hardness or hardships? Old energy coming out of sharpness?

Writing with a marinade feeling no other way to separate details from heavy down to featherweight.

Everything is everything on our walking feet, anger is another thing that can be dubbed okay.

We all care, when the lights are on, in the midnight black, catching shooting stars, like Fireflies in the heart never sending back, the light is where we all want to start at.

Recalling, a better aspect of victory. A bitter angel turns white so vividly. Discreetly sounding secret symphonies showing care to those who’d fallen backwards on their knees.

In the kitchen, in their seat stuck by two left feet frozen in concrete like bitter meat. Religiously sacrificial seeds are blissfully sown so rigorously, is this divinity?

Writing with a marinade feeling no other way to separate details from heavy down to featherweight.

Everything is everything on our walking feet, anger is another thing that can be dubbed okay.

We all care, when the lights are on, in the midnight black, catching shooting stars, like Fireflies in the heart never sending back, the light is where we all want to start at.

Running from the sun with scissors in their hand, this is their land, their life and their song.

Jamming out firsthand standing against the walking path regarding these basic mirrors of math. Through the years of fears, speaking on the scars, guarded like knocking down the building blocks of cards.

So where’s the cure for the care if everyone falls? This is their song to marinate on.

Evolving beyond believing in no wrong. Evolving beyond believing in no wrong. This is their song to let them marinate on.”

The ladybug also needed to change jobs because her boss was very over bearing, demanding, two-faced and vindictive.

It was time to start her metamorphosis by first leaving her only home away from home she’d ever known, and when she did we needed to move our cocoon in order to better suit her commute.

My meetings were eventually complete after I’d jumped through all the hoops the Snakes set out for me, fake smile and all included free of charge.

The Snakes thought they were slippery so as a precaution when dealing with them I’d leave a lawn mower sitting right next to the tree by their hole, then before I’d go in I’d trim the grass taking note of their sidewinding posture for the day.

Rule of thumb when handling a Snake properly is to allow their flow to guidingly guide yours.

Don’t fear them more than they fear you because respectfully, the Snake only strikes when provoked so try not to poke the fucker.

Snakes are kind of like Cats, more glaring looks and intimidating sounds with little action.

All talk no gumption. No guts no glory. The Snake didn’t have much guts to eat nor have the time to feed herself because clearly she was starving.

It’d felt like it was a miracle I’d made it through that process so to celebrate I’d went on a hike to preform a magic ceremony on my final day of bargaining obligations.

The saga was over, indicated by me climbing a strenuous rock face carrying my bargaining agreement papers in hand ready to burn them at the top, along with scattering some crunchies after the Siamese Meezer gave up the ghost around the same time.

Double gong of death?

I was doing some intense day hikes very consistently over the two years seeing the Snake.

I’d thought it was the best thing on the planet to evolve from no mountains and barely being able to play into exploring some of the most adventurous wilderness I’d knew could exist.

I didn’t even know all these trees were even on this planet there was so much abundance exploring the outdoors.

I’d loved to exercise as a Husky, going up or down hundreds if not thousands of measuring sticks in every direction each time I’d go out.

I’d eventually gained enough stamina to go all day but in reality none of these hikes were actually any “fun” for me.

Yes there were some invigorating experiences getting out and exploring, even some rare times accompanied by the Ladybug who was mostly busy saving those injured by the tension of stones being trapped in their body.

Otherwise every hike was without any accompaniment, leading to every trek being full of my remaining sad contemplation about life.

Why had I gone through all this? Why was I in this place now, and was this experience all for this purpose?

Was there a future I could look forward to for once in my life? Or was it just time to start over from square one and do the do again?

Many times over many years I’d weighed many options of suicide over and over. A very comfortable zone I’d lived in very often but never again had I visited the temptation since my one and only attempt as a yout.

Two decades prior to hiking I’d intentionally gone to the death zone by dropping 2 L’s of green freeze down me ‘ol hatch.

91.

That was when I was young, dumb and full of cum so I was a little uneducated and under stimulated to feel motivated enough to get out of my upbringing.

The Mineral told me it was there for me and now I was there on it feeling content but anxious and uneasy leaving it so I could return home.

Even after my ceremony and doing what I’d thought was a lot of positive processing during my travelling act up the heavy slog, I didn’t want to be in the general population on the regular.

Over two years I’d hit up over 70 hikes and on most I’d expelled a lot of sadness along the way, but also kept some with me.

Crying like a very sad man trapped in thought connecting what I’d believed were ghosts of my spirit’s past connected to my conscious experiences of present future.

Trapped and never freed from previous lives. Thrown off cliffs or left for dead in woodlands. Pondering why I’d felt certain ways about certain circumstances.

There was something about pushing my body uphill at extensive limits while intentionally breathing deep that surely opened up what I’d felt was a vault of emotion based on outerly experiences stored within.

Sometimes I wouldn’t even make the summit, I’d just sit on a rock on an edge of a cliff and eat a snack.

Waiting for Jebas and his beaming light to set Garbage Town on fire creating such an exaggerated light show I could see it from the distance.

Then I’d eventually get up knowing that motherfucker never shows up to the party.

Going on so many tours helped me see a lot of paranoia and fear I was storing within, along with acclimatizing me to a new comfort level even if I’d still felt a little terrified.

That was the summer time, six and a half years after I’d met the Cheetah. Four and a half years after I’d met the Ladybug whom I was still with.

We can skip ahead now 6 more months to the Ladybug’s bday.

Winter was just around the corner and I’d arranged a cabin in the woods at the end of a street off a wrong turn after taking a backroad to where her and I would stay a few sleeps nestled deep in northern mountain ranges.

We planned to arrive later that night on the eve of her celebration, wake up to spend her special day together, make sweet love all night the second night, then come home on the morning of day 3.

I’d organized an orchestra of meals, pre-cooked vegetables and weighed out a bunch of ingredients the morning before we’d left.

I was assembling many elements of the holiday meal prior to roasting a Duck in the cabin’s full kitchen on Day 2, also known as the Sweetest Pea’s birthday.

Leisurely at our cocoon I was cutting and preparing a delicious stuffing that would go inside the belly of an already desist Duck.

Frying onions, garlic and celery. Mmmm. Chopping apple, adding spices, also in this process I was baking a cake at the same time.

Black Forest made entirely of peanut flour, peanut icing and chocolate flavoured peanuts, all the Ladybug’s favourites.

I’d put all the dry ingredients in a bowl while the oven was warming and the stovetop was going.

Cannabis was freshly in my system while the stereo belted some relatively commercial hip-hop fuelled by cannabis.

I was just beginning to come out of my Crab shell again feeling comfortable starting at ground zero.

Adding up my experiences and outcomes like trigonometry while watching some Patriot game on the boob tube.

Feeling harmless and unarmed marinating on these bombs I’d disregarded like a retard.

When maybe I should’ve transformed into an orchestrator of sort because god damn at this point in the journey, my eyes were blurry and I’d felt exhausted hounded like a Wild Turkey running from some blood thirsty girlies and a bunch of crying Monkeys in some short skirties.

Nerdy perverted Birdies had me all worried in a fuckin’ fury, when I’m not the one working at a scandal like a petty thief vandalist.

Coming hazardously pre-packed with a sticker attached to warn the handler of being careful when they handle this.

Those sickening, scandalous, slanderers who can’t stop rambling when I’d tallied their answers with a flattering management as sweet as a can of mandarines without the fuckin’ juice. Ha.

Extending the tolerance of a black grandmother ‘bout to whoop some ass like there was some flat-earthers caught on her backyard camera flipping burgers on her bbq like a bunch of amateurs.

“Oh hell no” can’t stand ‘em Costanza, check this backhands distance better gather some bandages ‘cause I’m slammin’ big headed cabbages off the planet.

Simpleton savages systematically as filthy as a pathogen and full of holes like a lattice fenced palace. Their brains malicious cowards, travelling in holograms of their own damaged package, man I can’t handle this shi…

Fuck.

I’d hid from fear for many years and on this day I had every intention to enjoy every moment as it happened. That was a very true sentiment.

I was honestly enjoying the sound of music, thinking about how nice it was going to be, to be with the Ladybug on her birthday.

About to partake in a pleasurable getaway that we’d both truly deserved when at that moment.

All of the sudden without another second of goodness wasted or without shedding another tear of fear.

I’d received the most pleasurable sound my ears had ever repeatedly heard in their life which was the death defying, abruptly loud knock on my door that came to my attention as three, solid, I don’t give a fuck bangs.

I didn’t flinch and felt confident it was surely the neighbour this time coming to borrow some butter because the birthday positivity was powerful.

We were only on our way to a cabin in the mountains in just a few hours once the Ladybug returned from her half-day at saving characters from jagged rocks trapped in their skin.

I’d gone to answer the door after customarily looking through the peephole and seeing a tiny, older, powdered pale-faced male who was alone.

Staring at the ground with his hands crossed in front of him, holding a piece of paper, seeming very bashful and shy.

Kicking his right foot out in front of him and to his left as if sweeping some fluff off the side of the apartment hallway carpet.

This character was small remember. Very tiny wearing a blue jean jacket and blue jeans. Red, orange and black button up plaid shirt underneath.

He wore a beige ball cap facing forwards that had a fishing logo on it, and had his sunglasses on inside the building.

I’d opened the door and he’d removed his glasses like he’d come back from the future to see me.

His eyes were glowing dark red with crimson blood as one red drop trickled out his right eye and down his cheek.

The tiny man let the tear streak down his white face as it collected some powder on the way like a bloody snowball.

At the same moment he’d affirmatively spoke with a pointed tongue tucking his glasses into his chest pocket then taking his jean jacket off and handing it to hand barely in my camera angle before bursting through his shirt expanding into a freakish behemoth shaped like a Gorilla coming in riding a monsoon speaking like a 26 inch thick Python.

“Well let me tell ‘ya somethin’ here brother. Are you the Dog, brother?”

I’d responded like I’d knew the jig was up. “Maybe, are you some kind of macho man?”

The Gorilla didn’t like that then flexed his rage, farmer blowing blood from the corners of both his eyes straight into my face.

Fangs showing with a serial killer’s smile as he’d lowered his oversized torso down.

“Well let me tell ‘ya somethin’ here brother.  My name’s Gorilla-McCheeseMo, I’m with the Special Education Warrant Unit out of the Paradise City Special Needs Monkey Task Force Unit.

We catch motherfuckers who run from us. Now, let me ask you one thing brother, may I please come in?”

Remember those 4 magic words that every Monkey and all their family relatives had to live by?

I’d laughed terrified as 4 more Gorillas, all younger and much bigger than McCheeseMo, each sidestepped into my peripheral vision then each sidestepped again into my central vision psychologically attacking my central nervous system while they all synchronistically and sneeringly smiled standing very proud and upright.

They all took their sunglasses off as I’d said “No,” with my own authority pushing all 5 of their energy’s straight back at them.

“But I’ll be happy to come out there.” I’d finished then quickly inquired, “What’s this all about anyways?”

“Well let me tell ‘ya somethin’ here brother.  We have a warrant for you, Mr. Dog, out of Garbage Town, concerning a Mrs.,…”

The Gorilla shrunk back down to a dark haired, naked male with still a white powdered face that had blood blotched on his cheeks like red blush. His eyes scanned the paperwork like laser levels.

A locking sound indicated he’d identified the information he was searching for.

“Cheetah!” He’d blurted then became instantly irate expanding even bigger than he was the first time, blowing his back through the concrete floor in the condo above us.

McCheeseMo’s eyes dripped blood profusely like leaky faucets. He didn’t wipe  them or show discomfort while I became very uncomfortable and distressed with what I was witnessing.

Standing in shock for a split second longer, I’d started scootching back into the cocoon caressingly closing the door behind me hoping the big dummies wouldn’t notice.

“I just have to…, turn the stove off.”

Notifying them briefly, quickly saluting goodbye as that was literally the truth still cooking to my right before with my left paw I’d wholeheartedly tried to slam the door on McCheeseMo and his homies.

The Gorilla must not have liked the feeling of rejection because he caught the door handle on the way out and simply continued the motion by ripping the entire door off the hinges then throwing it behind him.

McCheeseMo started pounding his chest and smashing the drywall on each side hinting to the other oversized Gorillas it was time to attack.

I hope you’re all calm and sitting down right now because this is where the excursion really gets hairy.

Cue Planet of the Monkeys, Chimps and Gorillas theme music now.

McCheeseMo lunged at me bursting through the door frame taking out the entire wall of the entrance.

He’d grabbed both my shoulders as I’d stood on my hind legs, then used the controlling command of, “Well let me tell ‘ya somethin’ here brother. Oh no ‘ya fuckin’ don’t!”

Urshering me backwards into the countertop, he’d thrusted me accurately onto the corner digging the marble directly into the middle of my spine. Ugh.

I’d felt disappointed for a second because I’d thought the Gorilla wanted to start a new relationship with me where he’d be my best friend and the one I could run to and talk to when me and my girl were having problems.

‘What should I do right now?’ I’d wondered nice and slow.

These 5 Gorilla goons must’ve had it bad for me. I was all out of confessions and didn’t want to go anywhere with these bandits from the g-unit.

My true bff was nowhere to be seen of course, the fucking fucker. The one true moment I turn my back in comfort and belief that I’m safe for a single god damn second, and that fucking fucker leaves the scene also, then this shit happens.

Fuck it, when life gives ‘ya lemons, you gotta squeeze ‘em dry then make cash, am I right or am I right?

‘Let’s fuckin’ wrestle champ’ and then it was on like a true hero versus a fake, made for T.V. legend where we both had nothing to lose.

I said to ‘Mo, “Seriously bro, look at my stove, to my right, I absolutely have to turn it off.”

Being as it was a gas appliance that still had the stuffing’s onion, garlic and celery still browning on it, now blacking because of these fuckers.

Sad, confused face emoji. Middle finger emoji, black for charring my vegetables. Cockroaches.

The internal oven was still on from being pre-heated for the cake. I didn’t know if we were going to just have a chat so I tried to reach over and turn that off but the Gorilla inserted his mandible claw down my throat that was promptly making me unconscious.

I’d lifted my back legs off the ground to let all my weight drop, jerking his hand loose, then I’d quickly scurried backwards out of the kitchen with my tail between my legs in the direction of the bedroom.

What the fuck was this guy trying to do right now, eat my brain? They were all trying to kidnap me and take me downtown.

Downtown? Downtown? I knew what the fuck happened downtown. ‘Don’t put me in the car going downtown.’

Downtown (Downtown). Downtown (Downtown).

All 5 Gorillas started chanting like they were in a league of their own. It’s a fact they were wearing skirts except the boss but I’d figured that’s because maybe he was their manager?

It didn’t matter really when I’d truly wondered why life would want to make me feel so sad, alone and not so pretty?

Why would life want to make me worry about staying free inside this city?

The Gorilla’s chant got louder approaching the bedroom where I’d hid clearly in the corner.

They’d wanted to force me into cooperatively taking their car ride. They thought I was supposed to just “go with them” downtown.

There was no rhythm to this boss where I quickly processed ‘I might not be alright, downtown.’

Why was nobody understanding me or could I seem to forget all my troubles except for when I was sitting in darkness, downtown?

I don’t have to worry then because there is no thing to sense so death is the location, downtown.

“You Gorillas got me mistaken, I’ve already dealt with a Cheetah, there’s other Dogs you know?” I’d bellowed out like an injured Dog as the 5 lurked towards the corner I’d coward in.

There was no way out. After all this I had a hard time undertaking I was just going out like this. I’d wanted to blow my own head off.

My Horse heart started kicking the inside of my chest and I’d understood it’s palpating message being communicated to my brain using Morse code.

Translation; ‘How could I just kill a man? I ain’t goin’ out like that.’

I’m too high and sensitive right now, I don’t want to react like a seizure patient seeing those red lights looking at me. I ain’t goin’ out like that.

I’ll take care of my business, and I’ll be my own witness, ‘cause I ain’t going out like that. I just ain’t lettin’ myself go out like that.

Playtime was over as the runt of the litter grabbed me by the extra skin on my chest, lifted me straight holding me in a choke hold against the wall.

One Gorilla got on each side of me and respectively took an arm. The runt maintained his strangle hold backing me off the wall a few steps.

The two on my arms each gave me a kiss then lick on my face before both bending my arms back into a twist, then to touch hands behind my back.

I could hear them smiling in my ear as the runt begged me to move so he could snap my neck like a twig, “for some reason” I didn’t take that offer.

The 4th Gorilla who wasn’t involved yet opened his mouth demonstrating his ability to speak by threatening me with conviction stating, “Dog, ‘yo, bro, I’m gonna fuckin’ taze you if you move bro.”

92.

Was that really necessary? One soldier on each of my front legs completing their cuffing. One on my neck. My struggle was over, talking about kicking a fucker when he’s down.

Nothing like being tazed then tossed into the Concrete Jungle either. Hungry scavengers everywhere, sounds fun! I’d decided to go with them.

A voice came into my head sounding like my poppa-Dog and spoke to me saying a notion like, ‘it’ll be okay, just go.’

That’s when I truly surrendered.

I’d eased off any energy while 4 Gorillas bullied me to the door. Although dead weight my mouth hole continued to unload on their illogic.

“Do you all have any idea that I’ve already dealt with the Cheetah? I have the best Representative who’d got me a global resolution from here to the third world. It’s the Sweetest Pea’s birthday tomorrow. Nobody told me about this Bullshit.”

Old-G McCheeseMo spoke up shrinking back to his naked male stature.

“Well let me tell ‘ya somethin’ here brother. We have warrants out of Garbage Town concerning 4 allegations of alleged sexual rapage from an alleged rampage you’d went on alleged by a Mrs.Cheetah.

You have a continental warrant here brother, for your capture, silly Mr. Dog.”

He patted my head.

Perfecto! Fool’s day in winter, right? I’d looked at one Gorilla and sarcastically asked him, “This guy is fucking kidding right? What is he talking about?”

Smirking and shaking my head.

We’d moved towards the front door, “Man this some Bullshit.” I’d kept saying, shaking  my head in disbelief, barely walking with cooperation.

“This is double jeopardy you know.” I’d told a second Gorilla. “Who’s the supervisor over there?” I’d leaned into a third.

“I want to speak to Shylah! Let me speak to SHYLAHHHHHHH!” Picture a mental breakdown.

The only female Gorilla, a black belt ninja  champion from the Eastern Rising Sun who kissed me earlier, which might’ve been considered sexual assault, found her voice in that moment and leaned into me saying, “I’m really getting sick of listening to you, you know. You fucking piece of shit, Dog shit rapist.”

With my eyebrows raised, I’d barked back ‘what’s that!?’ Secretly Dog whispering with a whistle for her to take the cuffs off.

She didn’t and I’d appreciated such treatment and fairness I’d received. Good thing the Gorilla gang and G-Town must’ve had some very extensive proof to back up these accusations.

I was curious to hear about their “new discoveries” they’d found like a lost treasure. What could the Cheetah had possibly said about me now?

Standing in metal bracelets waiting for the elevator to take us down 5 floors, the OG mentioned he’d inform me more information on the details once I was secured in my box.

That’s protocol so the character being kidnapped doesn’t freak out on the spot. Possibly throwing a rage because of the injustice potentially happening.
——————————————————————Chapter 38.

I’d asked the biggest and dumbest G if he’d grab my coat before we’d made our way through the busted wall and into the hall, big Mr. TazeHappy.

He’d grabbed it but didn’t give it to me before or after the team of 4 threw me in the back of Patty’s Wagon that was conveniently parked outside, OG supervised.

It was about minus 7 under freezing level not including the windchill, and a 21 minute wagon ride over to the Paradise City Jungle BNB holding boxes.

Yes it is true Paradise had Concrete Jungles as well because in every city or town there was always one character who still had to fuck around so even in perfection the designated area still needed watchers and safe houses for those unable to control themselves.

I’d heard the male G who’d twisted my arm tell the getaway driver ‘they’d caught a real life bad guy here!’

He was referring to me as I’d looked around for this legend from Helena’s Yellowstone Yosemite Sam National Park.

Where was this meanest, roughest, toughest hombre that’d ever crossed Grande Ten Thousand Mile Nile barefoot they’d spoke of?

I’d questioned the cotton picking varmints in the front wondering again ‘if they’d had me confused?’

The wagon started moving while I’d started to panic, attempting to rip my left paw out of my bracelet.

I was willing to rip my whole arm off at this moment I’d tried to pull so hard. I’d knew though, if I was able to get out, then what?

The next time we’d stopped I’d be behind a brick wall the size of a Medieval castle and when those back doors on Patty’s Wagon opened there’d surely be anywhere from 11-111 Slugs ready to receive me.

Green slime onslaught. What was I supposed to do then with one arm ripped off and covered in green slime? There’d be no way I could scale the wall.

I’d tried harder to rip my hand out, almost scraping the fur and skin off as I’d tugged desperately trying not to cry.

The driver asked me “if I was cold”, I’d said “yes”. He’d just laughed and told me to “shut up” because we were almost there. Hahahahaha.

Protect pervs and act absurd was their motto. The Monkey family was always true to their commitment 100.

The wagon stopped.

Ladies and gentlemen (bang). Your freedom’s not free or dumb, and this depressing place is not great.

Was what the driver said trying to unnerve me like a rider getting on or off the most haunted carnival ride?

I’d pretended like I was wearing my best suit preparing for Slugs everywhere once the backdoor would open again (bang).

Like that (bang). Now it’s about to be obscenely going down (bang). Enter the fight music song to put some serious holes in my happiness.

‘Maybe my death wish will come true?’ I’d wondered with glee but it wasn’t Valentine’s so I’d ultimately guessed my death sentence would have to wait.

4 Gorillas started to march towards the back of the wagon like a team of Frankenstein’s, each snapping Polaroids and letting the developing pictures just fall to the ground.

OG held a candle in his left hand with some green grass in his right as he’d cupped his right with the grass around the candle igniting the grass in a poof of flame.

Time for me to feel committed to the modern mobscene banging inside this concrete complex that resembled an obscene sex scene of Slugs having orgies and addicts coming down off God’s Heroin.

Bang, bang, bang the background noise went down, down, down.

OG blew his candle out, 4 Frankenstein Gorillas flashed their cameras once more each then in concert somersaulted straight up in the air and slammed down their equipment.

I’d watched the cameras shatter that flashed me the image of Patty’s Wagon crashing on the way in.

The eastern ninja would’ve been sitting shotgun and she’d blew me a death kiss on my way flying through the front windshield.

G-unit kindly helped me down off the rear, concerned I wouldn’t fall or bang my face like I was an old grandpa who needed a home stair lift and they were all my great, great, great and great grandchildren.

I’d thought of them as Grandpappy’s Unit and I’d wished in that moment my love for freedom burned down everything I’d seen. Everything I’d thought and said turned to fire and burned the motherfucker down. Everything.

I’d wondered how I could’ve been this lonely? I’d fantasized about worms eating my spine. I’d dreamt about my love being a fire burning within. I’d foreseen having conversations with liars.

G-unit lead me inside where we all heard some fake gangsters getting their ass’s penetrated by cactuses in the background.

It sounded like the fake hoods were being taught a lesson by real shot callers in the building who had true legacy’s they were leaving behind on the outside.

I’d looked around and saw Slugs sliming semen and some vagina juices everywhere leaving trails of horny mucus as they’d laughed to themselves jizzing over anything in sight then licking it off each other believing in their heroism.

I was instructed to stand at the yellow line, one Gorilla searched me again. They originally did before we’d left the cocoon, while the tough two twisted my arms.

This search was my privilege of taking a full body cavity inspection before being placed in the holding box for the night. Where I’d sit, with no food or sunlight.

This was the sleepover I didn’t want to have. No fucking fun.

The time wasn’t past noon. Did my fears create this situation after not desiring this outcome in the first place?

I did have some conscious thought about, “not wanting” to sleep over but my intention was definitely about my well-being and what I did desire out of my goodness.

There was a Depository in the basement of the Concrete Jungle BNB, if a guest was denied deposit or didn’t have a SureThing they’d get chauffeured to more permanent hospitality the next day.

This was just the drunkntank in the city’s core but I had no idea where we were in reality. Patty’s wagon didn’t have windows so it was like I’d been brought there blindfolded and handcuffed. Literally.

I’d understood why all the Slugs kept splooging everywhere. Secret blindfold, secret location, secret sauce.

OG came to my box explaining how there was a continental warrant against me pertaining to 4 sexual assault claims brought forth by the Cheetah.

Who’d over the previous 6 months returned to the Garbage Town Monkeys to make her 33rd, 34th, 35th, 36th, 37th, 38th, 39th, 40th, 41st, 42nd and 43rd statements.

Gorilla who’d brought the monsoon told me a couple of Garbage Town Monkeys were involved in a shinny hockey game but once they’d finished they’d fly across the continent to get my leash, then we’d all fly back to Garbage Town like a happy fuckin’ family so I could post deposit.

‘Mo said the heroes had 6 days to come get me or else I’d be released and everything would be dropped.

Fat fuckin’ chance right. I’d thought positive though, I’d tried to believe. I would’ve wished upon a star if there was a god damn window.

OG told me I’d go through the deposit process in Paradise the next morning but I’d be denied on behalf of waiting for G-Town to come through and collect.

I’d be allowed one call but only to a Representative. No family or friends who’d notify the Ladybug I was being held captive or would be flown across the continent.

That was that, and before he’d slammed the 4 inch steel door shut and walked away forever I’d asked the OG for a favour in the fastest second ever.

Telling him it was PeaPod’s birthday the next day and seeing as I’d be in an undisclosed hostage situation held until sneakily flown across the continent maybe the slightest he could do was give a pubic hair’s worth of a shit and have half a fuckin’ heart’s decency to call or pathetically text the Lady to let her know where I’d be going.

The fucker.

He wanted me to beg in what could’ve been the end of my world as I’d known it, I still felt half fine though and wasn’t going to cry, pass out and have rapid eye movements or suck his shrivelled wiener even though he’d kept pouting about it.

Old cheesy G didn’t understand the concept of consideration and was about to close the door eternally when I’d noticed his tiny heart snap like a twig and instead of continuing his forward motion this time, opposed to ripping the door off my hinges earlier, he’d lifted his blood-dripping eyes and shone them right into my baby blue rays of god.

Like the heartless grinch who stole the festive season I saw the wheels turning in his head. His brain was marching about to clap back.

I quickly held my breath and concentrated my heart.

Lord I’ve been a slave to the Cheetah far too long. I never wished murder on anybody but Lord can I get a break? I ain’t really happy here.

Tell this Gorilla to keep lookin’ into my eyes and see my pain and fear. Lord can I get a break (Lord, can I get a break), ‘cause I ain’t really happy here. Take a look into my eyes, you’ll see the rain of a pioneer. Lord can I get a break, ‘cause I ain’t really happy here.

Here we go again. Do I feel this shit? Into this new world, this new day. This new way where it’s my rules, my body even though I’ve never had such a bigger burden.

Did I deserve this transfer? Time to confirm. Lord, ‘ya hear ‘maaaa.

OG spoke to me like a military marksman remarking he’d make a chivalrous effort to try and contact the Pea.

Holy fuck could I trust him, that was the riddle? If a Gorilla makes a sound in a box and only him and I hear him make the sound does that mean the sound actually happened?

He could’ve just agreed to lead me on or calm me down, I really didn’t have much choice to take his word.

McCheeseMo ended keeping his word though like a noble trooper and called The Ladybug 4 or 5 times that day trying to get a hold of her.

He must’ve had a boost of spirit kick-start him out of his shell and into being a decent individual.

I’d used my one call to phone a free Representative who’s funded by the continent. This was the type to really care about society.

I’d asked him the same, if he could ‘text the Ladybug for me telling her where I was and what was happening to me?’ I didn’t hear any response on the other end.

Next I’d been sent to the nurse. Last stop before being locked away for the rest of this day and night.

Nurse asked me if I’d “needed anything?”

“Yeah, a fucking hug.”

93.

A pair of Slugs locked me in a box where I’d sat until 9am the next day.

They gave me two juice boxes and two granola bars. I was only supposed to have one of each but I’d used my big boy voice to ask for seconds making my wish the Slug’s command.

Nobody told me in that moment I’d be waiting in that moment until the next morning but I’d intelligently put the pieces together about 6 hours when they handed out another round of snacks.

It was just me, my granola, juice box, in this box, with one stainless sink, one stainless toilet, one voyeur positioned camera, one bunk bed made out of steel where I’d sat and stayed as one sad Dog who couldn’t stop thinking about the sweet Ladybug at home who was also probably sad as fuck the night before her bday.

Others were locked up all around me in every direction. The day and evening was spent listening to junkies explore the pain and agony of withdraws.

Crying, screaming and banging on their doors non-stop in what seemed like a coordinated concert of melancholy.

I’d felt disgusted, enraged and perturbed. I never got lunch or dinner besides the snacks, all I could think about was my sweetest Ladybug and how sorry I’d felt for her as if I did something wrong here.

That was a common problem of mine which I’d recognized in that moment that this was a feeling I’d always had, baggage from momma-Bear’s damaged life.

After all the support the Ladybug gave me, I didn’t know what these Gorilla’s in the mist were talking about as if they’d all been given the names of Willis at birth and hailed from the upper east side.

That’s a snobs land if you’re unfamiliar.

I had the nerve to tell all 5 of these shorter minded class acts that their sick and twisted mentality of trying to take over villages without any witnesses was pretty half-hazard, and maybe they should check the sound scanner because I’d felt like getting plastered then running at them in a drunken swagger with a hammer in my hand.

My life was no puppet show and this wasn’t a bungalow. Instantly my thoughts became so complex I’d wondered if I was having an episode of vertigo dragging me beneath the undertow like an upside down tornado?

And yet even when being dragged to the ground by Gorillas or trying to rip my hands out of my jewellery, I’d consistently felt an ever-present comfort inside myself that provided me with a tiny belief that everything happening was okay and part of a greater purpose that’d be revealed in time. Fucking earth time.

So I’d sat and I’d sat. Listening to the sobbing cries of myself and the sickness next door, I’d sat some more.

Every hour or so a Slug would trail by the door and check a sheet verifying I was still alive. Yep, as if there was anywhere else I could go.

Some would take an extra long gander when they’d peep through the window on guests. Those were the desperate Slugs who were even more sad than the addicts staying there.

Those closeted Slugs craved love so desperately, and they’d enjoyed their duty of enthusiastically keeping a watchful one-eye on the males trapped in boxes.

They’d touch themselves frantically as they’d make their rounds from window to window, leaving trails lathered all over the doorframes.

At least the addicts had drugs to excuse their behaviour. These Slugs were the sickest ones jerking off to others of the same sex dealing with misfortune.

They’re almost as sick as the fuckers who rape victims chained in a basement. It’s practically the same mentality in my opinion where one enjoys another being trapped having nothing.

Sexually aroused from bondage? They’re very disturbing actually.

After peeping Tom verifies attendance countless times, the lights randomly went out. No blankets or pillows. No bedtime story or song just fuck off and die.

So, I’d sung myself a little bedtime song loud enough to overpower the cries and
drumming of the addict’s who were singing, pounding the walls inside their solid concrete suite pleasantly providing us all with a tempo for the beat.

Another chance to say good riddance to this bitch, I should’ve stuck a fork in her then feed her to the abyss. If she’d just fuck off and die that’d be about my only wish. Turning point, lesson learned, maybe she just needs one more kiss?

The Cheetah’s so predictable, showing her still frames online, I hope she’s had the time of her life.

She’s got some tattoos to remind herself for the trial, permanent black and blue ink should last her for a while. Queen for the day dressed like a basket case with pliers, she pulls her own teeth I serve up brainstew to all liars.

The Cheetah’s so predictable, showing her still frames online, I hope she’s had the time of her life.

C’mon Cheetah join me for one more.

The Cheetah’s so predictable, showing her still frames online, I hope she’s had the time of her life.

I’d allowed some time to pass as I’d munched on my supplies in the dark, it was bedtime.

I was terrified of sleeping though because of what I’d feared tomorrow might’ve brought so I’d just laid still trying not to think about how shitty life was, really trying to focus on the purpose of positivity.

I started thinking about stuffing some toilet paper down my throat which wasn’t too positive but I thought if I could suffocate myself I could get out of this situation.

Was this my karma for running then taking the bargain, where somehow I’d actually did something to deserve such punishment?

Or was one, or a few characters in this saga making a big mistake here? I wasn’t thinking properly because I hadn’t ate and fell into a Wormhole being told minimal information except 4 claims.

I’d had enough of life and this sick sociopath that continued to hunt me down like a Dog through her distorted, demented possessiveness.

Any character out there ever felt trapped by a partner? Ever been trapped by a partner? This could mean emotionally or psychologically.

I’d tried to sleep.

Breathing extensively deep usually helped whenever I couldn’t but the moans and groans of the Jungle were loud enough to hear echoing through the stacks of concrete walls. I was officially in my hellish nightmare.

There was an intercom on the wall that was intended for emergencies only.

Don’t actually expect a hero to come running if there literally was a situation but at least the caged Animal could attempt to notify a Slug if something was wrong.

It had to be at least the devil’s hour of 3am when I’d become so frustrated with the agonizing sound of tears falling in every direction when I’d paged the button.

“Fuck is it?” I was pleasantly greeted with.

“Hi, can you please help the male next door so he can feel better, shut up and get some sleep?”

“No, we can’t. Now don’t press the button again.” The Slug uttered, he’d resembled some tiredness himself and a touch on the cranky side.

Obviously they are of no help.

I’d gone back to my comfort zone of suicide by toilet paper. I’d found comfort in the thought of attempting to control the emotion in my life that was now experiencing something outside my personal control, desire, positivity or wishful thinking.

Shortly after touching that glory in my mind I’d come to the submissive thought to give this experience a chance because the idea of suicide was not helping me feel any better.

While death sounded, felt and looked like the best, quickest and greediest solution, I’d believed to give life a chance and wait until all else failed before I’d manifested that idea.

The next day I’d be out of this portion of the process so I’d confirmed to my soul I’d wait and see where that next day took me, and for sure within a week I’d know my next steps of destiny.

I’d chosen to make that decision then to either live or die.
——————————————————————Chapter 39.

I’d barely dozed off when the lights came back on. It must’ve been an 11pm-5am shift for allotted sleep around here.

A Slug slithered by each box checking their tally sheet verifying everyone survived the night.

A second Slug came to my box, unlocked the door, said I was done in this area then directed me into further darkness for my pre-arranged deposit denial.

I’d got into the elevator by myself then got out at the first stop below.

Again, Slugs were everywhere, it was an obscene mobscene where they’d all watched me walk the yellow line.

That’s where criminals walked was on the yellow line. This was also there so there was no confusion which path the accused was to take. Step off the line and you can imagine the raping and pillaging that would take place.

There’s about 15 Slugs for every 1 non-convicted criminal. I didn’t understand how they’d all fit in such a tight area, mashed on top of each other in one corner having an orgy.

I was told they’d be serving no breakfast at this BNB which kind of defeated the purpose but there was a few sandwiches left over from lunch the day before when a Slug heard the sound of my belly aching then kindly offered one to me.

I’d graciously accepted the fake cheese on white then pounded it down after being placed in my newest home, the smallest box yet, alongside another male who was still drunk from the previous night out on the town.

We must’ve been the first downstairs because watching through the looking glass I’d never witnessed anybody else get breakie.

The male I was locked away with was barely sitting up, all slouching over and half on the floor opposed to remaining seated on our fixed bench. We’d barely made eye contact.

He did wake up for a moment to tell me the Monkeys picked him up while he was supposedly walking his Dog. He wasn’t clear why though as he’d fallen over completely off his seated position.

I didn’t have patience for this. I’d finished my sandwich, he didn’t eat his. Since I’d got one entering the box the Slug just tossed a second one at the guy I was temporarily rooming with.

Moments later I went to be denied a deposit as intended. No SureThing was in attendance and no amount was specified.

A Sheep with a black gown and a white curly weave on spoke to the onlookers saying, “‘Oy ‘yea, ‘oy ‘yea, oh hear ye, oh hear ye. 3 and a half Hail Mary’s and 4 and a half Hail Satan’s, all angels in between must repent for not being good enough for either.

This Dog of today will be held captive for 5 more until on the 6th from this day when Garbage Town has a limit to collect their dues, and if not had they come to collect their rightful possession by this time then may this Dog be released and granted amunity to be free, ‘oy yea, ‘oy yea, ‘oy yea, all hail the god’s of yesteryear.”

She’d held one arm straight out with her hand and fingertips as flat as a board.  She picked her wedgie with her other hand, continued holding the pose for a moment before jumping straight up to click her heels together on the left side.

Then she’d landed and in the same movement scooped up her gavel, swung it to crash a symbol beside her chair, yelling as she’d sat down, “Gong!”

Then she’d looked at me and pointing at my designated door yelling again, “No soup for you! Next!”

‘All’s well that ends well’ I’d supposed. Then I’d hoped that the G-Town Monkeys got into a fight playing shinny and their trip was cancelled because they’d actually got knocked the fuck out and put into a coma for the next 7 days.

Of course that wouldn’t happen in my realty I’d knew.

And on that note I was whisked away back into the depths of the holding boxes, right back to the same one I was in with the same drunk who was still passed out in the same position he’d laid when I’d left.

On the floor snoring.

‘How did anybody sleep like that?’ I’d wondered. The floor was as cold a chill cellar. Dude had to be totally wasted to be laying on it for that long and at such an obscure angle.

I wasn’t in the box long before Slugs dragged me out again. It was transport time, next up a more true Concrete Jungle BNB, with breakfast and pillows and everything.

This was where I’d call home until the Garbage Town Monkeys made their way to  gather me up like ground ball. At least once at the true BNB I could maybe try to call the Ladybug.

I’d still felt the pain of not being with her in the mountains on that day but I’d felt more upbeat knowing I was moving along in the procedure as slowly as it could be happening.

I’d woken up with a little more faith that morning believing everything would work out.

94.

The group of males including me all stood on the yellow line before being stripped searched from head to toe.

Then the Slugs made us all play twister to see who’d have to sit in the transport truck with someone on their lap because there wasn’t enough seats. I didn’t lose thank man-god and his raging boner.

I’d noticed some of Slugs cop a feel as they’d searched all the random crotches. Seeing them molest other alleged hardened criminals was hard to believe but provable because the Slugs left their slime behind.

I should mention that not all the Slugs like to grab dicks. The one who gave me the sandwich didn’t seem to be participating in our manly game of naked twister so I’d assumed it was a personal preference.

Some Slugs also joked with humour and would try to make light of our cirCUMstance. Some were literally just dads or husbands fulfilling their daily Sheep-shift duties to pay ‘da bills.

I could tell by the look in some of their eyes they weren’t truly happy doing this, possibly even potentially feeling compassion for some of us, so I’d played along and tickled some buttholes just to get a laugh.

When we were done getting searched I’d been placed in a white jumpsuit to be easily identified for transportation.

This was when anxiety grew immensely as a group of strange males became chained together within a very close proximity.

Emotions could potentially rise quickly in this moment, as the thought might start to sink in that this ride might be the last some can enjoy for a while.

I’d felt nervous, exhausted and I’d hoped this drive didn’t take long which it didn’t.

Maybe an hour or so before the vehicle came to a complete stop at the BNB. A description of the tour before we move on?

Inside the truck was lined from top to bottom with sheet metal and plexiglass that separated every two passengers.

The group of us became friends and started having a chat like we were home, home on the range but these Deers and Antelopes didn’t feel okay or really want to play along.

Allow further truth to reveal we were all unhappy our lives had worked out that way to the extent we’d all aligned to now be sitting in silence where a difference of opinion could easily begin a clash of titans in such a tight, unnatural element of space.

One new friend was from the Island and his demeanour matched a generalization of a character from the Island. Tanned, chubby, positive, hated Monkeys, loved pussy Cats.

He’d come from a genuinely loving family, smoked mad chronic and liked bongo music that he was playing on the tin with his finger tips while his hands were cuffed behind his back.

Another good dude who’d been “caught up” in the wrong situation who’d maintained his innocents of course.

Another new friend was younger than me and had a record that was 113 pages long.

You might think because of that he’d be a real thug from the streets. Tear drop tattoos to indicate he’d killed a character from his crew, built muscular like a fuckin’ tank who’d spit when he’d talk, but he wasn’t like that at all.

It’s true Thug Life ran guns and drugs. He’d also assaulted characters with his fists, weapons and boots although I didn’t clarify if he was trying to teach clients the difference between punishment verses reward?

Facts were true that Thug Life was more of a hustler than a thug, where he was definitely not some fake artist from the school of arts who’d deceived his way into representing real thugs who literally had nothing and had to hustle hard for basic cream and coffee.

Him and I clicked right away because our energy was pure and real recognize real. Just because a character has a long rap sheet based on hardship doesn’t mean they don’t know how to rap with heart.

He was a good man and we’d kicked it through the plexiglass for the majority of our ride, getting to know each other’s history of journey.

Thug Life made jokes and tried to include everybody in on our conversation. He was very friendly, very loud and very smiley while I was more the quiet type acknowledging while frowning and Crabby.

We did laugh and it was scary because I’d wanted to be trusting of everyone like a good Dog would do but this really wasn’t the trusting environment to be practicing that in so I had to stand guard with precaution.

This environment was more like the place to only speak when spoken to otherwise the practice is to mind your own god damn business at all times with head down.

The emotion during transportation was sad despite our conversation. I’d felt very deflated and it was hard to be enthusiastic.

The sheetmetal was warm from all of our body’s stress responses radiating off our behind’s. Air was muggy from the moisture of tears mixed with warmth.

We were packed like Tuna in a can then parked but nobody came to open the secured back door for us.

20 big hand movements on the watch went by where we’d been left to sit in the back of the transport can.

Finally as moisture began to turn to frost our chain gang was offloaded into the facility.

All of us were herded into a large concrete box that had one fixed toilet, one sink and one mirror. One bench along the entirety of all walls where we’d all sat and waited some more.

We weren’t told this but Thug Life learned from one of the Slugs the reason we had to stay in the truck for so long was because a character got shot and killed in the parking lot.

Supposedly, another transport vehicle was offloading as we’d arrived. One of the guests allegedly “freaked out” when the Slugs had opened the back door.

Things got escalated quickly, the Slugs  responded by shooting and killing his ass right on the spot, no hesitation or questions asked.

Now, we all had to sit in this large box for hours and it sure felt like it.
——————————————————————Chapter 40.

The time had passed 6pm. Dinner was being served but technically we weren’t in the BNB yet so we didn’t qualify for the free meal.

A Slug tossed us a couple of empty candy wrappers that all the friends scuffled over trying to get a tiny lick, all friends except Thug Life and I that was.

I still hadn’t ate a meal since approximately 8:30 the previous morning. I was eating celery when the G-unit showed up, what a fuckin’ last meal.

Now I wouldn’t be eating dinner for a second night in a row, I was hungry and tired to say the least.

We were forced to stay in this group until they’d cleaned up the mess outside.

Finally I was taken through the check-in. First briskly frisked then sent to see the psych nurse so she could assess my thoughts about killing myself.

Never say “there are thoughts” to this BNB psych nurse because if she hears the trigger words she’ll pull the trigger and put you in solitary confinement for 23 hours a day.

Always say you “feel fine” and you’re “upbeat” about your stay at the Concrete Jungle or else you’ll really feel claustrophobic.

I’d confirmed my safety and been officially registered as a guest of the facility, so next step was to get my ID where the barcode number would replace my name.

I’d approached a window where a Slug sat waiting to take my picture, no smiling which is common for ID.

He’d asked me if I had any tattoos and if I could show them to him so I’d put both ring fingers up on the plexiglass window, getting as close as I could to giving him the finger without receiving an ass kicking for my actions.

It felt good to send a little intentional energy their way, the Slug liked it then made a quick remark to his co-workers from the inside of his safe zone, they all started laughing and jerking off agitatedly.

They’re always smiling tough behind glass, standing for ridiculous rules and regulations while beside about 8 like-minded characters manning a control booth.

Never doing much just slimming around rubbing themselves on knobs and gears that controlled the locks on the doors.

They didn’t know what they’d stood for or that the rules they’d slurped were created by the masterminds of a true crime series.

Made for cinema? An illusion for a grand stage? I’d hoped the Slugs felt good preforming their heroes duty they’d done for society.

Caging and provoking guests intentionally urging them into reaction just so they could have an excuse to lay a beat down. This was the Slugs aspirations in life and they were living their dream.

Truthfully, none of them would last a minute in a Sheep’s society, that’s why they hid away all day. They’re factually very slow and sluggish as their Animal character coincidentally indicated.

The energy of the guests staying at the Concrete Jungle BNB attracted the same energy as those who’d worked there because likeness attracts like.

I was still in the mind frame there was a mistake going on so the opposite side of the spectrum would be the mirror in this instance ie; a Cheetah and her following of Monkeys.

That theory would then speak great volume about the Cheetah’s energy, who might’ve been comparable to those who were locked away as truly heinous criminals. Hmm.

Back into the group box before it wasn’t long when we were pulled one by one being separated into different pods.

The BNB was constructed into a number of pods, some guests call them free-range pens.

The pen is where the guests would call home for the duration of their stay and the Jungle is sectioned off into multiple pods or pens that are categorized based on the nature of allegations, chronologically labelled A, B, C, etcetera.

On the way to my pod I got to stop and pick up my BNB essentials.

1-flat pillow, 1-Ratty blanket, 1-box of toiletries such as a mini-toothbrush, mini-tube of toothpaste, mini-soap along with travel-sized shampoo and conditioner.

2-reduced boxers, 2-reused pair of holy socks, 2-recycled t-shirts, 1-hand me down towel, all white so far.

1-coffee stained red sweater, 2-shit stained pair of red hospital pants and 1-pair of laceless shoes.

To receive my belongings I had to take off my white jumpsuit and clothing underneath then get on my knees and beg for them naked.

The catch was there was no nudity in any pod so I wasn’t allowed to leave the changing area until I’d participated. If I’d still refused to beg then naked beat down would be what I’d receive instead.

Part of that beggars routine was to bend over backwards and frontwards exposing both my man meat and b-hole for the thirsty inspector.

I could hear the Slug snarling with joy at my athletic physique so I’d gave him a special wink with my special third eye when I’d bent over that gave him a special downs type smile.

The worker should be labelled the real criminal around here being his behaviour could easily be deemed worthy of a sexual predator.

I’d left the area as the next b-hole entered to get inspected.

95.

Talk about degrading. I didn’t know which was worse, having to show my man to him or him having to look at dozens of men each day?

I’d guessed ‘to each their own’ if that’s what a character wanted to do with themselves?

By the time I’d went through the turnstile I hadn’t been the first b-hole of the evening.
There’d already been a few in line ahead of me and a few behind me who were all greased up ready for this Slug to do our continent a service.

What a life.

Butthole inspection is “for safety’s sake” and while some don’t mind using their bum as a purse it’s a fairly invasiveness procedure, reasonably disgusting for both parties but hey, it’s for fuckin’ safety’s sake!

None the less a big moment was ahead when I was to walk into my new temporary home for the next 6 days max.

This pod was also home to another 20-30 males who were most likely feeling frustrated and angry because of their living situation.

I’d walked through the 4 inch steel door, all the guests were out of their boxes socializing respecting each other’s space and playing cards or working out.

The head Slug seated at the makeshift desk told me I’d be stayin’ on the 3rd floor in suite 3C.

I’d hoped for the best but planned for the worst when this was the moment I’d introduce myself to my new roommate I’d be forced to bunk with for my stay at the luxurious Concrete Jungle.

Who was about to be the lucky contestant I’d get to share my 8 by 12 medium sized bathroom with?

Was it going to be a gangster? Racist? Capitalist? Pedophile? Murderer? Rapist? A character into bestiality? Maybe it was going to someone not guilty but being held against their will?

Or, maybe a drunk driver? A deposit violator? Perhaps a TV superhero who’d suggested a round of head would help a female star get her role? He just didn’t get that agreement in writing. Hmm.

By the stairs structured up the west side wall of each floor were phones that dialled out only.

I’d asked a Slug if I could use these phones and she’d explained to me that I’d have to wait until Monday because the front office was closed on weekends, this was now Friday night.

I needed to purchase a phone card but couldn’t until the main office was open. The feeling of being claustrophobic fully sank in.

How the fuck was I supposed to get in touch with the Ladybug and how is anybody supposed to know what’s happening to me?

I’d felt intense fear of potentially not being able to get in touch with her but I’d known a few tricks to the trade in this kind of environment so I’d believed I could work something out, then I’d headed to my room.

On my way up there was a group of gang members hanging out at the top of the steps socks pulled up sarcastically smiling looking dangerous.

One approached me as I’d expected reaching the top as I’d hugged the railing trying to round the corner.

“Yo man,” dude nodes at me walking with one hand reaching into his pocket. “‘yo you bring anything wit’ you G?” He’d asked me nervously.

Super low and quiet I’d looked around to verify nobody was listening before responding with relief hearing his nervousness, “Naw man I couldn’t, these fuckers just showed up at my cocoon unannounced.”

He’d agreed with understanding as if he’d been there himself. I just shrugged my shoulders, turned my hands inside out and continued on.

There was a slight moment of camaraderie and mutual respect that went unspoken but who’d knew what the next character might bring?

Gangster shit was happening everywhere. Drug deals, trades for rations or canteens, petty disagreements. Overall the vibe was light and quiet even though every guest had a heavy sense of being able to pop off at any moment.

I’d entered my room and an older Red Panda was laying on the bottom bunk. He had darker, 65 year old orange and grey fur on top of an out of shape truckers body.

PHEW! I’d caught a break on this one!

There’s some serious crazy’s in Jungle BNB’s and the bunking situation is completely random when entering any pod. Don’t like your new roommate?

Then 23 hours a day in locked down solitary confinement is where you’ll go for a minimum of 3 nights before you get to spin the wheel of misfortune again.

I’d inhaled a comforting breath of fresh air feeling thankful the universe was on my side for this one. My new friend and I would spend a fair amount of time together going forward, it was important to me the character was the calmer type.

We’d introduced ourselves then I’d headed back downstairs to try to scope out my new surroundings.

There was 1-single stall shower on every floor that was free to use at will. It had a button that the user would have to keep pressing every 35 seconds like the public showers at the beach.

This was intentional so no guest could actually get comfortable. Aside from that the shower situation was good because it wasn’t a group thing and since I’d loved a good shower I’d intended to take a few a day just to waste time.

The BNB had an outdoor court where guests could engage in basketball or handball, no racquets due to being potential weapons even though not one guest at this BNB had been convicted guilty.

All characters were in fact awaiting some kind of process, all too dangerous for society, didn’t have SureThings or enough for deposit.

There was a mini-gym but of course no free-weights because obviously somebody could get angry and use them to club another over the head with.

Everything was clean though and there even was a makeshift barbershop which kept some guests occupied. I had medium length golden orange fur at the time where I’d been growing it for a while so I could’ve used a trim but decided against.

I’d missed dinner that night but there was GMO bread and butter on the tables that were all bolted to the ground. Being excruciatingly hungry I’d mowed down a few pieces on the spot then took a few back to my room.

Before I could turn around and head to the stairs in walked who? None other than Thug Life who’d arrived about 25 long minutes after I’d got there.

I’d felt an intense sense of relief as I’d turned to him with bread in one paw practically yelling at him, “‘Yo Vulture, what up though?!”

Laughing excitedly approaching him to shake his claw he’d responded energetically with the same relief, “Dog! What the fuck’s goin’ on?” Asking with surprise.

“Awe you know.” I’d hesitated as if something changed since the last time I saw him within the hour.

I’d watched his eyes scan the situation room with slight fear. He’d had his essentials under his wing so I’d walked with him to his room.

He was in 3A, only two doors down from me on the top floor. He got a room all to himself because he was such a consistent guest who knew how to talk Slugs into giving him the hookup.

He was just a skilled hustler like that, very good with words.

A few moments before I’d entered the pod supposedly two heavyweights got into a tussle while trapped within the confines of the room I was sleeping in.

They’d beat each other so bad janitors who’d lived in the pod had to clean the blood splattered all over the walls.

Thug Life told me the big boss on campus was the Octopus who’d always be down to help those in need but only for the right price.

I’d figured I could offer him a favour in return to use his phone card.

I’d started my way down the stairs to talk to the short, rounder pod leader when this Ese who was at the phone on the second floor, true mafia with his white socks pulled up to his knees, pant legs tucked into his socks and one eyebrow with 3 slits in it, stopped me by grabbing me by the arm then asking, “‘Yo Hombre you need to make a phone call homie?”

I’d laughed wondering ‘how the fuck does this guy know that?’ “Ah yea, you have a card I could use?”

“Of course, of course man, I’ve got some time left on this card for you homie.”

“Are you sure? Thanks man seriously, do you need anything?” I’d asked unsure, hoping he didn’t say blow job because I really wasn’t in a working mood.

“What’s the number homie?” He’d ignored my question asking me, then I’d relayed it to him as he’d punched it in. Ese waited a moment then handed me the receiver, it was ringing.

96.

The sweet Ladybug answered, “Hello?”

The computer voice came on, “You have a collect call from: The Paradise Concrete Jungle BNB, this is: The Dog. Do you accept the rates?”

She’d accepted, this was a small miracle.

“My Sweets how are you?” I’d asked without delay. “How are you?” She’d responded without haste.

“Awe fuck, I’m okay. I’ve been better. I’m really sorry about all this…,” she’d cut me off with confidence stating, “It’s okay, we’re gonna get you out of this.”

I’d been waiting for this moment for many moments out of my life, oh Jebas. If I told this female I was drowning she’d give me her arm to float on out of her delight, oh Jebas. I’m thankful for this one extra phone call here tonight, oh Jebas, oh Jebas.

She’d seen my face and looked into my eyes knowing, believing the road I’d been down, knowing my history like a good friend who’d known where I’d been, oh Jebas the LadyB knew all the words were a pack of lies.

Remembering to feel safety in the air that night with her waiting for me in the dark of the light was very important to me, oh Jebas, oh Jebas.

And so I’d remembered, I’d remembered not to worry, easier said than done. How could I ever forget? This wasn’t the first time, how could I think it’d be the last?

I’d blurted out to the Pea, “Okay you have to call Diesel and tell him what’s happening here. We need him to meet us in Garbage Town to represent us…”

She’d cut me off again saying she’d already talked to the Rhino and he’d agreed to meet us at the location.

I must not have got that memo. I could barely hold myself together. “You’ve already talked with him?”

The Ladybug responded, “Yeah, he says this is some complete Bullshit.” I’d laughed finding it hard to disagree.

I’d asked her how her birthday was, spending it alone. She’d told me she’d kept up our tradition of taking birthday suit photos.

Over the years we’d created a routine on the Ladybug’s special day by going into nature and taking some adult photos of her.

That year though, sadly I wasn’t there to take the pics or drive her into nature but she still took some herself and was humbly thankful to do it from our cocoon.

I was definitely appreciative she was able to take them as the idea gave me something to fantasize about over the next lonely nights.

She’d also cooked and ate the Duck that was supposed to be prepared by me at the cabin that weekend.

She’d fulfilled all this to maintain balance and I was even more impressed she’d thought of contacting the Rhinoceros.

The Ladybug explained to the Rhino that McCheeseMo claimed these allegations were from the Cheetah and his first question in disbelief was, “Are you sure it’s the same female making these new accusations?”

He’d wondered how could one female come forth, then come forth again years later? Did she forget something? Did she not feel safe enough to go over all the details in her countless statements years prior?

Truthfully it was the old moldy McCheeseMo who’d saved the day with his one good deed of notifying the partner of an alleged criminal he’d kidnapped.

Cheese helped consciously create the awareness we’d needed for our attempt at a cross continent rescue.

Once again the Ladybug was going to meet the Rhino in G-Town and they’d get the deposit amount before laying it down to have me released then we’d fly home the following day, this was the plan.

The Ladybug and Rhino talked a few times previous to her and I speaking, and the Rhino spoke with the Garbage Town Monkeys and they told him they were expecting to pick me up on Monday so I’d be up for deposit on Tuesday.

That was that as the Ladybug and I had talked a bit further while mainly just listening to each other’s voice.

I’d told her about the friends I’d met and how I’d felt living in my new environment.

We were thankful to share a moment of looking forward to some potential light at the end of this dark tunnel. If I didn’t get deposit I’d really be feeling down.

It was a giant load off my mind to talk with her and she’d had her plane tickets already booked while the Diesel Rhinoceros was waiting for our separate arrivals in Garbage Town.

I’d felt relieved of some tension and smelt a slight fragrance of freedom in the stale BNB air. I’d told the Ladybug to bring her mom with her for support, an Ox who’d lived close to our cocoon and she’d agreed to come.

We’d reluctantly hung up, I’d felt thankful I’d got a great gift from the Ese who didn’t need to help me at all.

He must’ve really sensed my frustration and had some warmth in his heart because this sort of place was not commonly known for kind actions.

I’d felt so minor yet major that was both flattering and disgustingly unbelievable.

After the call I had a spring in my step but understood there was still a definite chance I could get denied a deposit.

I had to remain positive on the inside while extremely humble on the outside because some weren’t even getting out of the very dark and depressing environment they’d called home.

At least I could rest a little easier that night.
—————————————————————
97.

Chapter 41.

The next day I’d woke up early and since we weren’t allowed out of our rooms until a certain time I’d filled my moments with counting bars in between the inside and outside plexiglass windows that gave me a view of the brick wall.

Before being abducted I’d recently been reading about the Ancient Watery Times when there were more islands on the planet than in today’s reality.

I’d understood through translation that the Golden Tablets were supposedly written in these described Watery Times profiling teachings about numerology and the significance of connecting numbers to letters as a spiritual language.

Supposedly.

This practice wasn’t just off the Tablets but many elder Pharos from these times believed in governing themselves using numbers to uncover a supposedly symbolic godly language.

Allegedly.

Even Jerry and his masterminds use these number codes but nobody ever believes me despite the digits they often relate to alien deaths and other symbolic events advertised over big brother and his Daddy lovers at the localized and centralized broadcast network.

All any character has to do is pay attention to numbers they see and any one can be part of speaking or understanding this language. I’m talking basic math skills children use.

I’d follow this practice and follow numbers wherever I’d go. A set of digits would be in front of me or a number of material items would come into my path where I’d have an impression to count, like bars in a window where there were 55 of for your information.

So I’d count ‘em like a child. 1, 2, freeeeee,…

This practice helped me begin to see a potentially bigger purpose to the experience I was having on this planet.

Counting and additions helped me feel calm and trusting that if I did have a spirit, this might be some evidence it had ultimate control, if I’d actually had one?

Aligning numbers with letters during synchronistic experiences promoted me to expand my mind into another world outside the mundane routine of daily experience.

That even when thinking positive about, enjoying to the fullest and being conscious in every moment, can still be fairly routine and questionable in originality unless completely subdued in routine.

Growing up I’d always somehow doubted my existence was supposed to be spent collecting peanuts 0.714285714285% of my week.

Who was I collecting peanuts for and how redundant was it for me to endlessly collect hoards upon hoards of genetically modified toxicity? Stockpiling this
for what?

Was there any repeating numbers in my weekly time allotted to working for someone else?

That answer is brought to you by consciousness presented in the form of a riddle disguised as an equation in the coded language of 5 divided by 7, the answer was spoke on above.

714285 is repeated in systematic order. 714, 285, 714, 285, the first set of repeating numbers I’ll refer to in the coded language of transferring value from a  number to a letter or vice versa.

There are many formulas to calculate values but we’ll start with the most basic where the number 7 equals “G”, 1 equals “A” and 4 equals “D”.

Transforming 714 into the word GAD, G.A.D. 714 can also spell TZW, that’s a T.Z. or Z.W. in the opposite direction where 7’s value is equal to “T”, 1 is equal to “Z” or “Z” and 4 is a “W”.  This would be a second formula of calculating number meanings into letters. That’s the simplest of simple codes forwards and backwards.

And truth be told those aren’t actual words in reality so there are other formulas to interpret the meanings behind the repeating 714.

A third formula indicates 714 pointing towards the phrase, “Calculate Stars” and also “Mystical God” where these words have been arrived at by using a deeper number code involving a higher value of transforming numbers into letters.

Why wouldn’t god just make it fucking easy if it was spiritual communication? One plausibility would be because we’re all smart and on this roller coaster of experience to learn, evolve and grow.

That means think, process and use all our intelligence as abilities compared to the mundane delight of satisfying others as a routine of expressing intelligence. We’re smarter then we allow ourselves to seem, in my opinion.

Can we fly? Beast or machine? Walk through walls? What about on water? Has any character actually ever done that?

What about telepathically communicate? Predict the future?

Don’t we all get vibes just “knowing” something “will” or “won’t” work out? Can we tell what our pet wants without hearing their words? Child? Partner maybe?

How? How does the pet communicate without using words and how does the caretaker understand without hearing?

If god existed wouldn’t it want me or you to be satisfy if either of us were a branch of that family tree? Or are we all just randomly here and stars exist but have no impact on emotions?

Perhaps we’re pawns for alien or a higher intelligence’s mockery? Is that what beauty is then, a mockery of goodness?

Even the homeless can see beauty and even the rich can be hateful.

Let’s get ready to rumble because here I go putting myself in the danger zone being a beast the size of Pablo. Come see me about this info ‘yo because big truck power is how I roll.

Interpreting numbers like a mad man with mad numerical skills not necessarily sportin’ a mad suntan but always stay stompin’ on angry critical grills of those Cats who keep tryin’ to steal my rap thrill.

My thrill to rap, this thrill to live, why would anybody wanna take that away from this amateur biz? That I’ve created where as you can see I’m only in it for the fun and to give this amateur quiz.

Starting off by presenting the riddle of who’s the greatest whiz? Suggesting somebody may actually be technically able to hold a candle in the wind when trying to illuminate the ridiculousness of a star seed who’s graduated beyond any car seat to write any rhyme in a heartbeat at any time involving any freestyle of any kind making some truth too tough to swallow like eating fuckin’ Shark meat.

I’d be the fin because I swim fast and alone like a lone passenger in the HOV lane hauling a transport of runaway train cars that keep following me loaded with cargo shaped as words that won’t stop plowing into the back of my mind pouring out of my brain down my spine through my right hand onto this paper that has tracks leading me down a path of straight blue lines that already have writings alongside them reading as if to call me a fuckin’ player hater.

In time it all becomes a forced reaction when my pencil led pushes out red 99 times out of 9 plus 10 while my body’s so full of adrenaline I swim the Nile in breaststroke trying to ascend my lyrics up to the heavens, headphones on listening to some spirit transmit me messages, look close and you’ll see it again.

But if you start rustling my leaves when I see my dinner behind that tree it makes me pissy because my mission is to straight up spear Kitties with syllables dipped in hydrochloric acid and moonshine whiskey.

The latter is a numbing agent as the crowd cheers when I preform live miracles like a native ranger here to save the day speaking in tongues lassoing criminals around their middles directly where they stay as if I’d caught them standing in a secret society meeting taking place at an underground parkade.

I melt the concrete they stand on from solid slabs to liquid form then soak it up with a fuckin’ tampon before dripping the drizzle on to stacks upon stacks of delicious pancakes that I eat for break-fast.

Before I barehand some sweet ass so take a seat quick fast because portions are limited and the competition’s faces are drooping like they’ve overdosed on Ritalin, mistletoe and too much dick mixed with vitamins pressed out of artificial insemination prescriptions.

How many times have I said “of” in this word play?

Numb and done to equal none so the answer is good because fuck them when I come forward like a ton of bricks or sticks or even candle wicks that I thread my tiggy torches with until the smell makes you sick to your stomach because I’m twisted like a gunless headless horseman who’s dementedly spliced with one good god damn bored Christian, Catholic, Buddhist and shimishmorshonist.

All reading the literature that never forgets D.O.G. is spelt forwards then backwards spells G.O.D. which for some reason for some can spell unfortunate.

But to those frauds I’ve adorned then given the nickname of pawns descended to play awkward actors at the same moment that I come forth using words distorted by factors represented in sign language that tangles and mangles their Dodge Durango from outside their burning building before I run inside to wrestle them into submission smirking like a jerk before adjusting my angle to break their fuckin’ ankle.

As if I give a shit fuck what a Monkey says trying to be some dick touching big shot firing off buckshots like they were original gun clappers with big glocks seriously they can all fucking piss off.

Now, Cockroaches, please allow me one more equation, does everybody have their protractor? Let’s take a measurement.

I’m teaching dismemberment to all apprentices where I get paid to be the funeral director at a closed remembrance after preforming an autopsy which is almost comparable to looking at these dead body’s who’s writings are so sloppy as if they’d used to be some small town after midnight disk jockey who’d just needed some fuckin’ coffee and a piece of broccoli to stay alive but instead insidiously insisted on ignorantly continuing to rock their scoreless boring game of ice hockey that I’m forced to stay watching while barely staying alive.

I break those G’s standing on their knees and any other auditioning actor dressed like a killer Bee after swooping in for the kamikaze kill like a Golden Eagle camouflaged colour green disguised as an unseen storyteller genetically modified with a rabid Wolverine.

Planting bombs inside bomb shelters overhearing kids being told to ‘listen first then ask questions NEVER,’ which isn’t the first mean thing they’ve ever heard but is thee equivalent of hearing Helter Skelter achieve enough power to persuade others into taking steroids after convincing the same followers to obsessively live off leftover hamburger helper.

Man or woman fuck that and forget this shelter because everything in here is garbage like the remaining remnants of a Stone Age comet that blew a town into carnage then made them think speaking honest could get a responsible member of society bonked with a solid rock off the noggin.

It won’t happen when I’m on this scene talkin’ through a harmonica for those attemptinge to flee the bombardment of an attempted attack by greedy self-identified proctologists who are always attempting to intentionally tempt some into creating an unnecessary codependency to feel hooked on phonics.

I’m point blank squawking with the opposite appearance of a demonic prophet here to demolish any positive impoverished polish.

I talk intentionally with the intention of painting a beautifully hypnotic picture painted solidly in solidarity brought forth with the purpose to abolish any previous catastrophic acknowledgement that’s been piggybacked by some phony overconfident clown hiding behind overly sensitive senses of accomplishment.

I know this story has been a little raw Fish and olives for some where not all of everyone appreciates the menu like most basic farmers would’ve done but to them please know I’m not snobbish nor have been to college I’m only trying to face my issues head on unlike avoiding my path if compared to an ashamed alcoholic.

Drinking alone while I write this at home staring at god’s tomtom trying to figure out my god damn problems and what fuckin’ direction I need to go in order to fuckin’ resolve them?

Back to the legends of numbers and how to solve them, ha, you guys are fuckin’ killin’ me out there.

There’s a lot of sequences where letters equal numbers and those numbers have sequences that can be totalled and simplified.

714 is also equal to the number 3 because 7+1+4 equals 12 then 1+2 equals 3. Some sequences are simplified some are not both can be again, forwards and backwards.

There are weird sequences where “J” equals 600, “T” equals 100 and “W” equals 900, then there are other sequences where 0 is always discarded so for example “W” as 900 would read as 9.

These are just a few quick examples of number coding and remember adapting to recognizing this potential language takes time and practice like any higher education.

Attentiveness, research and drive is all I can suggest if there seems to be repeating information trying to make itself known to your existence. Truly the truth will set those with ears, eyes and brains to hear, see and calculate, free.

Numbers have always been here since before our lives and they’ll always be here no matter what happens on this planet. Same as all the elements in the sky and their structured arrangements that seem to be our true dictators.

Some only wish, and have even done a decent job at Tomfoolery, referring to the Cheetah.

Concluding with my humble opinion being that numbers can be symbols and messages from a higher intelligence that may or may not be trying to communicate through these number sequences?

Meh.

Finally, in this story, the time had come when the Slugs opened the doors for all guests awaiting feeding time.

The Octopus stood on the second level overlooking the feast as we’d all formed a line for chow.

I’d introduced myself to the quiet Chicano on the way down the stairs asking him if he had any minutes available for the phone? He told me he “did” and “it’d cost me”.

He didn’t know what the cost would be so he told me he’d “think about it” and “advise” me later. I’d agreed and went to eat my first meal in over 49 hours.

After breakie I was hanging out with Thug Life on the 3rd floor by the staircase when the Ese who’d let me use his phone card without needing a blowjob in return was randomly escorted out then never seen again.

He’d either went to solitary on his own or I’d wondered ‘if he was an angel just sent to assist me through to the SweetestPea?’

If I didn’t talk to her I would’ve been a wreck but knowing she was on her way to meet Diesel the Rhino with her Ox mom as support, I’d felt I could definitely relax until the cavalry arrived.

The Ese, he must’ve been sick of somebody and instead of laying the beat down he’d decided to act responsibly and remove himself from the situation.

I’d spent the next two days staying anxiously busy trying to avoid gangster trouble. I’m a medium build so my shape makes a character unsure if I can throw down therefore I tend to be respected when I give respect.

Also likeness attracts like remember and while I don’t have a rap sheet like some in this facility, I do have a mentality of being able to make due with less and understand the trauma of rejection and having no family.

I’d played basketball with the Octopus and some other Jackals. I’d gambled Sunday morning’s peanut-pancake breakfast on the game that I lost then paid up with a smile.

I didn’t mind losing because I knew I’d be leaving in a short time. What was 2 of 4 GMO pancakes to me when this decent guy was stuck there?

Don’t get it twisted, I didn’t lose on purpose, that fucker. And I would’ve took his pancakes if he lost because fair is fair.

Later I’d made a deal with the Octopus to use his card and call the Ladybug once more Saturday evening where we just enjoyed each other’s company.

It’d cost me my Saturday Chicken dinner which I also didn’t mind giving up because who knew where that meat came from and what they’d been feeding it?

Microwaves were free-range but I didn’t use one nor didn’t actually eat half the meat that was served, it was scary.

I’d masturbated very quietly Saturday night once my roommate was snoring like a drunk which he was in real life.

He’d snored very loud every night in the concrete room that echoed as obnoxiously as you can imagine but he told me I could wake him if he was a bother, which he was and I did all 3 nights.

I was expecting to have a slow process Monday if I was even expecting anything promising at all, when I was rudely woken up at 4:30am by a loud thumping of a Slug on the door, “Dog, Dog! Get up the fuck up, you’re out.”

I’d leapt off the top bunk like I’d been awake the whole time expecting him. I flashed my friend the Red Panda who was still asleep a peace sign, also a parallel devil salute.

Stormed downstairs towards the open door through it as directed, down the long hallway alone, the same one I’d entered into this bitch alone, concluding my mini-journey at the loading dock I’d entered from to be chained to an outgoing gang.

98.

I’d felt free at this moment but was still in the belly of the beast. First, another box where I’d wait for other outgoing friends.

A Slug passed by and threw some cereal grains at me. I’d ate them only because I knew it was going to be a long day.

Minutes later I’d been moved to another box with more males before we were all connected to our links then loaded onto a truck.

It was a blizzard out which was unique because normally it never snowed in Paradise. If anything slushy rain but this was a very unique downfall.

That morning was a complete anomaly where the whole area woke up to a storm like they’d never experienced.

Sometimes that happens with weather manipulation.

The frigid air and slow process of waiting for the powder to be cleared made me have to pee but I wasn’t allowed to go back into the building being as a dozen of us males were all handcuffed together.

Eventually we were lead onto the truck like farm Animals being taken to the slaughter. One by one we were delivered to our respectful destinations by the Slug who was the BNB’s Wrangler.

This cowboy was playing race truck driver spinning the tires in the snow as if he was driving a snowmobile like a Bat outta hell where he was this raving westerner.

Skeet skiing up and down the city streets driftin’ around the corners and toppling us passengers locked to the backseats to be flung like dryer laundry even though each of our arms were handcuffed behind our backs attached to the walls of the truck.

Arms bent backwards flailing around like we were on a zero gravity machine at the fair.

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

I had to go so bad, it was getting worse and worse while at each stop I’d beg the Slug to let me off just for “one second” and he’d just jerk off then eat his own semen right in front of me before slithering off.

A few times he’d completely refuse me by blatantly talking to others louder than my whimpering requests.

Pace slowed after about an hour while I was handling my own business deep in the chamber of focus like paparazzi taking pictures of chronic leaves, palm trees and Dog friends playing 3 card molly smoking cigars filled with ganja.

My personal assassin kept recycling thoughts about how I saw misery therefore it should equate to the loving feeling of company. Checking my posture, I’d sat up straight trying to regrow my heart into a new man.

Some where in the heart of me I knew there was a time I must understand the strong will stand and the weak will fall. At that moment I knew tomorrow was definitely not planned at all.

Staring out the window some more the truck bounced over mounds of snow, whipping through yellow and red lights like it was man versus machine.

Horn honking hysterically hurling through round after round of restless intersections.

I’d held my breath envisioning Monkeys and Slugs armed with weapons of mass destruction like serial killers stalking me in circles at the speed of light for 4000 days and 4000 nights.

I didn’t think I could hold my bladder any longer, it was becoming the worst pain I’d ever felt when the driver said, “Don’t worry Dog, next stop, I’ll get you out for a walk.”

He wasn’t lying, the last stop before my airport drop. I’d thanked all religions equally because another 2 minutes and I would’ve given up the ghost thinking about letting the feeling of pressure burst.

A tear escaped from the corner of my eye. The guy beside me congratulated my efforts as he was the one scheduled for the last stop, we’d both gotten out.

Relief. The Slug tossed me in a single holding tank to use the toilet, of course he’d jerked off while I’d pissed for 4 and a half minutes.

If I didn’t get to use this bathroom I would’ve went in my pants, in the truck, not only leaving me to have to sit in it for my airplane trip but the Slug probably would’ve used my shoulder length hair as a mop to make sure nothing would be remaining for another vehicle ride.

From here a local Monkey from wherever the fuck we were now, a third of a day away from our starting location, transported me in his marked cruiser from the piss tank to the airport where I’d met two Baboons from Garbage Town.

Two plain clothe protectors who had crumbs of potato chips on their shoulders wearing cool guy shades of course with plaid button up long sleeved shirts on. Brown and beige on one, same shirt but silver and beige on the other.

Decent characters just playing taxi who wanted to talk about nothing except TV hockey, their shinny hockey, 2:25am hockey practice and how happy they’d get over watching males dress and undress out of never washed sweaty hockey padding.

The Baboons were telling me how the hockey stars would open their bags in the dressing room then smell each other’s sweaty equipment that had been tightly pressurized in their giant bags since last practice.

These highly intelligent beer league athletes never washed their gear and thought it was the funniest latest fad to rub the stench collected over years all over each other’s body.

In unison they’d do this before and after games for teamwork skill building drills.

That was the Baboon’s rule when I’d spent my evening with them was that, “We don’t talk about anything except hockey.”

Getting dressed and undressed at hockey, what position I’d play if I’d wanted to pretend I’d played too including all my stats related otherwise things would get “ugly”.

Maybe I’d played street hockey 30 times in my life but I’d kept saying this goalies name to the silver Baboon.

“Smelly Fletcher, Smelly Fletcher.” It made the silver love me, that’s all I had to was repeat this name and he’d thought we were best friends, he was the nicer of the two.

Silver loved me so much he bought me dinner while we’d waited for de plane to board. It was a very delicious meal at the airport where I was allowed to wear my bracelets forward so I could eat my Rat burger.

The 3 of us stooges ate and talked about food in Paradise compared to food in Garbage Town, sold at hockey venues I mean.

Despite my jewelry I’d considered that topic a bit of free education for their dumbasses because all they had half a brain about was hockey and blah, blah, blah their shinning moment from the 70’s.

Chalk up another professional for me to deal with here.

We’d boarded the plane at 3pm on the west side arriving at midnight on the east side because of the time change.

I’d cried to myself a lot on the flight when leaving Paradise and watching the mountains trickle off into the distance, an extremely heartbreaking moment unsure if I’d ever come back?

Brown Baboon caught me shedding tears and wiping my eyes so I just flinched at him like I was going to attack, handcuffed and all I knew I didn’t stand a chance.

Touching down again the air stunk with familiarity. It was slightly muggy despite the season being winter and the air a chilly, nighttime crisp.

I’d watched a movie en flight sobbing to myself in the very back corner with two Baboons to my left.

It was just the window and I against these two bare ass protectors, forgive me I left out the detail they were wearing diapers.

Plaid shirts with matching brown or silver plaid and white leak proof adult pull-ups. They’d dress each other everyday just like they’d do when all the boi’s get together in the change room.

Then it was the isle to the left of them.

It was painful watching the mountains of Paradise trail into the background as I’d unwilling flew the opposite direction into Garbage Town once again.

The worst time was when I was forced to wait for everyone else to get off de plane before I was permitted to, after sitting for 4 hours feeling extremely anxious and impatient like I had somewhere important to go.

99.

I was getting sick and felt long past tired of waiting with these two hot headed buffoons who’d cooled the hockey talk radiating back into drone mode.

The microwaved peanut-rice they’d both had on de plane might’ve zapped their decency out of them even if our discussion was minimal and redundant, it truly was all they knew, poor things.

“Go hockey go” they chant every year like it actually matters who’d win or lose. The champs have a parade but the slaves maintain, “Go hockey go”.

The winners don’t give homeless a week of beds in a hotel that another team would’ve stayed in, do they?

Imagine they didn’t even get paid what’s advertised and their job was to actually follow script and shut their mouths?

Standing in shock, disbelief and disgust I’d had to wait in the airport main lobby with silver B while the other got the squad car.

This was now one of my darkest moments standing in cuffs with arms behind my back in a place I’d never thought I’d be a-fucking-gain. Once again.

Once again being down and out, without, a member of the Monkey family approaches with the intention to strong arm me even further as the silver Baboon plays his role of chief and decides to pretend as if we weren’t talking blockers and trappers one beer ago, now instead he wants and demands me to stand precisely on a black dot located in his desired location.

He literally pulled a round black circle cut from construction paper out of his chest pocket, unfolded it then threw it on the ground telling me to stand, pointing.

I went to obey and he’d kicked it laughing then pointed again. I was so exhausted and malnourished I had zero energy to play, move or argue especially in this giant public venue.

The silver Baboon had been becoming increasingly uncomfortable since we’d landed, I’d realized our hockey talk was all Bullshit thrown out the window.

That’s one reason I could never trust these types of characters who’ll befriend another so easily. I was not surprised.

The three of us drove to G-Town about an hour away. I’d got half registered that night and was promised to be finger printed then fucked in the morning.

I’d asked the Baboons for their business cards but they’d ignored me, I’d wanted to send them a special shout out when I wrote this book.

Now I was to be locked away for the night in a bathtub sized box with a concrete slab for a bed and toilet right beside the head.

At the foot was the door where a Slug would slither by every hour or so doing “safety checks”.

I didn’t sleep a minute that night. I was forced to lay flat on my back because laying on my side would get painful being on concrete.

Then every time I’d almost fall asleep the Slug would pass by kicking the door and the sound of his slime slithering would disturb my relaxation.

Impossible to rest with somebody walking by every hour, another intentional disregard for well-being within the concrete box. I’d gave thanks to Jerry, wishing he was with me to cuddle me with his warm feathers.

I’d kept visualizing our three-legged Siamese who’d recently passed away. She’d kept sinking into my belly as if becoming a part of me while I’d laid on the cold, damp confinement of a Garbage Town holding tank.

They didn’t even give me a fuckin’ pillow, just a piece of toilet paper that I was told to use as a blanket. I’d contemplated swallowing it but anticipated the morning’s news.

Good thing I was innocent before guilty in this democracy where my voice was heard and respected as a male, in this free continent being treated with dignity, glory and respect.
—————————————————————-
Chapter 42.

That might’ve been the worst night of my entire existence. I’d already had a lifetime of sleeping issues where I could never get comfortable at somebody else’s place.

Growing up I’d always had a longing in my heart to return home whenever I’d spend the night at another’s, and I’d routinely go into a panic as a child making myself upset whenever I was away from my own bed.

The lights would go out and I’d start to feel terrorized within myself. I’d cry, use the bathroom, vomit, shit, eventually the lights would come back on and I’d still be alive.

As my age progressed I’d wondered ‘if that discomfort was rooted from a longing desire to return to my true home after what might’ve felt like many years being on this plentary journey I’d been on?’

Always feeling out of place like something’s missing where I’d wanted to return to the stars so I could graduate beyond my beloved process of sensations and emotions.

For now, in this moment waking up I’d felt ready to move on. Truly next to death’s door, tired of feeling hopeless yet excited to get this reunion special underway.

A Monkey slinkied by throwing a few breakfast peanuts at me that he’d picked up off the floor.

So far when trapped on this journey I’d refused to eat previously terrified GMO meat on my worst days but this morning I’d made one exception based on the war I had set in front of me, so I’d Wolfed down the scraps.

My incoming interactions had me arising in the sunless pit figuring I might need some nutrients even if they were poison.

Round 2, or 42 since I’d left the Cheetah, I’d honestly lost count. Fight.

Finger prints were the first joy of the day, I’d remained positive trying to enjoy this experience. We’re talking 7am local time, 4am on my internal clock.

There was a sign on the wall walking to the fingerprint area that read, “Don’t feed the Animals unless semen!” With a yellow face beside it broadly smiling, tongue sticking out of the corner of the mouth on that face like it was licking its lips in proposed appetite or contentment.

There was a second sign that suggested, “Step off the yellow line and feel the wrath. Make your choice, live or die!” On top of a skull and cross bones that was next to a clown’s face emoji.

Third was a notification on the door warning, “Enter at own risk. No Slug or said employee that beats, mames, kills, sexually touches or exploits any character deemed deserving within this area shall be liable.”

In the fine print it said,

“All tender age touching is permitted as long as the prepubescent dispels a pitch at their beautiful delight of orgasm that could be confused with discomfort but, as long as reached, it is in fact a state of bliss according to a widely renown philanthropist who states that a delightful pitch is the only way any such action will be tolerated.”

Scribbled some signature.

In smaller print;

“Not responsible for accidents, injuries,  illness, contraction of sexually transmitted diseases or viruses, the feeling of being in danger or any other unnamed emotion not to be limited by any specific circumstance a character may feel this facility would be responsible for.

We’re not, NOW(in capitals), any character disobeying these orders are subject to death, rape and/or general beat down so just try us.”

I’d looked at the Slug as he’d opened the door, he winked at me then flicked his tongue like a Komodo Dragon smelling my fear. I knew the rape and kill policy was a personal preference so I’d remained very respectful.

A beating by a Slug rarely ended in death, they simply have that right to end another’s existence if they feel it’s for their safety’s sake, that’s all.

If they mention the magic word, then poof, they make a motherfucker disappear like that. For me it was too early in the morning to push their buttons.

The Slug manhandled my fingers but in a dainty manner as if trying to be firm yet courteous.

This character was a giant compared to me but his handling of my hands was like he was a tiny manicurist born to be so precise in this industry.

As soon as he was done smearing my hands with black ink l was led back to my box where I’d spent only a few thoughts about why, when, how and who before Chimpanzee, The Second came to greet me.

Bet ‘ya didn’t see this comin’? Merry Yule season everyone! Or should it be Mule season? Fuckin’ bunch of jackasses who truly suck.

Seriously in my mind before she’d even got started I’d thought this B could shut the hell up. Hole in one here we go with number two.

(Entering from a cloud of smoke appearing in a lethargic state following mutedly mounting stage right after staggering out of the first row where she’d been sitting this entire show anticipating her 15 minutes of fame.

A special holiday present presently presented to all viewers and cast members of this great theatre by the greater purpose of this motherfuckin’ sagaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, because! Without her! This story has noooooooooooooo introduction, noooooo point.

We could’ve all just moved on but they had to go and push the envelope didn’t they. They as in the Cheetah and her followers, now, listen!

This female is the reason behind all these writings who has been working diligently in the background previous to this tale as an audacious protector for the Garbage Town Monkeys Hardly Protecting Pleasurable Protection Private Eye Preparation H. Piss Pot Serviccceeeesssssss.

The “H” stood for happy by the way.

She’s an ogre of a female, hideous on the surface with huuuuuuuuuuuuuugggggggeeeeeeee facial features and warts all over her body.  We don’t want to judge butttttttt…..hers was very flat dispute her overgrown stature.

She is not the first Chimpanzee by the way which was my mistake for assuming. She comes in twice the height and weight as the first. Her arms are 3 times as long as mine almost the full length of her body and almost touching the floor.

Queens and Kings who’ve made it this far it is my pleasure!!!!

To please ask you to please give a very, very and I mean very disadvantaged welcome from your heart to hers. This character made this story all what it is by being the bias follower she has been and without her none of us sitting here going over detail upon detail filling our ear holes right now would be here without her!

All glory to god for this lovely, demented creator who’s absolutely trying her absolute best in life. She’s my motherfuckin’ hero and you’d better believe that.

Please, for fuck sakes, throw the warmest vegetables you have at the stage right now for a character we’d never thought possiblleee in existenccceee which is why we never say never because here she iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisss, Chimpanzee The motherfuckin’ 2nd)

She’d tried to Cattle prod through the tray slot in the door while I could see her stank breath float in before I’d actually heard her.

As you can imagine her breath came in the colour of a greenish haze that slowly disintegrated leaving me staring at her yap as she’d toothlessly smiled with sarcasm and disorderly conduct trying to speak while not drooling, “Hi. Are you ready to come with me?”

I didn’t answer but stood up. ‘You’re god damn right’ I’d said from my mind to hers.

She’d opened the door standing in front of it handcuffing my hands in front of me before we’d walked to her office up two flights of stairs, she was accompanied by a male Monkey body guard.

I was carrying a styrofoam cup with traces of peanut-juice the Baboons allowed to keep when getting off de plane. Fostering the last sugary beverage I might ever have, I’d laid cradling it all night like it was my baby.

We’d entered the interview room and I’d sat down. Chimpanzee The 2nd sat directly in front of me to intentionally antagonize me while she’d interrogated relentlessly wondering if I’d known why we were there?

I just kind of twitched staring through her like one of us was a zombie, I’ll let you choose my own adventure there.

Irregardless if it didn’t or doesn’t make sense listen closely to where the story gets very interesting.

I, of course said nothing to her as per my god damn right before she’d fallen backwards into an analog trance then sat up as straight as a bored and boringly alleged the Cheetah had been a previous victim to “assaults”. Mmm hmmm.

I’d almost fallen asleep backwards. The song ‘blah, blah, blah, blah’ started playing in my head.

Needy Chimp The 2nd explained her angelic role was to help the helpless Cheetah who was clearly both too scared and clearly both too scared to come forward the first time with all her manifested accusations. Blah, blah, blah, blah.

Let me stop the tape right there to actually clarify some information very thoroughly for everyone right now, I don’t want there to be any confusion in this situation like my life seemed to be showing signs of at this moment.

Can we please cut the music and lights? This will only take a tiktok and I need this scene coming in black from the darkest depths of despair where my mind sat.

No vision or sensations. No awareness or unawareness. No positivity or thinking my way out of this situation it was time for me to face the music in the dark, black, depths.

By all means I’m not an asshole so if you need the hall or your phone light on I want you to feel comfortable but understand the moment is black. Death.

This devil playing the character role of my devil staring back at me in the mirror of my own face where I was seeing this Ogre’s disgusting mug and wished a motherfucker would tell me already the god damn accusations.

Grim death had me wondering what these statements were that couldn’t be made the first time with the first Chimpanzee? I’d waited like a baited hooked, lined and being reeled in Swordfish, on this Bullshit movie reel. Really real Bullshit.

To Chimpanzee The 2nd it only made sense the sexual rampage allegations obviously happened.

Especially being as all the other tales the Cheetah brought forth besides the two I’d accepted without a fight had been dismissed. Which of course were the only ones based on the timeline of “after the wedding.”

Hmmmm.

Chimpanzee The 2nd thought it was merely a coincidence the Cheetah had precisely timed her second sickly attack exactly 3 weeks prior to my bargaining agreement concluding.

My bargain ended at the end of the month, the Cheetah went forward at the start of that month initiating her first of again, multiple statements over the period of that month, one a day type of thing.

Then it took the Garbage Town geek squad 6 months over many, I literally mean many mistakes on their paperwork again, before being granted permission to enter Paradise.

Every protector was bound by their city or town limits and always needed permission with extra special reason to enter another city or town. This was continent wide and the further the travel the less likely the Monkey would give chase.

The reason I went across the continent, one of them.

This second round of allegations brought a more comical overview than the first where the story now pivoted to a point, instead of not only supposedly beating the Cheetah for our entire 2 year, loving relationship, it’d been made official, she’d finally come forth saying I’d been raping her as well for that suspected time.

Chimpanzee The 2nd elaborated on the 4 sexual assault allegations that were brought forth from the Cheetah. We can turn the lights on now and cue the big top theme music mixed with tragic horror.

#6 against me over the last 4 years since vacating the Cheetah’s premises was a falsified misconception that I’d drank the engine freeze left out in the backyard.

She was referring to the story about my old neighbour originally leaving some out to murder strays where I’d decided to drink some on purpose in a fit of youthful rage.

A story I’d told the Cheetah in trust and confidence about my lowest of times, before her of course.

Instead of this sadness being about me she’d manically contorted my deathly experience into herself being the victim like only a sociopath could do, by claiming I’d allegedly walked around the lair sipping engine freeze as a form of coercing her into having sex with me.

You’d understood correctly if you just pictured me with my wine glass or sometimes beer mug sipping or chugging some extra sweet, greenish, purple sludge that’s sold  by mechanics to prevent a vehicle’s fluids from freezing in the cold.

The Cheetah pledged her allegiance with all her heart and the hope to die describing my threats to drink the tasty beverage were given to her in the amazingly articulated and ridiculous structure only a genius could create.

Ready? These phrases could be potentially unheard styles of languages to some while others might register these words as potentially familiar to their own ghosted background.

Conjoined like a pair of witch sisters stirring a cauldron undeniably living off less experience at the same time combining to entrench a superpower of wrath, The Pair, being the Cheetah and Chimpanzee The 2nd of course, decided over many team meetings, “Bitch, get on your knees and suck my dick NOW or else I’ll drink this freeze and kill my motherfuckin’ self!” Sounded like a good quote to scapegoat on me.

Also, “Fuck me NOW or else I’ll get the freeze out and do myself in right NOW! MEOW mush Husky.”

Not to purposely neglect, “You better suck my body dry or I’ll transform into Mr. Freeze bitchy bitch, then guess what bizzy bitch? Time to die!”

100.

These new catch phrases somehow equated to facts that a physical rape took place. Hmm. Because these paraphrases were very much how I, myself speak, right?

If The Pair were trying to imitate me the least they could’ve done was come a little more original.

I know I swear and all but I’ve always spoke with the integrity of a true gangster and gentleman using only the best quality of word play I can search out in my brain.

I needed to get very high that instant and talk to my knife because it always believed how I was feeling when I’d talk honest to it.

Same with my weed which was another reason I’d smoked so much because that girl and I never had a rough conversation. She’d always knew my heart and understood my depth.

After the Chimp recited the Cheetah’s lines like a desperate friend who was mimicking a character she’d wanted to be just like, a song started playing over the loud speakers.

“This is the sound of when a Dove cries. This is the sound of when a Dove cries. This is the sound, this is the sound, this is the sound of when a Dove cries.

This is the sound of when a Dove cries. This is the sound of when a Dove cries. This is the sound, this is the sound, this is the sound of when a Dove cries.

Time, to represent the planet, get schizophrenic and panic, maybe the parents would understand if they want to get off their ass and manage?

How do I manage? Paranoid, don’t ever trust voice and I can’t understand how the rooms packed full of growing pains when I’m the only one in the back who’s still making noise?

Recall, Jebas never died it was suicide he wanted to make a personal choice, who are we to criticized once he’d recognized nobody actually gave a fuck? Not a warrior, not a henchman, not rebel, not a poet.

Who doesn’t know this is the sound of when a Dove cries? This is the sound of when a…”

If you were feeling the slightest smidgen of disgust or discomfort by the vulgarity prior to the song on the surround sound then let’s evolve a step further and picture an old, decrepit female Chimpanzee speaking those words in her toughest and most authoritative voice ever, as if she’d been waiting for that moment her entire life, calling that moment into her experience just like a dream come true.

For me, the moment was hard to listen to so I can only imagine how some might feel hearing me regurgitate the facts. Blah, blah, blah, blah.

Logical question in the configuration of a riddle time. If a male was beating and raping a female for almost 2 years wouldn’t that female want the male to fuck off and die?

Maybe?

Just a thought.

Chimp The 2nd actually thought it sounded more than conceivable that I’d supposedly sauntered around the lair taking swigs of freeze as a form of manipulating sexual dominance.

That’s pretty fucked but I wasn’t in the driver’s seat that day so once again I’d let the Chimp go on like a champ, never even once bothering to investigate the root of this unsettling claim so I didn’t bother to inform her my side of the truth.

Which was in this instant me being vulnerable with the Cheetah about my turmoil when I was in a place I didn’t understand my purpose at the time, where I was feeling very trapped by my own existence in life.

Everything happens for a reason, right?

One Sunday I’d decided to end it all by drinking what I’d knew the neighbour left out for the neighbourhood strays.

Isn’t that ironic my neighbour growing up left out a bowl of poison for the homely neighbourhood Cats?

Don’t ‘ya think? A little tooooooo ironic, don’t ‘ya think? Like a Black Fly in my Chardonnaaayyyyyyyyy he didn’t want any freeloaders on his back lawwwnnnnnn and who would’ve thought a few strays mattered?

Making this story shorter I was put on dialysis for 14 sleeps and literally brought back from the dead, maybe I’ll write that whole story in another book sometime?

The Cheetah was a heartless beast who’d sadistically altered what I’d told her with confidence about my tragic decision, into her own form of sexual perversion naturally make herself seem like the victim.

Only such a true sociopath, narcissist and deeply disturbed lunatic would be capable of creating this type of claim, but what’s that say about the professional PI believing this?

She’s almost more engrained with sickness because the Chimp is so willing to be naive which translates to being even more dangerous with her plethora of weaponry and armies of Monkeys backing her.

Fuckin’ god damn.

#7 was similar to #6 but instead of using the slimy green sludge on myself this incident was based on a knife versus myself circumstance.

Where supposedly on one occasion, date, time, season or description of me excluded, I’d allegedly grabbed a kitchen knife and drug it horizontally inside the drywall after puncturing it as I’d vexingly made my way towards the Cheetah.

When I’d purportedly got close enough to her stinkin’ face it was written I’d slit my own throat with the knife proceeding yanking it out of the wall, opening up my jugular and spilling blood all over the floor.

This is what happened according to a real live detective and the suspected event reflected me supposedly sexually assaulting the Cheetah.

How the fuck I’d raped her with my neck spewing blood was something I would’ve loved to see in a cartoon or theatre of some sort.

That allegation obviously had a more conceivable sales pitch to be bought over the freeze which at least I had a medical record for therefore maybe I’d thought it could’ve been believed.

I didn’t go to emerge with a cut throat though, it must’ve healed on its own.

What’s amazing about #7 was that the Monkeys were at the Cheetah’s lair on a day where a report indicated observations were made that there was a Cat at the residence.

The report also confirmed there was no incident to document on that day and no injuries were on either party, the Cheetah nor the Dog.

Chimpanzee The 2nd’s words were not matching what was written 5-some years prior to that moment.

The report stated without stuttering that I had a Cat scratch on my neck that was from a Cat because my white Cat nicked me when we were roughhousing one day.

I was no trained specialist but to me that read like nothing happened to me or her.

Let’s continue trying to understand if the fuss of flying me across the continent unannounced was worthy or not shall we?

#8 was based on another single event with no attached date or time where the Cheetah had supposedly bought me some shoes from Wally World. Everybody loves Wally World what the fuck?

She’d returned to the lair with her alleged gift for me on this supposed day and the moment I’d found out these so-called shoes were purchased at the great shopping land of Wally World, the story continued to exaggerate the extensive claim that I’d pathetically lost my shit and gone berserk.

Chimpanzee The 2nd was purportedly reporting I’d allegedly beat the Cheetah with those shoes I was so disgusted by, in which case you could consider them possibly a weapon?

Ultimately jeopardizing the integrity of the bad tub accusation as claims aren’t supposed to just continue forever, weapon after weapon forgotten out of fear.

Imagine that planet.

After allegedly beating the Cheetah with the shoes it was said that I’d then raped the Cheetah on those shoes, then finally tried raping her with the shoes.

I guess they didn’t fit, one or both at the same time I was unsure nor was it made clear, but supposedly I was allegedly hammering her vagina so forcefully with my manhood then shoes afterwards that I’d caused her some internal tearing.

That internal tearing turned into a condition she’d falsified as, “Probably definitely bacteria vaginosis.” Which is a true condition for some females.

All supposedly because I was so furious with anger and rage that the shoes were purchased from such a cheap outlet.

Again, pet dick, a little research would’ve helped any professional understand shoes aren’t my biggest priority. I mean, who doesn’t like nice shoes? But raping a character over a shoe?

Awe fuck.

If this chapter has been relentless so far the priority of the universe as consciousness unmistakably saved the best for last.

You might’ve felt a few lines in this story have been far-fetched up until now?Perhaps demented or unimaginable? If so allow this next claim to be a clincher to persuading the image in your imagination towards reality.

#9 had suggested I’d been involved with, for a side job on top of my regular day shift collecting peanuts, advertising then whoreishly selling my body as a horny, hungry for cock “gay prostitute”.

Now, don’t jump the gun yet though because not only was I your basic male hooker out to degrade myself for a couple peanut shells but, the Cheetah furthered her fib filing the complaint fully accusing me of prostituting for males, while doing these sexually paid acts, I’d been reportedly attempting to contract the one and only auto-immune disease on purpose so I could bring it back to the lair like bringing an unexpected friend over for dinner, then would naturally rape the Cheetah with the HIV in me, giving it to her like an early Christmas present so I could factually slay the wicked Cheetah without actually being held responsible for murder. Murder.

Marinate on that for a moment.

A legitimate protector in today’s society sat in front of a character and responded to those words with something along the likeness of, ‘Okay, that sounds reasonable, I’ll attach a rape allegation to that. Tell me more, tell me more.’ As she’d took notes with keen interest. Mmm hmm, mmm hmm.

I’m only paraphrasing Chimp The 2nd’s response, I honestly don’t know what she’d said but I do know what the file said and I was as flabbergasted as any individual might imagine in this moment.

Wasn’t that a pleasant thought?

Okay thanks for coming out everybody, take care, god bless, good night!

I’ve heard a lot of sick acts carried out by sick individuals, and we’ve discussed a wide variety of topics in this story where it’s easy for me to say not much surprises me these days.

In all seriousness, how could a character believe another character would want to contract a deadly disease let alone contract it on purpose so they could use it to kill their partner with?

This is not a “me” issue and if I’d heard a character believed this one? I’d possibly think that character would be sicker than the accuser fabricating. Bullshit.

Something is clearly wrong with an individual’s mind if they think that sounds reasonable and it’s a complete slap in the face to those who’ve sadly contracted such a life altering condition, for fuck sakes.

101.

How dare they and how disgusting?

If that wasn’t enough a couple years after this interview (I bet ‘ya thought I was done right?), was conducted the Cheetah actually came forth with a 10th claim which Chimpanzee The 2nd included as part of #9.

#10 was based on an event supposedly involving some stairs and me allegedly throwing the Cheetah down these stairs.

6 years after her original first 5 claims, 4 and a half years since her sexual rapage allegations, and a year and a half from the moment we’re discussing right now.

Meow, #10 supposedly suggested I’d tossed the Cheetah down the bigger set of stairs in her lair, approximately 20, like Saturday’s laundry I’d refused to fold.

Resulting in the poor, diabolical hellion to land sideways on her neck. Squish, splat, crunch were the sounds she’d made on record when making these statements exactly as Chimpanzee The 2nd agreed, checking the appropriate boxes.

Further in #10 once on the ground dazed and confused I’d taken it nice and easy gliding down the stairs hovering barely over the ground like I was in a low rider slowly riding towards the Cheetah.

I’d rolled up on her right in my right mood then whispered in her tattered ear, “I got to get your lovin’ one more time. Hold me, roll me, slow ridin’ woman you’re so fine.”

Then I’d started calling her Joey Simone. “Hey Joey, hey Joey you’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind hey Joey. Hey Joey.

Oh Simone you’re so pretty you don’t understand, you can grab my penis by your mouth any day then my heart by your hand you fuckin’ rock and roll hoochie.

Call me Jim Daddy to the rescue.”

I guess according to The Pair I’d figured that would’ve pullen the woollen hat down in front of the Cheetah’s eyes as if dense fog.

#10 wasn’t done there shockingly as I’d allegedly drug the Cheetah by her hair, again, this time into her bedroom where bingo, bango, bungo it was said I’d bopped the biology of her dome off the radiator, also again!

This was the second radiator exchange I’d been blamed for since the first fabulous 5 when I’d been accused of using the radiator to smash the Cheetah’s face off.

#10 was her head, not face, just look clueless like I did.

The face in the first grouping was snuck inside another claim’s description. I think I forgot to mention that originally, there’s just been so many over the years my eyes have gotten so, so tired.

The summery of the first radiator said I’d allegedly used the fixed apparatus as a weapon and supposedly smashed the Cheetah’s face off it. Yes, the same as the bad tub and in the same conglomerate  of claims.

That was of course dropped with the previous allegations 2 and a half years prior to this interview. In the future the radiator was involved with the stairs.

Chimpanzee The 2nd called these non-stop additions, “New disclosure” and I’d barely acted like I’d understood but under my skin I’d knew this female was fucking with me.

I’d tried to tell the dickless detective to ‘ask my previous partners if I’d rather beat myself than steal an experience from them?’ I wasn’t asking for much.

I was far from being one to push or go after the pussy in a way that’s beyond making lackadaisical effort.

Hit ‘em with that solo.

I want my girl to be passionate too so if I make bunch of effort I usually slow my role if it’s not reciprocated not the opposite, “Gimmie that fuckin’ pussy.” Eventually I’ll just go find it somewhere else.

That’s another thing is I actually don’t cheat and didn’t ever fool around on the Cheetah. One reason being because I didn’t have free time but second because I respect my relationship, even when it’s shit.

I’d thought my tolerance exemplified that?

It’s because I’m a weed smoking male I’m evil to the core in the opinion of some, right? Addicted to drugs, sex, rock and rap crap. That’s the devil’s recipe for disaster they say.

They, this time indicating those who need to smoke a…. marijuana cigarette. Smart characters know what a J is.

Got ‘ya. This C. H. I. M. P. A. N. Z. E. E. M. O. T. H. E. R. F. U. C. K. E. R. didn’t understand the premise of getting high because I’m willing to say right here and now that I highly doubt, for real no pun, that any weed smoker blazing a hooliou would decide raping a female sounded like the best experience to enjoy high.

There’s no way ever a weed puffer said that sounds like a good idea. Okay maybe a handful of times because anything’s possible right?

Seriously though come on, to rape another under the influence of the gateway drug?

Personally I’m thinking more about art as in writing, music, yoga, self-massage, not pedophilia unlike the current code.

I’d acknowledged the Chimpanzee could’ve easily been under a spell put on by some feeble mind freak who’s understood the language of control to tactically trigger listeners by using a few key words like vagina.

Vagina, vagina, vagina. They’re so soft and delicate yet can take beatings and poundings. They’re extremely sensitive yet can be stretch enough to get fisted or spit a baby’s head out, attached to some meat and skeleton.

Until the day she says “ouch, that hurt my vagina” then any man can forget about that word “freedom”.

Imagine the female said “be mean” to her vagina? Because women don’t like being spanking, slapped, penetrated with all sorts of objects from fruits or vegetables to household items including bed frames or pillows that the kids sleep on.

Females will rub their vaginas on lots of things is all I’m sayin’.

I’d never had any sexual fun with the Cheetah for example consensual spanking of her vagina, nor did I slap that or any thing for my own perversion.

I’d tried making a few remarks to the all-star biased investigative cast divulging the character they’d been listening to was an over the edge psychopath who had severe manic depression.

I’d suggested the Cheetah needed help, they’d both laughed but Chimp The 2nd did much harder in her mockery.

‘A female having manic depression and needing mental help?’ She couldn’t stop herself from pointing and flicking my nose, I could only laugh back in disbelief. This broad was more insane than the Cheetah, this was a fucking nightmare on Monkey street.

That was the name of the street their BNB was on because they’re egomaniacs like that.

Chimpanzee The 2nd and I both sat and had a good laugh howling at the moon together. Mine was based off fear hers, domination.

Then Chimpanzee The 2nd gave me the middle finger and stood up thrusting her pelvis right into my face grabbing the back of my head and forcing it into her overly rounded gunt continuously calling me a “stupid bitch-cunt” while yelling at me to “stand up and take the gloves off” even though I wasn’t wearing any.

She didn’t want any part of any word I’d spoken like it was treason in her mind and her actions were justified in degradingly dragging me across the continent.

Imagine what I’d sound like if these atrocities were actually true?

Imagine being the hero who’d asked the bad guy if he wanted to play rough? Then literally sent a mafia to invade his home bringing a war to him that he didn’t really deserve nor want.

The bad guy just followed his values and bottom lines of integrity refusing to do anything less than what he knew how to do.

If these hideous accusations were true whoever got that classless character who’d committed them off the street forever would be labelled a fucking hero for eternity, is that not fair?

Locking such evil maliciousness up definitely would deserve a medal. A reward for public duty services served with a smile going above and beyond the call of the wild for society.

I lived with the god damn Cheetah how come my word hasn’t been honoured for society yet? What if the real criminal is still out there like the possibility of an extraterrestrial?

Clearly the Chimp was missing a few imperative factors or she was blatantly ignoring them with neglectful ignorance by putting such extensive effort into going after her factitious glory at my expense.

I did not agree with her perspective.

I’d asked for my Representative and chose to say nothing further acknowledging her low life Bullshit.

The Chimp got out of my face then put me back into the box, then I was transferred across the street to the CourtYard where I was hoping to post a deposit.

It was freezing cold out, I still don’t have my jacket the fuckers.

The Frog was still working inside where I’d left him and he’d greeted me at the back door again with a smile as if expecting me.

He’d put me in a Bullpen with 6 other males where I’d sat for what felt like days.

A few crackheads wouldn’t stop talking and making noise. After listening to what I’d heard earlier, I was in no mood to listen to their rambling.

I was becoming so frustrated with their volume and superficial topics arguing with each other back and forth that I’d almost had to speak up with my own authority challenging them to a duel when the Frog came to get me.

I was moved to the tiniest compartment of a room where I’d talked with the Rhino through the phone on the wall and he told me the deposit was set at “0 peanuts. Zero.”

That’s a none, not a, zip, ziltch, nothing.

He’d mentioned the Lovebird setting the deposit amount just so happened to be the blue Bird Toni with an “I” who set the deposit for me 3 and a half years earlier when I originally turned myself in.

He’d been rotating all over the land weekly and miraculously he was the same Lovebird who’d decide the magical amount of peanuts that would set me free on that day.

He’d decided on 0 after reading the reports and in the world of deposits a 0 never happens, I mean never. Not even on your birthday, not even if you stole a breath of fresh air and got caught would you get a 0 peanut deposit.

It meant I was free to leave, just like that.

I’d still have to attend regular Snake meetings in Paradise to check-in once a month until these 4 plus allegations were resolved but the Ladybug and I were together once again and this time without having to pay a deposit after spending so much in the unknown.

I’d been released into the Ladybug’s arms without any further questions or Bullpen time.

The Rhino stood by and got in our hugging moment eventually, it was glorious as we all shared the warmth of freedom.

I actually have to take a break from telling this novel right now, my owners just got home from their vacation and they’re calling me to go for a walk, I have to piss so bad.

This whole time I’ve been writing to you from my Dog mat on the living room floor, while ever so patiently waiting for a track to explode on. I mean the train track outside our yard.

If you’re ever by remember not to let the Kitties out we wouldn’t want them to get hit by a train or Mack truck.

Don’t ultimately fear though because if they did there is a pet cemetery just up the grassy knoll, we can go have a seance burying them before they come back to life even nastier than the first time.

Reincarnation at its finest, if you believe?

I have to use the washroom now but one final truth is that I haven’t even been writing any story this whole time because every character knows Dogs can’t use pens or pencils.

I’ve actually been telling you this story telepathically where my words have only appeared in your minds as figments of imagination.

That feedback buzzing you might’ve heard periodically throughout, was only the highest octave you could understand in my Dog pitch.

I hope you’ve enjoyed,

To be contnued…

 ***

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