TOP DOG

(pictured above: the Lads, in happier times)

People reckon I’m thick and like to take advantage. It’s not great for the self esteem. I realised I’d had enough of this one day and decided to only socialise with people who are less intelligent than me. Not being too bright, this meant that I ended up hanging around with dogs.

The dogs thought I was a genius. I could just walk through a door (of a shop) and come out with food (I bought) and, as far as the dogs were concerned, I’d just made dinner appear out of nowhere. It was loaves and fishes stuff to the dogs. You could see them thinking ‘how the hell did he do that?’ as I scattered packets of digestives on the pavement. The simple act of buying biscuits was Large Hadron Collider level ingenuity to the lads. (I called my dog friends ‘The Lads’.)

Humans regarded my friendship with the lads suspiciously. You should’ve seen the look on the owners’ faces when I came knocking at the door asking ‘is Mardy in?’ There was one old lady who was glad to let her German Shepherd (Kaiser) out with me though, as it saved her having to exercise him herself.

But Kaiser, well, he started getting smart. He began to usurp me as leader of the pack. We’d all be running down the road, barking at cyclists and that, when all of a sudden Kaiser would lead the lads off down some side alley, leaving me behind. Sometimes, when I was approaching the lads on the street, they’d act all aloof. I could tell they’d been talking about me and Kaiser would have that look on his face. The smug muzzle on him. It was enough to make me sick.

I tried to win the lads back by buying a load of cooked chicken, battenberg, and almond fingers. No expense spared. It didn’t work out though. The lads just got fat, their owners got fed up, and Kaiser’s influence remained. I couldn’t figure out his appeal. I mean, he never bought a scrap of food and even if he wanted to he couldn’t. How could he? Where would he keep the money? He didn’t even have any pockets.

I realised something would have to be done about Kaiser, so one day I took the lads up the local vets and got them to wait outside. Then I brought Kaiser inside and had him put down. ‘That’ll learn ya!’ I said to Kaiser as a perturbed looking vet administered the lethal injection, ‘that’ll bloody learn ya!’

The lads were a bit mournful for a while but the old status quo was eventually restored and I was Top Dog once again.

Things continued like this for a couple of years until all the lads died of heart attacks. Too much fatty food. A few owners got together and launched legal proceedings against me so I changed my name and moved to a different part of the city where I am now. Not many dogs around here so I’ve taken up with cats. They like being fed too but it isn’t the same. The cats seem less impressed by my ability to produce food from nowhere. Their unjustifiable sense of entitlement is frankly unappealing. They also wander off when I’m holding court, speaking about my thoughts and observations. Cats just gobble up what’s on offer and waddle off across the rooftops (I say ‘waddle’ because they are getting a bit podgy like the lads did).

It’s hard to be the boss of cats. It’s all conditional with them. There’s none of that palsy walsy stuff I used get with the lads. Cats are users really. They’re as bad as people. They just take advantage. They think I’m stupid. Well, they’ll see how stupid I am. I’m looking up the Golden Pages. I’m looking for the nearest vet. LOL! etc.

Speaking of dogs, check out the first ever Rabid Dog Christ comic by clicking the following link: RABID DOG CHRIST

Office Humour Viral Fun!

I was told if this blog was more ‘normal’ people might look at it and then I’d get awards (which is what it’s all about). Help make Fugger viral! Here is Internet office humour fun. Email to pals and write ‘LOL’ after in case they are too stupid to know it is a joke (and put a laughing emoticon smiley face thing after too just in case they are fuckin paralysed in the brain) LOL!:

WORST EVER CHAT UP LINES! LOL!

FOR GUYS:

‘Are you the girl I followed home last night?’

‘I may not be much to look at but I can fart louder than most guys.’

‘I’m emotionally distant and given to sudden outbursts of rage. How about you try and change me.’

‘I don’t like your dress. Take it off.’

‘If I ask you out for a coffee do you promise not to emotionally dismember me and reduce to me a shadow of my former self like that last Nazi bitch?’

‘You have my father’s chin.’

FOR GALS:

‘I don’t normally go for men like you but you seem to have money.’

‘I set fire to my last boyfriend’s house but I just want to set fire to your heart.’

‘The problem with most guys is they resent being controlled but you seem passive and malleable. How about it?’

‘You remind me of my son now take off your pants.’

‘When I look at you I think of sex because your nose resembles a cock.’

Produce a dead cat from your bag and say: ‘Wanna stroke my pussy?’

OMG soooo LOL! Normal and LOL! That should get Fugger on the office humour viral map. In case it doesn’t though, here’s a funny clip involving a cat:

A VISITOR

More cats have gone missing in the locality. As usual, the eye of suspicion has fallen upon myself and The Mother.

A garda called to the door at the ungodly hour of 1.20 pm (barely lunchtime). Needless to say, I was smoking cigarettes in bed with a copy of Obama's excellent Dreams From My Father on my lap. (Reading extracts from this tome aloud in the best approximation of the great man's voice one can muster provides an inspirational start to the day - I recommend it). Anyway, the bell kept going and I knew herself wasn't going to budge. Unlike most of us, The Mother is usually out of bed by this time but she likes to spend her afternoons sat in the lounge, donned in the wedding dress, looking through family albums and reminiscing. 1 to 4 pm finds her utterly lost, lost in the haunted ballroom of her mind, ghostly renditions of Boyer's Huckle Buck resounding throughout. 'Doing a Havisham' is how I refer to it. There's no talking to her when she's like that.

In high dudgeon, I ceased my recitations and clambered out of the bed to open the door. Once The Mother realised we had visitors, she was up on her feet and treating it like a social call, which it was not. She offered the garda a sherry, put cocktail sausages under the grill and brought out a bowl filled with Tayto and peanuts. The dog's bowl, but never mind. 'The sausages will be a little while but here's some crisps and nuts that are collectively called nibbles,' explained The Mother. She then made a further contribution to both the conversation and circumstantial evidence by adding, 'I once had a cat called Nibbles but my son made me have it destroyed.' Contesting this version of events, I said, 'now Mammy, you know well the vet said we should ease Nibbles' suffering'.
'Ease his suffering, they've euphemisms for everything these days' said The Mother.
Becoming agitated, I raised my voice. 'The creature was sick,' I yelled.
'Don't get excited love, we're only making chat,' said The Mother dismissively before asking the garda if he had a cat himself. 'I do,' said the garda. I saw The Mother narrow her eyes and go for the kill, 'and would you like to have it destroyed do you think?' she asked. The unfortunate garda stumbled over his words, trapped as he was between my pyjama clad distress and The Mother's steely gaze. 'Perhaps, if she was in pain,' he mumbled, siding with me. As a punitive measure, The Mother revoked the offer of nuts and crisps, taking the dog's bowl from the garda and carrying it out of the room. 'Nibbles wasn't in pain, he was just poorly,' she said as she departed. The garda looked at me and faintly smiled. His eyes then dropped and I could have sworn he took a mental note of the Sharpton in 04 badge pinned to my pyjama lapel. 'Subversive,' I almost heard him think.

The Mother came back into the room, dispelling an awkward silence. 'Would you like to see a picture of him?' she asked the garda.
'Who?' asked the garda.
'Why Nibbles of course,' answered The Mother, picking up a family album and searching through its pages. She carried the album over to the garda and pointed into it. The garda's face crinkled into a portrait of uncomfortable bewilderment. 'That's your cat?' he asked. The Mother took a closer look and laughed. 'Oh no, not at all, what am I thinking?' she said, 'that's not Nibbles, that's my late husband'. The Mother then informed the garda, with excessive bluntness I thought, how my father died in hotel fire during their honeymoon. 'It matters little,' she said, 'I had conceived by then, his lordship over there safely stationed in the womb.' The 'lordship' referred to being me, as The Mother made clear via a disdainful nod in my direction. 'You know,' she added wistfully, 'a hotel fire is not a pleasant way to go but had my husband lived I've no doubt his lordship would've found a way to, what's the expression, oh yes, . . .ease his suffering.' I attempted to counter this salient attempt to place me in the dock as a potential cat vanisher but The Mother spoke over me. She told the garda how she was once considered the belle of the ball and could've had any man in the town. 'I settled for his lordship's father as he owned the local newsagents and was well stocked in Curly Wurlies, my favourite foodstuff at the time,' explained The Mother. 'Of course, you can't get Curly Wurlies these days,' she went on, 'I suppose someone eased their suffering too'. As The Mother pontificated the fate of the Curly Wurly, the garda made his excuses, backed into the hall and darted out the front door.

From my bedroom window, I watched the garda quickly make his way down the drive. I hope he made it back to the station safely. Nyx's gloomy cobwebbing still covers the sky and there are things out there. Bad things. Was that The Mother's lacy gown I spied in the undergrowth? Was there a hint of something peeking from the hedges, that crossbow she ordered from the outdoor activities shop? Regardless, we've not had any cat related inquiries since.

A SUNNY TALE.

One day, like every other day, the Sun climbed up over the edge of the Earth, heaved his big burning body into the sky and made it morning. The cats all stood on the rooftops to greet him, the flowers lifted their pretty heads to see him and the birds sang his praises.

As the Sun continued to clamber up higher into the sky, people awoke and the Sun's celestial progress gave temporal cohesion to their lives. 'Now it is time to go to work', said the watches and clocks and they knew this because the Sun told their forefathers, the sundials, and the knowledge was passed down over the generations. 'Now it is time for lunch', said the watches and clocks later that day. 'Now it is time for the news to be on the telly', they said later on ...and so on and so on.

All day the Sun would roll up over everyone's heads until it came time to slide back down the other side of the Earth. What the Sun did when he vanished behind the horizon no one knew but I'll tell you. Every evening, when the Sun's work was done, he went and got pissed out of his mind. 'I'm fucking parched', the Sun would say and tumble like a big scorchy ball toward a hostelry that resides in the gloomy cosmic depths beneath our wonderful flat world. All the planets of the solar system would be there, drinking, playing darts, chatting each other up and complaining about politics. On this night, the Sun glided into the bar and took a seat next to his best pal Jupiter, who the Sun thought was wonderful fun. 'You're a gas planet', the Sun often told Jupiter, causing Jupiter to say, 'tell me something I don't know' and everyone would laugh except Mars who was usually just in the bar to start a fight.

That night, Venus was sitting at a nearby table and the Sun occasionally glanced over at her because he fancied her loads but was a bit shy. Sadly, Venus had no regard for the Sun. 'Mr. Hot Stuff over there thinks the world revolves around him', said Venus of the Sun to Pluto, who was always happy to hear a bad word said about somebody because he was bitter after being demoted from his status as a planet and relegated to being a mere floaty thing, no better than that eejit the Moon. Anyway, the Sun overheard what Venus said to Pluto and his heart sank. He decided to drown his sorrows in copious amounts of booze.

When closing time came the Sun tumbled out of the bar and tried to find his way home but he couldn't because he was so drunk. He span off one way and then another but it was no use, he was utterly lost. 'I think this is Ranelagh', said the Sun to himself upon spotting a familiar Spar, but it was not Ranelagh it was . . .well who knows where it was. 'This is awful', thought the Sun about his efforts to discover his whereabouts and he took out his mobile phone to call a taxi but his mobile was banjaxed. 'Oh no', said the Sun, 'my mobile has melted in my pocket because I am such a hot fellow, I'm up shit's creek for sure now'. Eventually tiring of futilely spinning this way and that, the Sun decided to settle down for a wee sleep in the doorway of the Spar.

The next morning on Earth (or what should have been the next morning on Earth) found the cats, birds and flowers all eagerly awaiting the Sun's return but return he did not. The creatures and plants did not know what to do and grew quite worried. The humans were less worried, awaking and going about their usual business with the help of the watches and the clocks that no longer needed the advice of the Sun. As it turns out, the Sun was kicked to death as he slept by two random weirdos who were good at sports, went to private schools and took amphetamines (this sometimes happens to people who sleep in shop doorways and is said to be frowned upon by the law but I've yet to see anyone do time for it - LOL!). The Sun never visited the Earth again.

The end results of this rambling chain of events were that The Big Issue magazine ran an article on how shop doorway dwellers really should not be kicked to death and someone mentioned what happened to the Sun on the telly. Some arty types and the odd child said they missed the Sun and environmental whingers started a panic about how no more food would grow but the food did grow, hydroponically, and everything was grand because the human race are a great species that can overcome any problem except perhaps the problem of living with each other and their petty neuroses.

As for the solar system, well that dispersed with Jupiter and the other planets going roughly in one direction and Earth spinning off in another. 'I never liked that guy anyway', said Jupiter of Earth and the other planets all agreed except for Mars who was just contrary and Venus who secretly thought the Earth was gorgeous.

The End.