In 2018 I need love, medicine, money, cell phone, more money, and a weapon. I have all of these. True love from Louie, my dog. Medicine from various healers. I don’t work anymore but love to spend money. My love life and my cell phone need a charge. My weapons are a BB gun, a shovel and a frying pan.
I google things every day. My dog spends a lot of time licking his privates. Over an hour every day although I’ve not timed him. I google this to find out how to stop him. But, he has been doing this his entire lifetime and is now a senior. He keeps a good attitude. Always healthy and happy.
Louie was my mother’s dog. When she died, Louie became my father’s dog. When Bob, my dad, went into assisted living, Louie became my dog. Every Tuesday I take Louie to see my dad. I also might take a couple chocolate éclairs.
You just have to enjoy life. My dad doesn’t say much. He can still devour an éclair very quickly.
I am grateful for my home. It provides me shelter from an often cruel world.
I am grateful for my dog. He gives me unconditional love like no other.
I am grateful for my car. Without it I might have to call Uber.
I am grateful for my food. Nothing has provided more satisfaction in my life than food.
I am grateful for Netflix. Since quitting pot, Netflix has helped me escape reality.
I am grateful to be alive. Passing away and going to my eternal rest is not yet appealing.
For the last seven years, my partner in bed has been my dog, Louie. I put up with his horrendous breath, and he puts up with my snoring. He sleeps with his rear end pushed against mine, and we both emit loudly upon awakening, which warms us on cold mornings. My girlfriend won’t sleep in the same room with me. My dog is there every night. If I pet him a couple times, he will lick himself for nearly an hour. I have to smack him and tell him to stop it…but, I have unconditional love for Louie. I like my girlfriend too.
I used to have to keep a close eye on my dog, Louie. Whenever he got out without his leash on, he’d run out of sight and wouldn’t come back. I’d have to grab some treats and drive after him, and there’s something I hate about driving at a crawl down the street yelling “Louuuuuuie” over and over.
Then my new roommate moved in with her dog Daisy. Since Daisy moved in, I don’t have to worry about Louie straying too far from home anymore. He stays right by her side.
It’s good to know that the roommate situation has worked out for the both of us.
“Hi, Grandma, how are you?” I yelled, as I entered her house.
I knew she would be in the next room, playing solitaire at her card table.
She lived right next door, and, after I ate lunch at our house, I would walk to her house and eat again. I knew she would have Pop Tarts, ice cream and soda pop, all the good stuff we never had at home. I’d sit down next to her on her couch, which was always covered with a thick plastic cover. This cover came in handy the time I dropped a bowl of ice cream on it. When I made a mess she would yell “Ookie-pooks!” and have a fit until it was cleaned up.
Butchie, her dog, might waddle into the room.
Butchie got snacks all day and all night; his stomach buffed the floor.
“Hey Grandma, can I get something to eat?” I asked with a smile.
“Stevie, you’re getting so fat, but, I did get the chocolate-filled, chocolate-covered ones you like so much.”
She said mixed up things all the time. I didn’t care–I lived for those Pop Tarts. Then she’d hug Butchie, and say, “I love my little ootie-bootums, yes yes yes.”
Grandma was Jewish. I knew this because she ate bagels with cream cheese and some lousy crackers called Matzo. Sometimes a man with a very small hat would visit. Grandma would give him money and say that it was her Rabbi. She would say something funny and, when you looked at her, she would be making a silly face. I’ve never met anyone quite like Grandma, but, I do catch myself acting just like her sometimes.