I was on the beach. I was “scouting locations” for my book. I needed a house. It belongs to a specific person, I can’t say who. And I read that she lived in this beach town. So I went there and I walked down and down and down the beach past where young teens shivered in the waist high water with their ass cracks devouring their bikini bottoms. To the rich people part of the beach where old men sitting in folding camping chairs glare at you because in their mind this beach is private. And I glared back because I’d be happy to humiliate them in front of their wives and daughters. Stun them with one right cross then drag them out in the surf and hold their head down for about 45 seconds. Let them up for one desperate breath. Then back down again. Repeat repeat repeat. The wife can’t leave to run back in the vacation rental and get the phone to call the cops but she’s not quite prepared for violence either, genetically. She has to puzzle out a right-size piece of driftwood to swing at me with. I got doxed so I won’t tell you what happens to her in this story. She better hope a fuckin dolphin saves her.
I was on the beach and some middle aged rich woman’s German shepherd attacked me. First it ran out and antagonized a guy’s two fat Labradors. Then came at me snapping and circling and barking. It kept getting closer but still seemed afraid of getting whacked in the face with the flip flops I was carrying. A German shepherd isn’t a pit bull, which is just a dumb missile made for killing. Most pit bulls should be vivisected. The German shepherd still has a little bit of brain. A little calculation. The woman, the owner, ran out and God bless her tried to control the dog. But she’s a woman. Tried to get between me and the teeth and I said you’re making it worse. Now the dog’s protecting you. The dog did not listen to her. The dog was getting madder and madder and this was because I was screaming at it saying FUCKING COME GET SOME. COME GET IT. Idea being it would latch on to my left arm and I’d get its neck with my right. Hang it by its collar. Take it to the waves and drown it. Break its back on the rocks. Again, a pit bull, you know it’ll just crush your arm. The pain might drive you crazy. It would just kill you. The woman, frantic, panicking, screaming for the dog and I puzzled out the right size piece of driftwood, a six foot pine log held up like a spear and I screamed, get this:
YOU WANT TO PLAY FETCH, BITCH
Now the woman was screaming at me saying please please don’t hit her. This was what I wanted. She got its collar and I walked off. The perfect building for my book was half a mile away. Its architecture ties in in unexpected ways with setups and themes that already exist. It has meaning.
On the walk back I saw the woman again. She was crying. I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry, she said.
I said it’s OK. Your dog was being a dog. This is what she’s supposed to do. You know they had that jaguar at the Cincinnati zoo. It got out. Killed antelopes. They asked the zookeeper: are you gonna put it down, I said. No. It was being a good jaguar. Your dog is a wolf with certain instincts magnified by 30,000 years of her relationship with people. She’s protecting your house. She’s a good dog. I liked fighting her. I deliberately antagonized her. It made me feel like what I am: a big angry monkey. Please don’t punish the dog. We’re just two animals. I misread the cues. I escalated. And she wept, and hugged me.
The day before at the gym a man stole my parking space. And I banged his car window and yelled at him YOU FUCKING PRICK. I blocked his car in. I made a big show of grabbing a hatchet from my trunk. Just sitting there with it.
Then I saw him inside doing cable flyes. And I apologized. And he apologized for taking the parking space. I called my AA sponsor after. To brag about this tenth step. He said you might want to take the weapons out of your car, man. But what if I need to gather firewood. The other bigger axe I keep on my air conditioner. In case the neighbor’s pit bull who killed my cat gets out again. So I can swing it full hip swivel into its spine– then stop. Not kill it. Just sever the spinal cord. So it has to drag itself around in one of those dog wheelchairs. And I can see it out on the street again and kick it over, and laugh. I apologized to them too. For antagonizing the dog. But it barks again at night and I’m going to tie firecrackers to its neck to destroy its mind. Make it afraid of a door slamming. The way it did to me.
delicioustacos 
YAZ!
Invigorating. I could feel my pupils dilate as I zoned in and resonated with your unbounded fury. I’m imagining a gymnasium, or coliseum rather, where men can test their mettle against an assortment of beasts. A linear progression program. First geese, then dogs, then boars, maybe black bears next, big cats, finally hippos, rhinos, polar bears. A personal trainer who speaks only in whacks from a sturdy bamboo staff.
I want to believe Southeast Asia has something like this, somewhere.
Cool. You handled the dog more or less like a Russian would.
As far as weapons, you might consider this:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00169V99K/?coliid=I13Y53QXCWNWWY&colid=10V0UH8MGLOLN&psc=0&ref_=lv_ov_lig_dp_it
HAH, on my knees begging for more! Commendable effort of violent restraint. A mix of horror like Train to Busan and Kill List.
An Ark might make a great backdrop to keep an angry monkey safe from bad doggies.
Gimmee the book!!
Side note: FUCK the cant be named and nfl
It’s like you are living the Serenity Prayer.
fucking awesome
Carry on, brother. We weren’t meant for this life.
Skyking agrees.
Headline. WHEELCHAIR PITBULL MAULS TODDLER ANYWAY
DT! You did it again: Going to try “We’re just two animals. I misread the cues. I escalated.” as my new tinder opener.
You will still only match with gays
Shut up bitch. I’ll come over there right now and kick your ass, I’m a marine
-Lucius Severaid Cochrane O’Shaughnessy-Johnson Jr.
Now you get attacked by a *literal* bitch… It figures.
Hope you’re reading this, Kenny.
Also hope you’re on the outside of an eight ball, and three knuckles deep inside two $5K call girls next to each other on all fours, their flesh quivering as you scream, “RAT-A-TAT-TAT-BLADDOW” over an N.W.A. groove blaring from a custom Enigma Veyron EV1 system emitting a holographic projection of you in ’76.
Or, I hope you had a really good shit.
hell yeah dude
I like you a lot
This was the worst 10th Step ever.