Dogs: furry bags of crazed joy. I’ve never had a dog of my own but I’ve always wanted one. Most dogs exist solely to be happy, and why not? If they have a good owner, all they have to worry about is losing their ball behind a fence or losing their actual balls on a nightmarish detour to the vets.
I see dog owners looking bored during walks and wonder if they’ve forgotten that they have an ecstatic cuddly toy at their side. And the bigger the dog the better, although the Great Dane takes it too far for me, standing as tall as my chair.
Sometimes owners approach me, lift up their dogs for me to stroke and I face a dilemma. I want to touch it, but because the dog doesn’t know me I’m relatively sure my jerky arm would scare it. And so I just stare at the dog and smile at the owner and the owner stares back and the dog starts sniffing my hand.
“Nice,” I say. Then hopefully they’ll put the dog down and end the torture. I mean they’ll put the dog down onto the ground, not kill it. The owner ends up thinking I’m scared of dogs when in my head I’ve netted their dog in the bag on the back of my chair and the owner is insisting I take it home with me. Thanks, I say, you’ve made a disabled boy’s life worth living (it’s OK to exploit your disability in daydreams).
I think I’ll be getting my own dog soon enough. We’re looking into getting an assistance dog. Assistance dogs are trained to work with people with disabilities. The sort we’ll probably have is trained to help put washing in and out of the tumble drier, open doors, remove shoes and socks off your feet, stuff like that. None of these things are essential since I have someone with me most of the time but still it’d be adorable to watch. I’ll be constantly throwing clothes over the floor just so the dog can clear it all up. It’s not slavery if they enjoy doing it, right?
I just want a calm dog that won’t jump at my sudden movements, and I guess an assistance dog would need to be calm in order to pass their training. I think the responsibility of owning a living creature would bring a fresh dynamic to my life, since I’d be the one playing caregiver for a change. And maybe I could help add even more awesome tricks to its arsenal, see if it can cook a five-star meal, drive a tractor and clean up its own shit all at the same time. The possibilities are endless.
Zombie movies have never really scared me, and I don’t know why. Because the idea of masses of braindead corpses taking over the world is terrifying. Well, America has finally made a zombie film that stirs up my fears. The zombies are a mixture of racist rednecks and destructive hipsters and they get together to vote the King of Zombies into presidency and then he starts forcing all the non-zombies into cages ready for consumption. When everyone is either zombie or pretend zombie, he reveals that he isn’t really King of Zombies. In fact, he doesn’t care about zombies in general, he just manipulated their small brains to obtain power and with that power he has one mission – ensure he’s never criticised again.
I don’t know. Is this really for real, America? I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed. It’s ashame, isn’t it? In my opinion, everyone’s first priority in ‘free’ countries past basic survival should lie in protecting their right to free speech. As soon as Trump even hinted that he’d sue whoever criticises him, that should’ve spelt Game Over in voters’ eyes. Even the poorest, least educated, dirty-vest-wearing American should know and be passionate about the importance of being able to say what you want to or about anyone you want.
Disagree? Then write a rebuttal, slag me off in a public place. Why? Because you can. Because you won’t and shouldn’t ever be jailed or sued for expressing an opinion. Knowing that there are still communist countries around is inexplicably surreal. I try so hard to enjoy documentaries set in China or North Korea but it’s hard to forget the fear these people must experience daily, and then they – the actual thinkers – have to maintain this falseness, pretend nothing is wrong, and you can almost see it in their eyes how much it hurts, letting their real opinions build and buldge and seize-up inside them.
America, I find you weird sometimes. You probably whoop whenever you go poo-poo before accidentally shooting one of your children on the way out. But I have faith in you. I’m still able to enjoy Trump by pretending he’s the star of a masterful comedy show that parodies and condemns a corrupt political system. And it’s funny sometimes, watching him. This Trump guy is kind of like Peter Griffin, fun to watch but you wouldn’t want to meet him if he was real. Except Trump is real, and he hates free speech, and he wants to simultaneously build and destruct houses because he can’t stick to a single strategy, and best of all there are people cheering him on. If everyone hates a hypocrite, everyone should loathe Trump. They should also dislike Hilary.
America faces such a tough choice in electing their next president! You can either have a slap in the balls or a nice relaxing massage, what’s it going to be? The boring yet sane man or a sick destructive joke. I believe in you America.