A pet bull for my birthday!
Seeing how today is my birthday, I thought instead of making it about me, (which it is) I thought I’d make it about you this year. And toward that end, I’d like to do something special in your honor.
I thought about knocking off a liquor store and giving all the proceeds to Father Donnolly, but he know’s I’m broke so he may suspect something, and besides, he’ll bust me for sure at confession this Friday if he hasn’t already figured it out.
Then I thought about plinking off a couple of
accidental rounds with my pellet gun into the neighbors new car, since nobody in the hood likes her. (and now her car). That would make everyone around here happy, but you might be a little miffed.
I even gave some thought (not much though) to running a bunch of red lights in your honor, just like Mick Jagger once suggested in a country western tune he did. But I’m not at all sure what Mick was doing singing country western songs. Maybe he was at a low point in his life.
Anyway, that might get me killed, or busted up pretty bad, not to mention how it would likely mess up my ride. Red light running—definitely out.
And that’s when I decided the best thing I could do to honor you today would be to buy a farm animal, like a cow or a bull.
I think I’m going with the bull.
Cows require milking and that grosses me out, with all those titties and everything. Not for me.
Bulls on the other hand seem pretty cool. And if I raised one from scratch, I could probably teach him tricks and other stuff when I get home from work.
For now, I’ll keep him in the garage until we find a place with a backyard, so I think he’ll be quite comfortable. I have an Ipod deck I can leave out there with him and have it repeat or shuffle songs all day, but I’ll erase the death metal playlist first. I don’t want to come home and see where he’s gone all Marilyn Manson on me.
Then, when he gets a little older, I’ll take him places with me. Like on road trips. Just me and him, two guys bonding.
And when he’s not looking, when his headphones are turned up real loud, I’ll say a few words in your honor, hit him with a cattle prod, and send him running out into traffic where a big truck will hit him. The trucker will be ok but Fernando (my pet bull) probably won’t make it.
I’d get the trucker to help me cut Fernando up into a bunch of steaks and roasts, give the trucker some of Fernando for his trouble, and take the rest home, where I’d stick my Fernando steaks, chops, and roasts in the garage freezer.
My wife would be shocked at first, but she’d like the idea of reclaiming the garage. But then she’d like drop this big bombshell on me that she won’t be eating Fernando because he was our pet. (Actually, he was my pet, she never fed him once or cleaned up any of his bullshit).
So Fernando would lay in the freezer, and after a while get freezer burned, when I’d have to throw him out.
Fucking Fernando, why’d you have to get hooked on my oldies playlist?
I think “Safety Dance” just may have pushed him over the edge, God.
God, raising a bull was not an easy task, not in the least.
I thought I was up for it, but it turns out I wasn’t.
Looking on the bright side however, I’m fresh out of bullshit.
In your honor.