Last night after a couple beers, a couple burgers and a couple more beers Sonja agreed to pick up the Hammer and I as we walked off into a darkening sky. First I had a couple more beers. The Hammer, now about as big as the biggest of my two previous dogs at one year of age, is demanding more and more exercize. I want a happy dog and a happy dog is a tired dog. Our destination was an hour away.
You might think we were headed to the pub. If I had felt England would be best watched with a football sized hangover I may have. Instead we went to get my racing paper.
The crack house around the corner was eerily quiet. Maybe the motherfucking cops convinced them smack was a better deal than cocaine.
The Hammer tried to make friends with the geese at Sawmill Park as we passed through. Too bad she does not eat goose shit. The park was busy with frisbee tossers, roller bladers and baby buggy pushers. My city's many parks, unlike the parks of Dope City, are not littered with corpses every morning. This is because a troop of Animal Sacrifice Christians prowls the black forests in the night watching out for homosexual behaviour.
Our city council, a lot so backward they still dream of one day owning a Corvair convertible, took a lot of heat for expropriating several houses that bordered the park. The demolishment of the houses has made the park much more inviting. It might be a good idea to destroy all Steepleton's houses and make the city a big park for Jesus to play frisbee and make sacrifices in when he returns to make a nuisance of himself.
The racing paper was waiting for me at the store. I still do not know what to make of the Belmont Stakes. (I'm leaning towards an 11-6-12-2 superfecta; Steppenwolfer for the win.) But I do like the looks of a longshot in the last race at Hastings.
No comments:
Post a Comment