A Surrealist Dog Takes A Shit

Need to go out. Go to door. Wag tail. Wag more damn it! Somebody must let me out! Molten spleen of the right fielder emanates a Dickinsonian nectar.

Someone coming. Grabbing a leash! All is well. The beating pulse of arterial splendor casts lightly upon one’s shelter.

Outside. Must walk. Can’t shit too close to house or walk ends. Volcanic frequencies flash aft, as if emanating from the sun.

Have traveled around 2 corners. Must pull leash. Stop walking! Time to squat. The brightness of odorous limbs claims royalty per heaven’s lost pastries.

Ah! Oh…yessss! Finally dislodged the bastard! And in 4 separate places so the human has to move his bag all about the knoll as he searches for my waste. Plaid dexterity is gaseous upon contextual power.

Back inside. Feel something under my tail. One last job: Must wipe ass on carpet. Lucidity is never superficial in the wake of secession.

Fini.

3 x 3

Places I’ve never been
1. Flat Top, WV
2. The set of “The Kallikaks”
3. Salvador Dali’s arcuate fasciculus

Concepts divorced from baseball
1. Neighborhood association presidents who dress their wieners in Barbie clothes
2. Deviled street urchins
3. An Elizabethan beach squat

Nothing in particular
1. The use of condiment metaphors to accentuate sex tapes
2. “More corn turds, your Excellency?”
3. Valedictorians who display spit stalactites every time they mimic Nat King Cole