Once again I have failed. Initially, all proceeded as intended: I successfully abducted a dog using every ounce of guile and evil at my disposal, by creeping stealthily into Dundee's Animal Rescue Centre and offering to adopt a dog so that I might take it home and care for it by taking it out for regular walks and treating it to tin after tin of Pedigree Chum. The well-meaning fools were duped and gladly gave me one of the many mangy brutes that had been cruelly abandoned or abused by the evil folk of Dundee.
When I got the dog home, I prepared to test my mettle by garroting the cur with a length of wire. However, as I tautened the cord around the wretched creature's neck, my dead mother's voice could be heard.
"Horton Carew! What on earth do you think you are doing?!" she ejaculated.
"Why, mother," I replied, somewhat confused by her unanticipated ejaculation, "I am preparing to garrote this hound. I assumed that this would please you, evil as you are."
"No!" she ejaculated again, "I am horrified by what I see!"
This latest ejaculation perplexed me no end, for of course, it was my evil mother who egged me on and persuaded me of the value of killing a dog in the first place. Now it was my turn to ejaculate.
"What horrifies you mother?" I ejaculated furiously, "Surely it pleases you to see a dog murdered?"
"Of course!" she ejaculated, "But not that breed! You have selected a scottie dog, you halfwit!"
She went on to explain that because her soul is currently housed inside the little scottie dog from Monopoly, she could not bear to witness me strangulating a dog of that breed. It felt like a personal attack, she claimed. She regarded it as highly symbolic and an eerie reminder of my rejection of her some 13 years earlier, and could not suffer it.
So, dear readers, I have had to abandon my scheme of garroting that hound. At my mother's insistence, I released the brute onto the streets of Dundee, where it scampered freely in the fresh March air. My mother did not see what followed, but a large lorry mowed the creature down under its collosal wheels, which caused me to laugh uproariously and brought a feeling of warmth to my heart. From this unusual reaction to a splattered dog, I think I may safely deduce that I am truly evil. Either that, or my reaction to the death of that particular breed of dog is symbolic in some way, and is therefore too specific a case to extrapolate that I would act similarly evilly towards all dogs.
Who knows? Whatever the case, I will get started on skinning the Pole tomorrow, as I feel it's only fair to the man. I have, after all, been promising to skin him for several days now, and, evil though I am, I do not wish to gain a reputation for being unpunctual.
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1 comment:
When I aske her, Mum said it is polite to be punctual. Some people think it is rude to murder dogs and skin people so you want to watch it.
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