By no request whatsoever,
The Return of the Surreal Dog
A Panel
The day was none too bright. God flitted in and out the porch door
with a domestic beer in his hand, pondering the sacrifice of Wayne
Gretzky to the Lord of Ummagumma. 'Twas beginning to look like another
day in Heaven, and the skies opened up.
What difference did it make, anyway? God had a beer, the world was
still flat, and from nowhere in particular lofted the sad tale of
Lawrence Welk, who bemoaned the absence of James Hoffa from their
weekly poker game. It was impossible to dance a one-hand polka,
and sadness fell from the open skies.
Another Panel
Like the day, life was none too bright. It had allowed the platypus
to survive, the kimodo dragon to open a chain of brightly-lit pornography
shops, and Don Ho to simply exist. Just when it looked like Hope, Bob
that is, had strolled through the ballroom, a distant barking could be
heard. 'Twas a baying, a sad cry, from nowhere it came:
was government .
Genuine Hardwood Paneling
In the foyer, a distant photograph reminded of all that had gone before.
Within the distant circle of morning slumber, God rose from His bed, grabbed
His slippers, and strolled out into the park, where he and Lilith enjoyed
an early morning tea. Dogs walked through the park, dragging their owners,
and diet bones lapped at the fountains. It was a brilliant place, and
God was happy.
Distant Hardwood Paneling?
A blues band played. Nothing in particular made the audience of three
move in time with the beat, but from somewhere, a dog could be heard.
Mocking the important things that lurk'd in the night, a burglar crept in,
and ransacked the house of God.
God came home, only to discover the porch door was ajar. Open, that
is, for there were no more jars left in the house. His ambrosia was gone,
and with it his stockpile of diet bones. Lawrence Welk stood in the
entryway, bemoaning the loss of the beloved accordion, and all present
knew one thing: that dog was nowhere to be seen.
For Sale: A Panel Truck
The dog was, at that very instant, visiting Cincinatti, where he
had acquired a new vocation: installing plate-glass windows in the
houses of the holy. It was a divine calling, and frequently saw him
interacting with living, loving maids of some of those who asked
no quarter for his services, and gave none as tip. There were
times, whilst whistling a coda, that he grew weary, and yearned
for a diet bone, but, alas, there were none to be found.
An Electrical Panel
At God's house, the Heavenly Police had just concluded their
investigation. After calling out the instigators, because there
was something in the air, they hauled God down to the
station on suspicion of possession and creation of drug parphenalia.
It was a rather odd arrest, and after seven days and seven nights
of questioning, He was released into the custody of Lawrence Welk,
who decided that what they needed most was a vacation.
After packing a few bags, tossing the hair dryer into the carry-on
satchel, and descending the stairway, the pair caught a taxi
which would take them ultimately to Cincinatti, where God had
decided to become a DJ.
Spinning the Vinyl Panel Fantastic
It was a blissful Monday night, and Lawrence had scored the best
club in town to feature God's mighty spinning abilities: Chez Dog,
home to the hip and the happening, and, unbeknownst to the Almighty,
home to Joe, the Government Plant.
Joe had been arranging a sting operation preventing the spread of
diet bones from their origin in distant Nigeria to the streets
of Limpet Sound, where it was feared, more dogs would ingest them
and the Surreal Dog would become a host of Surreal Dogs. Tracking
down the purveyors of such devices, Joe and his clorophyll-deficient
cohorts had set up shop at Chez Dog, where nightly, spinning the
latest in retro-big band sounds, the truly amazing and surreal
inhabited the place. But even with God on the tables, it was still
Monday night, and the place was empty.
Sadly, God spun "Waltzing Matilda" again, adding a unique sample
of a recent debate in Heaven between the Heavenly Host of the
Newlywed Game, Chuck Woolery, and Bob Barker over the nature of
psychodynamics and their relation to the ability of rabid eigth-grade
children to correctly predict the winners in "Wheel of Fortune."
Unable to sustain such a wond'rous groove, the PA gave out, and
silence swept across the room, where the wind cried, "Give me another
round."
An Advertising Panel
The wind whipped through deserted streets. Empty Super Slurpee cups
rattled in the night, like modern bean-sidhe out for vengeance, and the
Dog skulked through the shadow'd realm. Cincinatti wasn't particularly
beautiful after dark, especially when the Dog knew full well that he
was on the surreal side of the river, and turkeys dropped from circling
helicopters. The sky was awash in a technicolor haze, and the turkeys
mourned a baleful howl, sounding something like the last call for drinks
before the Big Al-Anon meeting in the sky. Thinking surreal thoughts,
the Dog knew it was time to move on, and hailed a cab.
Seating the Jury Panel
Unbeknownst to him, the taxi was heading straight for the
courthouse at the center of town. The radio in the cab
babbled something inconsequential about the end of the world, the
fact that the Chicago Cubs were disbanding to become a
volunteer organization dedicated to ridding illiteracy among
young Guatemalan hibernating trolls, and that Percy Sledge
had become a Satanist, and the Dog rode on, slobering out the
window, dropping surreal mists wherever he went.
Meanwhile, the flophouse at the corner of Fourth and Vine was
abuzz with activity. God was preparing for his latest
engagement, and Lawrence Welk was practicing his accordion.
From nowhere, the door burst inwards, with Joe's Plant Squad
leading the charge. Offering both Visa, Mastercard, and a
warrant, Mr. Welk and God were arrested and led downtown,
booked on "possession of diet bones with intent to deliver."
At the courthouse, Joe was a Government Plant. Preparing
his latest case against the low-level diet bone pushers that
plagued Cincinatti, he was ready to go to trial. Basking under
a sunlamp, Joe knew that this case was important, but with the
publicity surrounding it, the only people that would serve on
the jury would be the strange, the infirm, and the moronic...
just the type the average prosecutor wants. Thinking
clorophyll-filled thoughts, Joe knew that the indictments
would hold, and that Lawrence Welk would be convicted on
all counts as a peddler of diet bones.
To be continued, or
perchance to dream...
Back to sanity
Geocities: Get a free page.
An illegal panel
Please not that I, the webmaster, am not the original author of this or the original. The original Author is Rev. Rob. I do not believe that the surreal dog is still on his website, nor do I know if he has one, so I have archived it here, with out permission, and with out request, but with the kindness love and respect. Hey Rob, if you read this I’ll buy you a cup of coffee if you ever find yourself in my home town.