Scribblings: Death by Poodle

Death by Poodle

This is what happened.

I was walking along, minding my own business, right? Walking down 34^th street in Brooklyn. Not exactly the most happening thing to be doing-I mean, I'm 23, got my whole life ahead of me, right? Well, there's the story right there.

I felt a tap on top of my head, see? There was just a little pressure, and I moved out of the way. Moved rather quickly, I thought. Looked down to see a poodle lying there on the sidewalk.

Poor thing, I thought. Damn thing could'a killed me followed quickly after.

COULD HAVE?

Now, if you have ever been just standing there, minding your own business, and had someone come up behind you and speak very loudly into your ear, scaring the living piss out of you, you have the slightest inkling of what that Voice was like.

LOOK DOWN, it said. SOMETHING RATHER IMPORTANT YOU NEED TO SEE, I THINK.

Without turning around to look at who-or what-was talkin' to me, I looked down. "Holy shit!"

QUITE.

"That...that's me!"

IN A WAY, YES.

"What the hell?"

DEATH BY POODLE WOULD BE MY GUESS.

Well, I was tired of talking to someone that, y'know, I didn't even know what he looked like, y'know? So I turned-very slowly-to see just what kinda build made that kinda voice.

"What the fuck? You're real?"

EXISTENTIAL QUESTIONS AREN'T MY STRONG POINT, I FEAR.

"I mean-you've got everything the stories say you do!"

COINCIDENCE?

Check this out-I got this big, I mean big dude standing right in front of me. Swear to God-he's eight foot tall if he's an inch-wearing all black. I don't mean that pale-death look that's "in" right now, I mean this black makes that black look positively white. It's like there's no colour in it at all. Dude's packin', too. Got the scythe that all the stories say he does. This is just too much, y'know? I'm lying there, head squished by a poodle-don't ask me how- and the Grim Fuckin' Reaper is standing there brushing lint off of the front of his robe! It's enough to make someone cry.

SO ARE YOU PREPARED?

"Man, gimme a break here! I just got hammered by FiFi the Falling WonderPoodle! It's not every day that something like this happens to me, y'know?"

I WOULD VENTURE TO SAY ONCE.

"Come again?"

IT ONLY HAPPENS ONCE.

"Hohoho, Jolly Fuckin' Roger you are.

"Um...you said prepared?"

YES.

"Prepared for what?"

WELL, WHAT DO YOU THINK HAPPENS WHEN YOU DIE?

"Um...free beer and chicks?" Yeah, I was hoping.

NOT QUITE. . . WELL, NOT FOR YOU ANYWAY.

"Oh, Christ! What a goddamn day!"

THAT'S NOT THE MOST INTELLIGENT THING, YOU KNOW.

"Eh?"

WELL, I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO TELL. TAKES THE FUN OUT OF IT FOR PETER.

"Dude, my brains are currently mixed with Fido's over there. Throw me a bone, wouldja?"

AH, HUMOUR. ANYWAY, DO YOU THINK IT WISE TO CONTINUE TO TAKE THE NAME OF YOUR LORD IN VAIN?

"What the fuck you talkin' abou....shit! You mean...it's all true? Fuck! Oh, man-I've screwed the pooch-bigger'n'life!"

IN A MANNER OF SPEAKING, YES. ALTHOUGH IT WAS THE DOG THAT TECHNICALLY ENTERED YOU.

"Jes-I mean, what a fuckin' comedian you are, eh?"

THE QUESTION REMAINS-WHAT DO YOU THINK HAPPENS TO THOSE THAT ARE DEAD AND GONE?

"You already asked me, man."

AND I YET AWAIT AN ANSWER.

"Hey, haven't you got better things t'do than stand there-ok, loom there and bug the horseshit me? Isn't there a nice little war that's going on? Check the Kurds, willya? Leave me alone."

I AM EVERYWHERE.

"Tell it to the Kurds. I've had enough, man." Yeah, I turned to walk away. Didn't know where the fuck I was going, didn't know how to get there. And the Happy Fun Guy was there in front of me.

IT IS QUITE IMPERATIVE THAT YOU ANSWER THE QUESTION, YOU KNOW. YOU CAN'T AVOID IT FOREVER.

"Hell, I thought I was doing a good-what the fuck! She just walked right through me!"

AMUSING, BUT NOT IMPORTANT.

"Not important to you, maybe. But I've got news for you, Tall Dark and Booming, I ain't used to this shit, so back off!"

AND WHERE WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO BACK TO?

"Forget it, man.

"So I've got to answer the question, right?"

CORRECT.

"Man, you know-23 years I've been walkin' around, looking for answers. Is 'I don't know' acceptable? You fuckin' vulture?"

I WILL ACCEPT IT. YOU MAY NOT LIKE WHERE THAT TAKES YOU, HOWEVER. AND I AM NOT A VULTURE. NOR DO I ENGAGE IN RELATIONS WITH THEM.

"Tell it to the preacherman, man. I've got a question to answer.

"What happens if I don-Goddammit! It happened again! I swear, if someone else walks through me instead of going around, I'm going to...."

YES? I'll give this to the sunuvabitch. He did sound interested.

"I don't know, but it won't be nice."

I never want to hear a sound like that again. I think he chuckled. It was like the sound of ... well, I have no fuckin' clue what it sounded like. Combine fingernails on a blackboard with the sound of gas hissing out of an oven, and throw in grinding teeth for good measure. Then you've got something that would give you an idea.

"Listen, man. I don't fucking know what happens when you die."

I DON'T..

"Yeahyeah. OK, I don't fucking know what happens when I die!"

SO THAT IS YOUR ANSWER?

"If I knew the answer to that question, I wouldn't have been under that damned poodle. I'd have been making money. Like that Oral guy."

FAIR ENOUGH. The motherfucker turned to walk away! What the hell was that all about?

"Hey, cheesedick! What about me?"

I DON'T KNOW.

"Well fuck! Whaddaya mean you 'don't know?'" Aren't you supposed to be the answer man? I thought you knew a buncha shit when you died!"

YOU JUST TOLD ME YOU DIDN'T KNOW. DO I DETECT A CHANGE IN YOUR STORY?

"Well," I've never been anything if not stubborn as a goddamned rock. "No-not really- I just..."

IT IS MY JOB TO FACILITATE THE DEAD'S ARRIVAL IN THEIR AFTERLIFE. SINCE YOU DON'T KNOW WHICH AFTERLIFE BELONGS TO YOU, YOU GET NONE.

"You tellin' me I'm a fucking ghost!?"

I BELIEVE THAT IS THE TERM, YES.

"So, like, do I get to haunt things?"

I DO NOT KNOW. WHAT I DO KNOW IS THAT I AM DONE WITH YOU.

And the fucker was gone. Just 'poof' and out. And so there I stood, on fucking 34^th street, looking at the county morgue car and the ambulance and trying to remember just what I knew about ghosts.

It wasn't much.

I kinda glided over to where FiFi met cranium, and looked down at the mess. Didn't envy the morgue-guy one bit. I know I couldn't figure out where the dog-stuff ended and the guy-stuff began.

"Poor bastard. What you gonna write down in the book for this sorry son-of-a-bitch, Joe?"

"Death by Poodle."

Fuckers got a laugh outta that. Assholes. Just for that, I figured that I'd haunt the goddamned morgue.

Well, that's what I thought anyway.

Tried to follow the ambulance. At the end of the block, it was like hitting a fuckin' wall. I couldn't go any farther. Same at the other end of the street.

So here I am, the jolly-happy-fucking-ecstatic-ghost-of-34th-street.

I can't go anywhere, do anything.

I just sit here. And wait. And when that fucker in black comes back, I've got one hell of an answer for him.

And I swear, if just one more person walks through my happy ass, I'm going to do something nasty.

Haven't figured out what, yet-but I'm sure it'll come to me.

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	Death by Poodle This is what happened. I was walking along, minding my own business, right? Walking down 34^th street in Brooklyn. Not exactly the most happening thing to be doing-I mean, I'm 23, got my whole life ahead of me, right? Well, there's the story right there. I felt a tap on top of my head, see? There was just a little pressure, and I moved out of the way. Moved rather quickly, I thought. Looked down to see a poodle lying there on the sidewalk. Poor thing, I thought. Damn thing could'a killed me followed quickly after. COULD HAVE? Now, if you have ever been just standing there, minding your own business, and had someone come up behind you and speak very loudly into your ear, scaring the living piss out of you, you have the slightest inkling of what that Voice was like. LOOK DOWN, it said. SOMETHING RATHER IMPORTANT YOU NEED TO SEE, I THINK. Without turning around to look at who-or what-was talkin' to me, I looked down. "Holy shit!" QUITE. "That...that's me!" IN A WAY, YES. "What the hell?" DEATH BY POODLE WOULD BE MY GUESS. Well, I was tired of talking to someone that, y'know, I didn't even know what he looked like, y'know? So I turned-very slowly-to see just what kinda build made that kinda voice. "What the fuck? You're real?" EXISTENTIAL QUESTIONS AREN'T MY STRONG POINT, I FEAR. "I mean-you've got everything the stories say you do!" COINCIDENCE? Check this out-I got this big, I mean big dude standing right in front of me. Swear to God-he's eight foot tall if he's an inch-wearing all black. I don't mean that pale-death look that's "in" right now, I mean this black makes that black look positively white. It's like there's no colour in it at all. Dude's packin', too. Got the scythe that all the stories say he does. This is just too much, y'know? I'm lying there, head squished by a poodle-don't ask me how- and the Grim Fuckin' Reaper is standing there brushing lint off of the front of his robe! It's enough to make someone cry. SO ARE YOU PREPARED? "Man, gimme a break here! I just got hammered by FiFi the Falling WonderPoodle! It's not every day that something like this happens to me, y'know?" I WOULD VENTURE TO SAY ONCE. "Come again?" IT ONLY HAPPENS ONCE. "Hohoho, Jolly Fuckin' Roger you are. "Um...you said prepared?" YES. "Prepared for what?" *WELL, WHAT DO YOU* THINK HAPPENS WHEN YOU DIE? "Um...free beer and chicks?" Yeah, I was hoping. NOT QUITE. . . WELL, NOT FOR YOU ANYWAY. "Oh, Christ! What a goddamn day!" THAT'S NOT THE MOST INTELLIGENT THING, YOU KNOW. "Eh?" WELL, I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO TELL. TAKES THE FUN OUT OF IT FOR PETER. "Dude, my brains are currently mixed with Fido's over there. Throw me a bone, wouldja?" AH, HUMOUR. ANYWAY, DO YOU THINK IT WISE TO CONTINUE TO TAKE THE NAME OF YOUR LORD IN VAIN? "What the fuck you talkin' abou....shit! You mean...it's all true? Fuck! Oh, man-I've screwed the pooch-bigger'n'life!" IN A MANNER OF SPEAKING, YES. ALTHOUGH IT WAS THE DOG THAT TECHNICALLY ENTERED YOU. "Jes-I mean, what a fuckin' comedian you are, eh?" THE QUESTION REMAINS-WHAT DO YOU THINK HAPPENS TO THOSE THAT ARE DEAD AND GONE? "You already asked me, man." AND I YET AWAIT AN ANSWER. "Hey, haven't you got better things t'do than stand there-ok, loom there and bug the horseshit me? Isn't there a nice little war that's going on? Check the Kurds, willya? Leave me alone." I AM EVERYWHERE. "Tell it to the Kurds. I've had enough, man." Yeah, I turned to walk away. Didn't know where the fuck I was going, didn't know how to get there. And the Happy Fun Guy was there in front of me. IT IS QUITE IMPERATIVE THAT YOU ANSWER THE QUESTION, YOU KNOW. YOU CAN'T AVOID IT FOREVER.** "Hell, I thought I was doing a good-what the fuck! She just walked right through me!" AMUSING, BUT NOT IMPORTANT. "Not important to you, maybe. But I've got news for you, Tall Dark and Booming, I ain't used to this shit, so back off!" AND WHERE WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO BACK TO? "Forget it, man. "So I've got to answer the question, right?" CORRECT. "Man, you know-23 years I've been walkin' around, looking for answers. Is 'I don't know' acceptable? You fuckin' vulture?" I WILL ACCEPT IT. YOU MAY NOT LIKE WHERE THAT TAKES YOU, HOWEVER. AND I AM NOT A VULTURE. NOR DO I ENGAGE IN RELATIONS WITH THEM. "Tell it to the preacherman, man. I've got a question to answer. "What happens if I don-Goddammit! It happened again! I swear, if someone else walks through me instead of going around, I'm going to...." YES? I'll give this to the sunuvabitch. He did sound interested. "I don't know, but it won't be nice." I never want to hear a sound like that again. I think he chuckled. It was like the sound of ... well, I have no fuckin' clue what it sounded like. Combine fingernails on a blackboard with the sound of gas hissing out of an oven, and throw in grinding teeth for good measure. Then you've got something that would give you an idea. "Listen, man. I don't fucking know what happens when you die." I DON'T.. "Yeahyeah. OK, I don't fucking know what happens when I die!" SO THAT IS YOUR ANSWER? "If I knew the answer to that question, I wouldn't have been under that damned poodle. I'd have been making money. Like that Oral guy." FAIR ENOUGH. The motherfucker turned to walk away! What the hell was that all about? "Hey, cheesedick! What about me?" I DON'T KNOW. "Well fuck! Whaddaya mean you 'don't know?'" Aren't you supposed to be the answer man? I thought you knew a buncha shit when you died!" YOU JUST TOLD ME YOU DIDN'T KNOW. DO I DETECT A CHANGE IN YOUR STORY? "Well," I've never been anything if not stubborn as a goddamned rock. "No-not really- I just..." IT IS MY JOB TO FACILITATE THE DEAD'S ARRIVAL IN THEIR AFTERLIFE. SINCE YOU DON'T KNOW WHICH AFTERLIFE BELONGS TO YOU, YOU GET NONE. "You tellin' me I'm a fucking ghost!?" I BELIEVE THAT IS THE TERM, YES. "So, like, do I get to haunt things?" I DO NOT KNOW. WHAT I DO KNOW IS THAT I AM DONE WITH YOU. And the fucker was gone. Just 'poof' and out. And so there I stood, on fucking 34^th street, looking at the county morgue car and the ambulance and trying to remember just what I knew about ghosts. It wasn't much. I kinda glided over to where FiFi met cranium, and looked down at the mess. Didn't envy the morgue-guy one bit. I know I couldn't figure out where the dog-stuff ended and the guy-stuff began. "Poor bastard. What you gonna write down in the book for this sorry son-of-a-bitch, Joe?" "Death by Poodle." Fuckers got a laugh outta that. Assholes. Just for that, I figured that I'd haunt the goddamned morgue. Well, that's what I thought anyway. Tried to follow the ambulance. At the end of the block, it was like hitting a fuckin' wall. I couldn't go any farther. Same at the other end of the street. So here I am, the jolly-happy-fucking-ecstatic-ghost-of-34th-street. I can't go anywhere, do anything. I just sit here. And wait. And when that fucker in black comes back, I've got one hell of an answer for him. And I swear, if just one more person walks through my happy ass, I'm going to do something nasty. Haven't figured out what, yet-but I'm sure it'll come to me. ©Cameron Wm. Akers, 1999