Cafeinated Tuna
Look, I'm fed up with this day to day life I live. Just look at it:
I get three bowls of kibble every day, which I'm not complaining about.
Then I trot around the neighborhood pissing on the scent of every other dog I smell -
do you know how much piss I have to save up to do that?
Well it's a helluva lot. After that I have to poop next to every other dog's
poop, even though I usually can poop only one time a day. My sole source
of entertainment is of course chomping squirrels and occasionally
chasing rabbits.
Let me tell you about these new squirrels I've been chomping. They're an embarrassment! They're not arboreal! (For those of you who lack the vocabularia that I have, "not arboreal" means tree-dumb.) I'm not making this up. When I chase them in the backyard, they don't run up the nearest tree like the Abert's squirrels do. They run on the ground! How stupid is that? When I'm on the move, there's no way they can find an opening under the back fence before I close in and chomp.
But you know, there comes a time in life when you've seen one squirrel's entrails bubbling out from the carcass, you've seen 'em all. But I will say this in defense of ground squirrels. They make me puke. Every time I chomp one, I need to puke. They must have some kind of dog venom thingy in their skin.
Anyway, I'm tired of all of this. I mean, it may be OK for some everyday pooch, but I'm not like that. I have inspirations. I want to be somebody who is important, not just some eating, pissing, pooping, chomping dog of no reflection. I want to have some importitude. That's why I've decided to become a super-rich, superfluous music mogul. I'm changing my name to Caffeinated Tuna. Of course that will be my stage name. I'll still endorse my many paychecks as Zoe Dog, for fiduciarial purposes of course.
Once I become Caffeinated Tuna, I will enthraw and entruscate the public with my musical acumen and cere de blume. I'll boldly go where no dog has gone before. I'll cracker the jack. My skills will drift among song writing, studio editing, and emasculating musicians. I'll make Brian Eno look like chopped liver. No, that's too good. Like bologna.
I will interspring my mattress of creative ideas to eclipse the withering DJ's of conventional radio. Using music, I will modulate the American psyche by fertilizing the couscous of Americana with the delectable offerings of a dog with no disgrace.
So now, Caffeinated Tuna speaks:
I am bifurcating a number of popular tunes so that I can excoriate them to my soon-to-be audiences. Rapturously will be Willy and the Poor Dogs at the Dope House of No Return, Jemima Sings the Blues, Tokens of Our Colostomies, Where Have All the Squirrels Gone?, Sgt. Pooper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, Stand by Your Dog, Features of a Faux Pas Exhibition, Cuttlefish Me Down, I Can't Get No Ventilation, Oh My Darling, Turpentine, Rhapsody in Bluegills, Your Cheatin' Colon, Let the Good Times Rolaid, Lay Down the Mayonnaise, Waltzing My Dildo, Eine Kleine Nikotin Musik, and Will the Pee Markings Be Unbroken.
Soon I will be "on air" as they say. So keep your capillaries open and tune in. I am about to frost your vision and deliver you a basket of tripe that you can't turn down. Lo, until hope is abandoned, I will dominate the outer ring of civilization, and - who knows - maybe infect the consciousness of all sentient beings, save the rodent dogs. Watch for Caffeinated Tuna coming soon to an avenue near you. I'm slinking your way. I'll start with amateur stuff, just to get my paws wet. Then I'll move on to syndication and finally to sanctification.
Yeah, I want to be a mogul. Not like Tortilla the Hun. More like Puff Daddy. You know, dark sun glasses, lots of bling, limos, everyone trying to get a few minutes of your time. I'll have fresh kibble whenever I want it, and all the other bitches will envy me like I'm squeezing out the biggest turd of all time. Yeah, I'll be super cool. I'll slink when I walk. I'll pufferfish, I'll bully do anything I want to do.
Well... maybe, just maybe this mogul thing won't work. Uh, you see, I had a puppyhood accident. I was hit by a car, and since then I get phobic whenever I'm in a car. You know, like I pace and whimper and drool real bad. So Caffeinated Tuna couldn't really ride in limos. The image would be terrible, especially if it got on YouTube. And having all kinds of people wanting to be around me - well, no offense, but once you've smelled one person's butt, you've pretty much smelled them all.
Now, I could try being like Tortilla the Hun. Like I'm on horseback swinging a big-ass sword and hurling Hunian slurs at all of the non-Huns I ride up to and decapitate. Nope. That won't work. I have no idea how to get on a horse, and I couldn't grip a sword in my paws. I could chomp entrails, but I couldn't decapitate anything.
But wait! What are these crazy machinations of mine? I'm just a rescued, mixed-breed dog. Maybe this whole new idea of mine is a fool's errand. Maybe I'm best suited sleeping on the porch and scratching my butt. How could I achieve anything beyond what I am now? No one wants a dog mogul riding in a limo It's my unrest again causing me to imagine greatness way beyond what I really can do. What am I thinking? I embarrass myself with these silly fantasies.
But I want to dream! I want to create universes where I am many things. What's wrong with that? Where does accepting one's limitations intersect with what one could be? Shit! It's like I've got two brains - one eats kibble and chomps squirrels while the other dreams of greatness. It's Zoe Dog versus Caffeinated Tuna. As Joss Whedon once said, " Always be yourself... unless you suck."
Oh, but I'm interspecting too much. Better to run wild for a while and sniff the air.
It ain't no fun if the homies can't have none.
~ Snoop Dogg