all right, where's your toy? i ask the dog kissing him on his velvet lips. where's the croco-dildo? the dog runs out of the room to return with a piece of green rubber with a crocodile head, the legs and the tail are missing, not because the dog has bitten them off, the croco-dildo is disabled by design. it's very sad and unusual. or is it usual to be broken from the start? is it a common feature of my species? a lonely underfed under-appreciated artist.
i've always suspected that pet toys were created by the same people who were designing sex toys. what? no, no, of course you aren't just a pet, you're much more, i answer the dog's questionable look, you're my friend, a very true and the only one i have. i'm not certain though if a primary job of those designers is to design sex toys or pet toys, perhaps they don't make the distinction. i must have a look at kids toys. if they resemble sex toys, then my theory is correct, and by the way the connection between sex toys and kids toys is very obvious, the sequence, firstly you buy a nice sex toy to spend some nice time with your nice boyfriend, then after this nice time comes a kid, probably less nice, then you buy kids toys and another nice sex toy for yourself, since your nice boyfriend has left you having decided that the kid wasn't nice enough.we play, the croco-dildo is so wet after being in the dog's mouth, i can't hold it, it slips away. ew, gross.
on Fridays, when the dog is dying, i would sit on the wooden floor and stare at the wall. i'm so bloody good at staring at the walls. each wall is different, each has the perfect spot to fix your gaze on, find this spot, and you can easily spend the fucking eternity with your eyes glued to the wall. the room consists of 4 corners, plus 16 corners for the door and the windows, and there're 43 railing on the balcony. i like to watch the corners from different angles. unlike my coffee 43 is an odd number. it can't be divided by two. it's even an aliquant number. see, i'm fucking smart. there're a lot more corners in the room, the corners of unsold painted canvases. the croco-dildo dies each month, and we go to a pet shop to buy a new one. i would always ask the same salesman if a new croco-dildo is gluten free, and the salesman would answer it still is. each Friday i'm frightened that i'll need to buy a new dog, but it seems that dying once in a while is just a bad habit of my old dog. he's not very old yet, he's 4 years old and he resembles Anubis, and how can you be 100% alive if you look like the god of the afterlife?
well, everyone has a right to possess one bad habit. to enjoy it, to take care of it, i must admit, my dog is a creative motherfucker, he could have just been smoking like me, or he could have chosen to dance on MDMA on an overcrowded dance floor on Fridays. you can become an influencer with this bad habit of yours, you know. i tell the dog. is dying trendy on Tik-Tok? i wonder where my painting would go to after i die? will anyone care enough to throw them away? i've deleted my social media accounts because the social media gave me a false alarm that i had a few online pals to chat with. the truth is, it's only me, my dog, and my pain-tings. i doubt someone has even noticed my disappearance. nevertheless, it's not really important.
obviously, today isn't Friday, so we go out for a walk. at a local shop i'm buying a kinder surprise, oh, oh, oh, i hope there's a toy car, and a pack of cigarettes. you are not 21 yet, a cashier informs me. wha?! are you telling me it's not my ID? i fake the resentment. do i look like someone who steals IDs? well, probably, i do. i would never steal an ID, it's so boring, what isn't boring is to steal identities, faces, lives, personal stories, to walk in someone else's shoes. i'm 31. i inform the cashier. okay, the cashier nods. do numbers make us grown-ups? oh, oh, oh, could i please have another pack? you asked for menthol slims. yes, yes, but i already know that smoking is highly addictive and i've already started, so this warning massage is a bit out-of-date for me. okay, which one would you like to have? fatal lung cancer? heart attacks and clogs? slow and painful death? i'd prefer smokers die young. here you go. thank you so much, just one last question. yes? is there life after 30? you've showed me your ID, you're 31. yes, but I doubt there was life before 30. and one year isn't enough to judge, is it? do you have our discount card? the cashier asks. i shake my head. i don't. would you like to buy one? no, thank you. each time i visit this shop, they ask me about the discount card, and each time i refuse to buy it. because if i do, they will stop asking, and it feels like we're having a small talk here. though i believe the cashier doesn't care if i buy the discount card or not. 30 years ago lonely people were talking with a TV set. i wonder do lonely people talk with Siri now? shall i try it? but c'mon, it's hard to get bored with porn hub available, pardon my pun.
yikes, i've got a toy car! in the car we're stuck in traffic. the dog on the back sit, the cabin air filter makes me sneeze, i'm dying young behind the wheel. the line not having moved a bit, the cigarette finished, i'm trying to crash it in the ashtray, but i completely forgot about a piece of chewed gum that has been there for fucking eternity. why is it still tacky? the cig making a strange hissing noise, it adheres itself to the piece of gum, and returning the favour the piece of gum glues my index and middle fingers together. bloody hell, i mutter, honking from behind, yes, yes, shit, sorry, what a beautiful attachment, fuck, i'm trying to drive and to separate my fingers. why didn't you bark back at that bastard who couldn't wait a sec and was honking like mad? i ask the dog. i know, i know, you're a well behaved person, you don't bark without a strong reason.