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| How I met Pathetic Bob | |
| By Emmuttmax | ||||||||||||||
| 29 July 2008 | ||||||||||||||
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This is the prologue to Bob's book "Pathetic Bob's Guide to Self Help."
How I Met Pathetic Bob
I met Pathetic Bob while he was living at the Animal Defense League, a large, no-kill shelter in San Antonio, Texas. There were four dogs already living with me, and I wasn’t really looking for another roommate; I was there as a volunteer to walk and bathe some of the animals. I had just returned one of the dogs to its enclosure, and the noise level of barks, yips, growls, and howls of the surrounding pens had risen to a fever pitch, a fairly standard homecoming greeting in Dog land. After the animal was settled in and the noise died down, I went to sign out for the day. As I passed one of the enclosures, I heard a voice say, “Hey, I know stuff.” I stopped, looked around, but saw no other human in the area. “Hey, down here, it’s me,” the tenor voice said. I looked inside the pen and saw a young, skinny Italian greyhound looking up at me. He seemed unremarkable and rather pathetic, but then he spoke again, “Look, I can see by the look on your face you’re not the fizziest cola in the six pack, but yes, I am actually talking to you. Now don’t go getting all freaked out, just listen.” I tried to remember if I had taken my medication that morning. I was sure I had so I thought I’d hear him out. “Here’s the deal,” said the dog, “I’ve been watching you, and you seem to really like dogs. I mean you act like you don’t expect a lot from them, like maybe you think they should just be themselves and follow their nature. You don’t look that bright, but I’ve underestimated your species before so I’ve decided to take a calculated risk. I think I might like to try living with you, that is if you’re not too much of an asshole. I’m not real happy here, it’s too restrictive and there’s not enough intellectual stimulation for me. Nothing against the other dogs, most of them are pretty cool, but I’ve been educated, talk human, and I need to expand my horizons. So, whatta you think?” I thought I had a brain aneurism; I just stood there, mouth agape, mind blown. “Speak, come on boy, speak,” the little dog taunted me. “I, uh, uh, you’re a talking dog!” “Jeez, what an asshole,” Bob mumbled. “Yeah, I’m a talking dog, and you have a gift for grasping the obvious. Now, can we get down to business? As I said before, I know stuff, a lot of stuff that can be useful to you and your kind, and—I can’t believe I’m saying this—you might be able to teach me a thing or two. If I come live with you, I’ll teach you stuff, stuff you should know but don’t because your species has strayed way too far from the natural order of things. You will provide me with meat, macaroni, cheese, love, affection, and access to your computer and library. It’s a win-win situation. Now bail me out of here and let’s go home.” “But, uh, you can talk.” “Asshole.” “I don’t know Binky, there are four dogs living at my house already, maybe I should ask them. Plus, I’ve got a wife; she might be upset if I bring home another dog.” “First of all, my name is not Binky, it’s Bob. Binky is the name they gave me when I arrived here, and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna tell the different.” “Why?” “Think about it Einstein. If I let people know I can talk, they’ll make a big deal about it and probably try to cash in on my ability. It’s happened before, but I don’t want to get into to that right now. Let’s just say I don’t want to talk to the people here because if I do, they’ll want to keep me, and I don’t want to be kept. As for as the other dogs at your house, they’ll love me, I’m quite the raconteur and will keep them entertained, amused, and happy. Your wife might be a problem—if you ask her. Obviate the problem and don’t ask her, just show up with me, and I guarantee she’ll fall in love with me. I have a way with the ladies.” “You do make a weird kind of sense, but I don’t know.” “Of course you don’t know, you’re a human; that’s exactly why you need me, remember I know stuff, and I’ll teach you to know stuff, too. It’s not that complicated bi-ped, you know it’s the right thing to do.” Bob was wearing me down, but I still had questions. “How did you come to be here? I mean, how do I know that you don’t have a criminal record?” “You don’t, and it’s none of your business. Look, I believe in non-violence unless some violence is done to me, I believe in love, and I believe in the human race even though it is made up of assholes such as you. I want to help, and I have a feeling you might be able to help me help. Now, will you please stop asking these dumb questions and get me out of here?” “You sure use the word ‘asshole’ a lot. How do expect to help people when you go around calling them assholes; that kind of attitude seems as though it might just piss them off.” “I call them assholes to get their attention and to get them pissed. They need to get pissed off. They need to once again embrace the natural animal instincts they have about the way the world works. Humans have screwed themselves up so bad they are in danger of being the only species to ever destroy itself. If that’s not being an asshole, I don’t know what is. Are you done now? Can we just get on with the adoption process and start our lives together?” Bob’s case was compelling, and my defenses were weakened, so I signed some papers and expanded my family by another dog. Over the years, things have worked out well with Bob. Although he has earned his sobriquet “Pathetic” many times over, he has also enlightened me, comforted me, and made me a better person. He decided to expand his enlightenment program beyond me and dictated his knowledge for me to set down in the form of this book. If you are offended by being called an asshole, you are probably one of those assholes who don’t know you are an asshole, and you are wasting your time reading it. For everyone else, welcome to "Pathetic Bob’s Guide to Self Help."
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