BLACKLISTED! neighborhood installment

Since I can’t actually punch every person who annoys me in the neck (I mean, my friends would get tired of bailing me out of the clink, you know?), I have decided to start a semi-regular, recurring-type installment thing (vague!) where I simply list the people who have annoyed me of late. A blacklist, if you will. I have no authority or connections to make this list in any way effective, but I can say with utmost certainty that none of these schlubs will be invited to my next all-night breakdancing party. OH, no.

For the first installment of the list, I have chosen to present to you the annoying figures The Dachshund and I meet on our frequent walks. You may recognize some of these characters, and should you, I humbly ask that you consider their inclusion on this list in any of your interactions. Do not hire these people! Do not lend them change for the payphone! Do not go to bed with them! They have been BLACKLISTED!

The shadowy figure who allows his black poodle to crap beneath a certain fir tree and never cleans it up. This dude is always stealthy, lurking just around the corner, ready to zip off, poodle in tow, as soon as the frizzy beast is done depositing his loose, stank stools at the foot of the tree. I get that he may not always have a doggy bag with him, but clean-up duty is required by the terms of the apartments’ pet policy. That’s not all, though: the particular appearance of his poodle’s poo leads me to harbor vile paranoid fantasies that it is riddled with highly contagious viruses fatal to my Little Dog. The particularly strong poop odor makes the sloppy piles irresistible to the poor puppy. Damn you, shadowy figure! Clean up your stupid poodle’s festering disease-turds! You have been BLACKLISTED!

The nosy, sticky little child who always demands, in hard-to-decipher child language, pettapuppy! pettapuppy! Is the wee sticky one asking me? Shouldn’t he be asking someone like, oh, say, his dad? I mean, surely his parents have instilled in him a deep and abiding fear of strangers and their strange dogs. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to be sticking his little child hand in front of the gaping, beastly maw of every puppy to come down the sidewalk. Does he? Because my dog might well eat him. He does not look especially delicious to me, not being either deep-fried or covered in a blend of five cheeses, but you never know about dogs, do you? My dog seems rather to enjoy eating (or at least chewing on) things like other dogs’ turds, rotten peanut shells, cigarette butts, dead slugs, greasy french-fry containers, and used kleenex. Seen alongside that dubious doggy buffet, the sticky child just might be delicious indeed. Stay away from us, kid; you have been BLACKLISTED!

The crazy lady who got out of her car just to say hello to me. Damn, when this lady appeared I thought it was something out of a French farce. I’m all happily walking down the sidewalk, as is the custom of the times, and she runs up to me all “HELLO I STOPPED JUST TO SAY HELLO TO YOU HELLO HELLO.” It took me a couple of seconds to realize that the white station wagon abandoned some fifteen yards up the street, driver’s-side door still open, was hers. She had stopped, left her car, gotten out, and chased me down just to say hello to me and my irresistibly adorable dog. I know, I know. He is cute. And then she had to tell me all about her dachshund and how he was old and how he has epilepsy and how he used to be this little one time and how his father was a wire-hair and so his coat isn’t as smooth, and then she asked me my dog’s name and ignored me when I said “ee-gone” because those two syllables didn’t seem to mean anything to her, and then she started in on the interrogation: how old was he, how long had I had him, did I get him from a breeder locally? And I had to quietly scoop up the excited puppy and just walk away. Thanks for ruining my walk, you crazy, crazy, insane lady. You have been BLACKLISTED!

The creepy old dude with the knee brace who walks around all slowly, smiling. I understand that maybe he walks around slowly because of his knee injury and maybe he smiles because he is friendly, but let me tell you one thing: there is nothing more like the very definition of creepy than an old dude, walking around slowly, and smiling. (Shudder!) Also, one time he told me “you look strangely like your little dog.” Well, fine. Actually I guess that wasn’t exactly what he said, but it sounded like it. I guess actually what he said was “you look strange without your little dog,” but whatever, creepy dude; you have been BLACKLISTED!

The nutria who lurks beside the bank of the creek. Nutria are the single ugliest, nastiest mammal ever, of all time. They look like a giant rat with bright orange fangs and dorsal nipples. They disgust me. Their skanky creek bed is dangerously close to the sidewalk where I like to walk (it being the custom of the times and all). Stay away from the sidewalk, nutria, you giant rat-thing that is bigger than my dog! You may not be as creepy as the lady who got out of her car just to say hello to me–not by a long shot–but, nonetheless, you have been BLACKLISTED!


  1. But the nutria look really sweet, like forgotten characters in “The Wind In The Willows!” Methinks Egon, being a cossetted and pampered little canine is turning soft. You need to let him get into a couple of scraps, maybe let him hang around some lady dogs, give him a nip of whiskey in his watre bowl. Egon could fight a nutria couldn’t he?


  2. KotH– Oh, but of course. E is actually extremely ferocious and mighty. His jaws are a vicious, unstoppable force! (Nutria, however, are not cute. Noooo! They are an urban menace!)

    HA– They are a crepuscular urban menace! Totally.


  3. creepy dude who walks slow needs to be tagged and researched. also, maybe we should get a “greta suit” for egon so his ferociousness can be filtered into a bigger dog appearance and all those crazies will leave you alone. jeez. although the big dog attracts her own crazies, at least they don’t get within 20 feet of me.
    i’m thinking maybe you should just step on those nutria (yeah, rodents–except bunnies!–are gross) and we’ll sell them on the asian fur market. pay off our student loans.


  4. in the carolinas we called them thar thangs “muskrats” and shot at ’em with BB guns to keep ’em from eating the styro-foam.


  5. I wonder how this Greta suit would work? Egon would have to be inside in some tiny control center, operating the legs and tail and whatnot with tiny joysticks. I am willing to commit to the long training program that would inevitably ensue, though, if it would mean these people would leave me the fuck alone. I can’t wait till sweet little Eegs bites someone.

    Also, yeah, I had definitely never heard of a nutria until I came out here. Someone tried to convince me they only lived in the Brazilian and Pacific NW rainforests, but that’s not true, they just go by different names, I think. And yes, if they can be somehow harvested I am all for it!


  6. For the Egon suit: animatronics.

    I’d offer to help you out, but I don’t do engineering “work”. Sorry, man.


  7. According to that wikipedia link, “The nipples of female coypu are on their back. This allows their young to feed while the female is in the water.”
    Ewwwwww! They’re freaks!


  8. Ah, nutria are crepuscular. That explains why Australia doesn’t have them – there is no twilight down under. Night descends like a velvet curtain just while the nutria would be getting organised to go out. Antarctica, however, is rich in twilight, but it all comes in two big batches, from August to November and from February to May. Crepuscular mammals get grossly obese during these periods and then slowly starve to death.


  9. T– Yeah, the doral nipples never cease to creep me out. Ewwww.

    LC– That makes sense, I s’pose. Count yourselves lucky. Also, crepuscular! (Just wanted to say that word again.)


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