Tell Me It's Real(44)

“The doctor said we can’t have sex until the weekend,” I said absently. Then I realized what I’d said. “Oh sweat balls.”

Sandy sounded like he was going into apoplectic shock. “Apparently,” he gasped as he hyperventilated, “you don’t… need my help… at all! You’ve already thought… this one… through.”

“I’m going to go now before I make it worse,” I said.

“Don’t think… that’s… possible,” Sandy said as he struggled to breathe. He sounded like he was dying. “Should have… recorded… this phone call. No one… will believe me. Need… record for… posterity. The world… must know… what happened.”

I hung up the phone. “Fuck,” I whispered.

I didn’t stop to think, because if I did, I’d end up having a minor meltdown right here in my kitchen. Instead of turning into the Paul I knew, I pushed him away and turned into Semi-Confident Paul whose super powers included the capability to have light conversations without stuttering, and to not sweat and turn red at a moment’s notice. Of course, this led to me wondering what kind of boots my superhero costume would have when I was Semi-Confident Paul, and whether or not I could pull off a cape. I liked to think I could.

I went back to the living room and Semi-Confident Paul turned into Shocked Paul, who then transformed into Big Puddle O’Goo Paul and lastly morphed into I Want To Eat You Like A Buffet Paul.

All four of my alter egos would have rocked a cape and boots.

Somehow, someway, Vince had gotten Wheels to turn into a big fat traitor, the Benedict Arnold of doggy-dom. My antisocial mutt had turned into the world’s biggest slut in the five minutes I had been pretending to get juice.

I rounded the corner and found Wheels lying on his back on Vince’s legs, his little car discarded next to Vince on the couch. The little whore had his two front paws pointed lazily to the ceiling, his head hanging off Vince’s knees, his tongue lolling out of his mouth in that way he does when he’s getting a really good stomach rub. Vince was smiling down at Wheels as he scratched his belly. His nub of an ass wiggled back and forth (Wheels, not Vince. I would have been a little weirded out had I come around the corner to find Vince was shaking his ass while touching my dog).

I was about to shout that my dog was the biggest skank in the history of the world when Vince caught me watching him and said with a grin, “I think he likes me. I always wished I could have a dog.”

From there, Big Puddle O’Goo Paul wanted to find a female dog and go back in time to save Wheel’s manhood from ever being snipped so there could be billions and billions of puppies that I could shower upon Vince because he always wished he could have a dog. He’d gotten past my own dog’s defenses, which in turn shoved him right past my own. “That’s… that’s so special,” I managed to say. “I’m surprised he let you touch his cart.”

Vince reached up and grabbed Wheels by the face and started an ear massage, and Wheels made a sound like he was about to orgasm all over Vince. Unfortunately, that was not an image I could get out of my head and it made me a bit queasy. “He didn’t mind,” Vince said, oblivious that he had gotten to second base with my dog. “I just picked him up and he tried to lay in my lap. I told him I’d let him if I could take off his wheels ’cause I didn’t want him to get hurt.”

It was about that time that I noticed how the muscles in Vince’s arms flexed against the shirt he wore as he massaged the dog’s head. I remembered then that he was wearing my shirt, and for some reason, Big Puddle O’Goo Paul roared until he blew up into I Want To Eat You Like A Buffet Paul.

I Want To Eat You Like A Buffet Paul wanted to punt Wheels like a football out of the room so he could climb in Vince’s lap and lie on his back and have Vince rub his face. I Want To Eat You Like A Buffet Paul didn’t think it was fair that the stupid half dog got all up in Vince’s lap without having to do a damn thing. I Want To Eat You Like A Buffet Paul was jealous of a dog and began to plot deviously to knock off said dog so there would never be any question again as to who belonged in that lap.

“You okay?” Vince asked me. “You’ve got a weird look on your face.”

And that, ladies and gentleman, was when it really began.





Chapter 8


The Greatest List In The History Of The World





Seven Things I Learned About Vince Taylor:

A Perspective

By Paul Auster



1) Vince Taylor Is Comfortable With His Body (Dear Jesus God, That Ass)