Trapped in the Seventh Circle of the Inferno; or An Ode to my Father.

This little doozy to the left is something we all take for granted until we do not have it. It is a little invention called an A/C or to be more specific an "air conditioner." Basically this little magical device cools the air and is a necessity in Texas because some jack ass decided to build Texas a mile from the freaking sun. As most of you know I recently moved back home with my mother until I can become gainfully employed and get my own place. However there is one little hitch: my mother does not have central air. She has a window unit...in her room. So I am basically screwed. Let me just go on record as stating life is not good without A/C.

Luckily my dad is gone to Shreveport to feed his wife's enormous gambling addiction and he asked me to dog sit his two poodles, and I can enjoy his A/C for at least one night before returning to the inferno. Just for the record: I dare you to make jokes about the poodles. I promise I will tell him you said it, and he will find you. My dad is kind of like me except A LOT more mean spirited hateful and vengeful. I would tell him you mocked his poodles just to see what he would do. Remember this when mocking said poodles:

When I was 16 someone tried to do a "home invasion" at my house. (for those of you in the audience who are clueless: a home invasion is where someone kicks in your door and "invades" your home in order rob, rape, and pillage whatever is inside your house). Anyway, I wake up at like 3 in the morning and some one is trying to kick in the back door to our house (which is in my room by the way). So I jump up and go grab my dad. My back door has a kick proof metal plate so the robbers start trying to pry it open with a crow bar. By this time my dad and I have retrieved shot guns and are standing about 8 feet from the door.

I am knealed down one knee and my dad is standing over me so that we can open up on these dudes the moment they open the door. We both have the shotguns loaded with double oo buck pointed at the door and are waiting for the inept burglars to break into the house...only they can't do it. Dad's kick proof door is whooping their ass. Anyway, while we are standing their waiting to blast some would be burglars, my dad leans over, and taps me on the shoulder with his elbow to get my attention. I am thinking some one is trying to come through a window or something and dad wants to warn me. I was wrong. He nudged me to smile like a kid and whisper "hey...we are fixing to get to shoot someone!" I was like "uh...ok...cool." The burglars finally give up and we see them walking around to the front of the house.

They are parked down the street a bit and are going back to their vehicle. We are watching through the window thinking they will be back, and are just biding our time. Only they get in the car and begin idle down the street slowly. My dad runs to the front door, and unlocks it, as the would be burglars begin to drive away. He then runs out the front door in boxers and a wife beater and begins to unload on the car with a 12 gauge shot gun from about 25-30 yards away. They immediately speed off and we never hear from them again. However, about 45 minutes later we have about 20 cops trying to arrest my dad for illegally discharging a firearm within city limits. That's my dad. Good times, Good times.

One last tidbit about the poodles. We bought the current poodles we have now for my dad because he was asked to dog sit a poodle by the name of Stretch for a couple of months while his current wife and her sister were living in a place where dogs were not allowed. He ended up getting attached to the dog, and the dog to him, so he kept it. I think they actually asked for it back and my dad said no at one point. That must have been awkward. Actual Owner: "Hey, can I uh...you know...have MY dog back?" Dad: "NO." Owner: "uh...yeah that is cool. I did not really like that dog anyway. You go ahead and keep it." Dad walks off with said dog. Anyway I am digressing here. So my dad keeps this dog Stretch, and life is good. Until one day said dog is outside pottying, gets out of the fence, and gets hit by a car.

Another little back story here: When my grandmother (my father's own mother. The woman whose womb he was carried in for nine months) died, he stood stoically by her grave and simply said, "well everything has to come to an end. She had a good run while it lasted." Exact words.

Yeah.

So this dog gets hit by a car. My dad stands on our front porch for 30 minutes crying like a bitch with a skint knee. I have NEVER seen my dad cry. Not even when his dad died and they were best friends, and simpaticos. I have seen my dad pistol whip some one, throw someone off a third story balcony, try to drown a guy in a hot tub, and break someone's fingers at a poker game for trying to rake a pot after my dad accused him of cheating, and very sternly warned him not to "touch one fucking cent of that money in the pot" but NEVER cry.

After Stretch got hit by that car he did not go to work for TWO weeks. He sat in the living room sulking, watching tv, and staring at a picture of this dog. We bought him these two poodles because we were afraid he was comtemplating suicide over a fucking dog. So now we have Jack and Jill, and I am dog sitting. Which is cool in more ways than one. They are actually two really fine hounds. Jacques (jack, in french. He is a poodle after all.) and I are chilling, drinking beer (well me, not the dog, but he is drinking in spirit), and blogging at like 1 in the morning. For the record, Jacques is the only other good thing to come out of France besides literature. Wine sucks so don't come at me with that bullshit. I don't respect any country that does not have a fine lager or ale. So, as long as I have Beer and A/C, life is good. For the record: I love my dad, and I am not trying to clown on him here. He may be crazy, but he is a lot of fun, and always interesting.