Give That Dog A Bone

Last night as I was getting toward the end of the evening and had already endured a couple of hour’s worth of dealing with some self-important obnoxious business owners groping each other in front of some of their employees, when he walked in. Yes, this guy is what bad movies are made of. He was about forty-five, had the bad boy bob haircut circa nineteen eighty something complete with highlights, a white turtleneck and a salt-and-pepper dick target (A.K.A. a goatee). All five foot nothing of him walked up to the bar, slapped down a ten and says “I need some ones and a five to gamble with.” Right away I knew I was dealing with one classy dude. As I hand him his change I noticed all the tell-tale signs of the species I like to call Tweakus No-erectus. The classic meth user, dirty hands, bad complexion, clinched jaw and pupils so large you can’t tell what color his eyes are. I’m thinking “Ugh! More pain in the ass douchebaggery!” Then I look down and notice the necklace he’s wearing. Dog tags, no not like the servicemen that serve our country everyday all over the world, whom I respect greatly. No, it was an actual dog tag, like you get out of a vending machine for your dog so people can call you when they get lost. It was in the shape of a dog bone, and this tool was wearing it on the outside of his turtleneck like it was something bad-ass! I just smiled and finished giving him his change. All the stress from earlier just seemed to fade away and I wore that little smile for the rest of the night. It’s funny how something that simple can put things into perspective if you just remember that ridiculous situations are just that, ridiculous and should not be allowed to affect your mood in a negative way. In fact, I’m still smiling.

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