“I’M NOT THE BOSS”
by OPOVV, ©2017
(Feb. 6, 2017) — “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the ‘Pulse of the Nation,’ the television show that is the most talked-about the next day. As some of our dedicated viewers know, we’ve interviewed a certain Vietnam Veteran who has some sort of dog that ‘talks.’ For the last couple of weeks our office has been inundated with ‘talking-dog’ requests, so much so that we just can’t afford to ignore it any longer. And so, without further bloviating, here is ‘The Great Dog Interview.’
“Hello, out there in television land, I’m Mr. Roving Reporter and will be your host for this special presentation of ‘Pulse.’ With me here is the owner of the ‘talking dog,’ Mr. Vietnam Veteran. By the way, mind if I ask you what your real name is?”
“That’s it.”
“That’s what?”
“My name. When I got back into ‘The World’ I had my name legally changed, and before you ask why I’ll tell you: it just made my life easier, that’s what. I just got sick and tired of people saying, ‘He was in Vietnam,’ as if Vietnam was some sort of Funny Farm Rehab for the ‘Don’t mention Vietnam’ afflicted, as if the mere articulating of a specific country’s name would trigger some sort of unstoppable chain reaction that would, ultimately, result in mayhem, suitable for discussion on the 6 o’clock news…or, very likely, at the very least, resulting in being accused of ‘I told you so’s,’ committing the most egregious social blunder imaginable, perhaps acquiring the moniker of ‘That’s the one.’”
“How did you acquire the dog?”
“Dog pound. Cost me $90, which included shots and getting fixed.”
“When did you first discover that the dog could ‘talk?’”
“The dog talks? What, you nuts or something? I talk: the dog squeals, whines, growls, barks and howls. Once we were at an antique car parade, and whenever one of those Aoogah horns blew she’d howl, as if she were White Fang; I kid you not. Purse her lips just as in the cartoons.”
“So if the dog doesn’t talk, who does?”
“I talk, don’t you get it? I talk for the dog.”
“Why, that’s just plain crazy.”
“You telling me? Here, go ahead, ask the dog something, anything.”
“I’m not going to ask the dog anything. This isn’t ‘Catch 22’; I’m not talking to a dog.”
“Well, now, here’s the deal. You asked to meet me and to bring my dog, so here we are. You said you wanted to talk with us, ask some questions. Now, I’m not saying I’m a violent person or one who tends to become a little bit unglued at the slightest infraction, but I suggest you ask the dog here a question, if nothing other than to humor me, and I don’t believe I can warn you any better than I have. Just ask the dog a question and then you can be on your way, okay?”
“Are you threatening me?”
“This I’ll tell you: Vietnam Vets don’t threaten; they NEVER threaten: they state their case and then follow through, and that’s it, okay?”
“Okay, okay. Jeez, here’s the question: what’s happening, dog?”
“The dog says the Muslims kill his brothers and sisters for some sick sport and he’s had enough. As a matter of fact, the next raghead or burqa-head he says he’s going to attack. ‘Fair warning,’ she says. She says for their own good they better leave her country, ASAP. All Muslims: Get Out of the USA! She also says that it’s her nap time so if you’ll excuse us?”
“Oh, yes, sure, of course we’ll excuse you, ‘talking dog.’ I can’t believe what I do for a paycheck. Look, you want to know something? I fell the other week and ended up with a concussion, is what. So maybe this is all just a bad dream, and with that I’ll be, on behalf of the crew, wishing you all a goodnight: Goodnight.
“But wait, the dog actually said a lot more about the cruelty Muslims lay on not only dogs but ALL other animals, especially pigs and human females, according to the Islamic book of hate: how men should lord over women: marry them young; get tired of them; ‘honor kill’ them; marry another young one. Old men perpetually molesting young girls, all in the name of ‘religion,’ which the West buys into, believe it or not.
“The dog was very specific and had references handy; graphs, photographs, videos and notarized testimonials, but most of them were just too darned explicit for family viewing, so the editor redacted them all. Hey, I’m not the boss. Goodnight.
“Let’s grab a burger, maybe a dog for the dog: my treat.”