My Dog's No Fag

November 18, 1998

Ever since my little dog Jack was raped by a female hound in the park, I've been doing everything I can to make sure my boy doesn't grow up...you know...fruity. I've bought him a bunch of toy guns and a brand new football. We've been repeatedly flipping through the Katerina Witt issue of Playboy and watching pornos every night when I get home from work. (Actually, I've been watching pornos every night since my divorce, but now I let Jack join in on the fun.)

We've been going to the gym every morning to work our pecs and look at chicks. Jack wears a college sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off. No sissy tank-tops for this dog's dog.

We=ve also taken to calling each other by nick-names. I call him The Jackster and he calls me Soz-Man.

I got us a couple of whores on Monday night. Two Latin chicks. Jack took the one with the thinner mustache.

After we kicked the bitches out, Jack and I downed a dozen Tall Boys and spit tobacco into coffee mugs shaped like breasts. "Do you want to smell my paw?" Jack kept asking me. "It sure smells like fish in here!" I guffawed with a slap of my knee.

Then we put on our officially licensed NFL jerseys and watched Monday Night Football on ABC. "That Frank Gifford is a real dog!" I said with a sly smile. "Hey watch it!" Jack snorted.

In the fourth quarter, with dead soldiers scattered about our cluttered apartment, I finally broached the subject we'd been avoiding for a week now.

"Dude, I can't believe you got raped by that bitch!" I was really drunk, so I wasn't as sensitive as I should have been.

"Soz-Man, why you gotta bring me down like that?" Jack replied.

"I'm not trying to bring you down man. I'm just saying that I can't believe you got raped by a girl!"

"How do you think I feel, man?! But what can you do? You just deal with it...and make sure it never happens again."

We sat quietly for a while spitting tobacco into our breast mugs, watching Tyrell Davis rack up another 100+ yard game.

Jack finally broke the silence.

"Dude, you don't seem as down as you used to be about Andrea. Are you over that bitch?"

"She's not a bitch, man!"

"Sorry. Don't bite my head off."

"I'll cut your balls off if you make another remark like that!"

"Hey man, that's not even funny. No neutering jokes okay."

"Only if you stop with the Andrea comments. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Anyway, Jackster, I don't know if I'm over Andrea or not. I don't know if I'll ever really be over her. She was the love of my life....Don't roll your eyes at me!...She really was the love of my life. But I am over the paralyzing pain. Just a year ago, I literally had trouble breathing because I was so depressed about her leaving me. But I guess time really does heal all wounds. Time, and the fact that she and I have been talking to each other a lot lately."

"What?" Jack barked.

"Yeah. We've been talking to each other a lot. It's nice. Keep in mind we used to be really great friends. Then we got married and everything turned to shit. It's so nice to have normal conversations with her. Normal being defined as no yelling or crying. We laugh a lot now. It's so great."

"Dude, are you going to get back with her?"

"That's not really up to me. I'd like to. I think I'd like to. I don't know. I know it's gonna suck really bad when she calls me up one day and says, 'Guess what? I'm engaged!' When I think about that, I really want to be with her. But you know, if we hadn't broken up, I never would have moved to New York. I never would have gotten that awesome job at The Times. I never would have gotten the awesome job I have now at The Voice. I never would have written my Broadway Jim column..."

"You never would have had sex with a Russian girl in a bathroom" Jack interrupted me with a sly grin.

"And I probably never would have bought a dog either" I smiled back, without missing a beat.

We sat silently for a while. The final score of the game was Denver 30, Kansas City 7.

"Whad'ya gonna do?" Jack said finally, probably feeling as if he had to say something.

"You just gotta keep on keepin' on" I said with a sigh. I wasn't up to saying something original.

We watched a little bit of the late local news. I was tired and feeling in between happy and sad. So I went to bed. I mean I really went to bed. For the first time since my divorce, I didn't sleep on the futon. I went to sleep in the bed Andrea and I had shared.

"You gonna join me?" I asked Jack as I headed into the bedroom.

"Nah" he said with a kind smile, "I'm just gonna stay out here and lick my balls."

Broadway Jim Jenkins

		My Dog's No Fag
		November 18, 1998 Ever since my little dog Jack was raped by a female hound in the park, I've been doing everything I can to make sure my boy doesn't grow up...you know...fruity. I've bought him a bunch of toy guns and a brand new football. We've been repeatedly flipping through the Katerina Witt issue of Playboy and watching pornos every night when I get home from work. (Actually, I've been watching pornos every night since my divorce, but now I let Jack join in on the fun.) We've been going to the gym every morning to work our pecs and look at chicks. Jack wears a college sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off. No sissy tank-tops for this dog's dog. We=ve also taken to calling each other by nick-names. I call him The Jackster and he calls me Soz-Man. I got us a couple of whores on Monday night. Two Latin chicks. Jack took the one with the thinner mustache. After we kicked the bitches out, Jack and I downed a dozen Tall Boys and spit tobacco into coffee mugs shaped like breasts. "Do you want to smell my paw?" Jack kept asking me. "It sure smells like fish in here!" I guffawed with a slap of my knee. Then we put on our officially licensed NFL jerseys and watched Monday Night Football on ABC. "That Frank Gifford is a real dog!" I said with a sly smile. "Hey watch it!" Jack snorted. In the fourth quarter, with dead soldiers scattered about our cluttered apartment, I finally broached the subject we'd been avoiding for a week now. "Dude, I can't believe you got raped by that bitch!" I was really drunk, so I wasn't as sensitive as I should have been. "Soz-Man, why you gotta bring me down like that?" Jack replied. "I'm not trying to bring you down man. I'm just saying that I can't believe you got raped by a girl!" "How do you think I feel, man?! But what can you do? You just deal with it...and make sure it never happens again." We sat quietly for a while spitting tobacco into our breast mugs, watching Tyrell Davis rack up another 100+ yard game. Jack finally broke the silence. "Dude, you don't seem as down as you used to be about Andrea. Are you over that bitch?" "She's not a bitch, man!" "Sorry. Don't bite my head off." "I'll cut your balls off if you make another remark like that!" "Hey man, that's not even funny. No neutering jokes okay." "Only if you stop with the Andrea comments. Deal?" "Deal." "Anyway, Jackster, I don't know if I'm over Andrea or not. I don't know if I'll ever really be over her. She was the love of my life....Don't roll your eyes at me!...She really was the love of my life. But I am over the paralyzing pain. Just a year ago, I literally had trouble breathing because I was so depressed about her leaving me. But I guess time really does heal all wounds. Time, and the fact that she and I have been talking to each other a lot lately." "What?" Jack barked. "Yeah. We've been talking to each other a lot. It's nice. Keep in mind we used to be really great friends. Then we got married and everything turned to shit. It's so nice to have normal conversations with her. Normal being defined as no yelling or crying. We laugh a lot now. It's so great." "Dude, are you going to get back with her?" "That's not really up to me. I'd like to. I think I'd like to. I don't know. I know it's gonna suck really bad when she calls me up one day and says, 'Guess what? I'm engaged!' When I think about that, I really want to be with her. But you know, if we hadn't broken up, I never would have moved to New York. I never would have gotten that awesome job at The Times. I never would have gotten the awesome job I have now at The Voice. I never would have written my Broadway Jim column..." "You never would have had sex with a Russian girl in a bathroom" Jack interrupted me with a sly grin. "And I probably never would have bought a dog either" I smiled back, without missing a beat. We sat silently for a while. The final score of the game was Denver 30, Kansas City 7. "Whad'ya gonna do?" Jack said finally, probably feeling as if he had to say something. "You just gotta keep on keepin' on" I said with a sigh. I wasn't up to saying something original. We watched a little bit of the late local news. I was tired and feeling in between happy and sad. So I went to bed. I mean I really went to bed. For the first time since my divorce, I didn't sleep on the futon. I went to sleep in the bed Andrea and I had shared. "You gonna join me?" I asked Jack as I headed into the bedroom. "Nah" he said with a kind smile, "I'm just gonna stay out here and lick my balls." Broadway Jim Jenkins