He walks his Dobermans, Chechnya and Falluja. Sees his neighbour on her stoop.
"Whassup?" he asks, the dogs tangling around his legs.
"Not much. Good thing Wigs and Pinkle aren’t outside with me. They’d have been devoured by these monsters."
Chechnya chews on the leash, his huge teeth exposed.
"Nah, these guys are sweet. They would never do something like that."
He likes her smile, imagines seeing those guinea pigs ripped into shreds.
He untangles the leash. "C’mon, boys."
She imagines what he looks like covered in whipped cream. His pecks, his pecker. Even his heels.
They keep laughing as he walks away.
submitted at 10:11pm
27 June 2010
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