Red Handed

Posted: February 18, 2009 in mental poo looza, pets, rants


OH MY GOD…is that…is that BLOOD?!

It started innocently enough when I walked in the door.

Me: “Hi everyone!”

*cricket*

(everyone is in plain view)

Wife: “Something’s wrong with the dog. You need to look at her.”

I’m still pissed about the welcome.

Me: “HI EVERYONE!”

Everyone: “Hiiiiiiii!”

Sarcastic bastards.


Me: “What’s wrong with the dog?”

Wife: “It looks like she’s been attacked. Look at her side.”

Now – let me preface this by saying that I hate my dog.

I used to like my dog.

Then, I learned to hate her.

I like this way better.

Grabbing the little turd, I look at her and – sure enough – the side of her body is matted down…

Crimson Red.

Me: “What the Hell happened?”

*cricket*

Me: “OH COME ON!!!”

Wife: “Looks like something attacked her.”

It sure did. It looked like something attacked her good.


I grab a paper towel, wet it, and dab at it.

Oh.

Me: “That’s not blood.”

(Begin flashbacks here)

***** FOUR DAYS BEFORE DOG INCIDENT *****

We were at the local butcher shop trying to decide what the wife and I would eat for supper that week.

Notice I did NOT say, “what the family was going to eat,” because unless it has the word “nugget,” “bun,” or “sandwich” in it, my kids won’t touch it.

After perusing through the beef aisle (my apologies to Hindus here), we tromped down the pork aisle (yes, folks, an ENTIRE AISLE DEVOTED TO THE DELICIOUS PIG!…also, my apologies to Jews).

Catholics get to eat all the tasty beasts.

Hooray for Catholics!


Me: “Hey…how does this sound?”

I held up a package of “Chinese Marinated Pork Tips.”

Apparently, “Chinese Marinated” means “marinated in red paint” – because you could barely see the pork through the thick layer of Ah-So sauce in the package.

By the way, “Ah-So” is not the Chinese word for “Asshole” (that word is “Margaret Cho”), so don’t even think that I’d eat anything marinated in THAT.

If you want to see that video, Google “Two girls one cup.”

(Tip: you might not want to do that)

Regardless of the paint, we bought the Chinese pork.


***** THREE DAYS BEFORE DOG INCIDENT *****

So I bring the pork out to the grill where some of the sauce spills out onto my deck….

…where it subsequently STAINS IT.

This food just stained my deck.

This happened weeks ago, folks, and – yes – there’s still a Chinese Pork stain on my deck.

I believe this also explains the Chinese toy paint fiasco that happened recently.

Apparently, the toys were painted with Chinese Pork tip marinade.


Whatever…realizing that no matter WHAT these things were stewing in, delicious piggy is delicious piggy and I was eating that shit even if it tried to kill me.

***** TWO DAYS BEFORE DOG INCIDENT *****

Me: “OH MY GOD…IS THAT BLOOD?!”

That was me…

…staring at my shit in the toilet.

My bright, FIRE ENGINE RED, pile of shit.

Me: “What the FUCK?!?

Guy in next stall: “Um…you okay over there?”

Me: “I think I might be dying. Hey…this is a funny color, isn’t it?”

Helpful tip: Never show the guy in the stall next to you your used toilet paper.

That kind of stuff goes on your permanent record at Human Resources.

You’re welcome.

OK.

Back to my flaming red pile of shit.

It’s like I had pooped out a giant neon-red submarine.

And not the little stupid “Alvin” submarine, but a big red nuclear submarine.

I was in shock and awe at the same time.

I mean, sure, it was a bright red poop, but it was a decent one. Almost picture-worthy.

But…RED?!?


Then…I remembered….

CHINESE PORK TIPS!!

Those delicious little piglet tips had not ONLY stained a spot on my deck red…

…but they also apparently have the power to paint poo.

(On a side note, “The Power of Painted Poo” would be an awesome name for a rock band)

Red Poo.

This is how the Chinese people will take over the world…by inducing red-poo panic amongst all the pig-eating populace.

I may convert to Judaism.


***** ONE DAY BEFORE DOG INCIDENT *****

Wife: “The dog is out of food.”

Me: “Well…we have some leftover pork tips.”

***** PRESENT DAY *****

Me: “That’s not blood on the dog.”

Wife: “What is it?”

Me: “It’s poop.”

I then had to explain the experience I had with my very own tainted stool a day earlier, and how I nearly called the doctor thinking my intestines were undergoing some hideous hemorrhaging resulting in my giant red pile of caca.


Apparently, dogs are not immune to the poo-staining power of Chinese pork tips.

As my dog had also shit bright red.

Then, the stupid thing managed to roll herself in it…thus covering her entire side in a swath of matted, crimson poo.

I hate this fucking dog.

Wife: “Um…You might want to call your mom.”

Me: “Why?”

Wife: “We thought it was blood. She was picking all through it with her fingers for about a half hour.”

Awesome.

That call to my mom telling her that she spent a half hour picking through dog shit was the funniest phone call I’ve had to make in quite a while.

You know, if you don’t count the one where I had to explain why I was canceling my doctor’s visit.

My mom was not so amused, and had to run off to go clean under her fingernails.

That was the third time that day I had to talk about my red poop.

Stupid pig.

Why must you be so tasty?

Doesn’t matter…I’d do it all again.

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