Tales from Venice

It is Sunday, around 1 PM, and the beach is crowded outside. On Sundays in Venice, it is very unwise to move your car, or to generally go outside, because of the high ratio of fuckheaded idiots to normal people. The beach is the prime location in any fine city, and Venice is no different, attracting thousands of people on the weekends, clogging the streets, taking my parking spots, and being generally fucking annoying as shit. Having only been here for about 9 months, I am already a tourist-sickened local, although some old heads might want to dispute my authenticity.

I prefer the locals, because the locals keep it real.

Check out my homie Bear. Bear is a savage bum of Venice Beach. He has a family and kids somewhere, or remnants of them in different places, but he prefers the balmy clime of the outdoors and the sanctuary of the public restrooms to any self help manual or regular jobby job.

Bear, post 5-0 interview

Bear sometimes drinks a little too much. One day, I saw some cops talking to him, because he was so fucking drunk, right outside my apartment. His pants were down, but the cops just let him go, because he is a known Gentle Savage bum, not a threat to normal tax-paying citizens.

Bear, on the move down the alley behind the house, about 10 minutes after the first picture was taken

He is not a grubby panhandler, begging outside the liquor store or the ATM for some $$…. but Bear would never turn down the delights of a 40 oz malt beverage, which I have provided him on a number of occasions.

Chompy Tripping Acid

A couple hours before this picture was taken, I gave Chompy 3 hits of acid, and a double-stack E-roll. She came up pretty fast, on account of the extra acid, but I think once she peaked and started to chill, that her inner mellowness helped to calm her down, and let her experience her trip in a calm state of mind. The E-roll helped to put her in an open, understanding mood, and she made a lot of progress in accepting Turbo Dinosaur. Eventually, Turbo was giving Chompy a full-body rub, and Chompy was straight digging it. I would be too if I was tripping balls and rolling my face off. I would too.

Chompy View of Turbo, straight tripping balls

At the end of the day, Chompy and Turbo create one of the most dynamic tag-team dog squads that have walked the earth. First, their names, both extreme and in the Dinosaur family, create an unreal symphony of universal, metaphysical proportions. Chompy Dino and Turbo Dino on the attack squad? Please bitches, prepare to die.

Chompy used to be a bum dog. She loves bums, and it is very obvious that the dumpster used to be her main source of income and sustenance. Once, after Thanksgiving, we were walking down the alley behind my house, when she tried to swallow the breast of a turkey that was under a newspaper, which was about the size of her face. When I got it away from her, after she took a huge bit and had swallowed it, the turkey was blue and had excessive mold on it. She might have thrown up on the bed that night, but one thing is clear: Chompy does not give a fuck.

Turbo used to be a kennel dog, used solely for breeding. I think she bred pit bull fighting dogs, because she is a small dog, which the fighters are, and she was mistreated very much so, which makes me think the people were raising fighting dogs. In LA, if you have a backyard, you can never really leave your dogs out in your yard, because people will come steal your dog to use as a practice kill for young fighting pits. I shit you not. When she got out of surgery, clean from a bath, I looked at her pads, and they were totally see-through, with no calluses or anything, which makes me think she never ever got to go outside, just had to sit in her kennel and wait for the next dog to come fuck her so she would pop out kids of her then-normal V, so her fuckhead owners would make 200$ a pop on her puppies.

In the end, the grace of God and universe protect my domain, and I proclaim unwise any person who would cross these dogs, or be so foolish as to come into my house unannounced and uninvited. To all crackheads in need of a TV, or fuckheads who are out to fuck people up, I dare you to come inside. I dare you.

Sitting for a portrait

Me taking a shit, while tripping on acid

 

 

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4 Responses to “Tales from Venice”


  1. 1 GuessWho June 10, 2007 at 7:10 pm

    Turbo might have a urinary tract infection, especially considering that she had surgery last week. Trip to vet may be good idea for some antibiotics–might help.

    Also, really not that cool to have the entire blog world thinking that you give your dog all kinds of illegal drugs. Some dumbass out there thinks that’s a really fun idea since idiot blogboy tried it and had so much fun.

  2. 2 twitch June 11, 2007 at 9:00 am

    parents who use drugs have doggies who use drugs.

  3. 3 suityourself June 11, 2007 at 1:39 pm

    another nice and personal post. i think i like where this is going. less “big-picture” and more brass tacks. beware of trying to kill your dog with drugs. if i were you, i’d do some research. i’d paste in some links but am unsure how to do this in a comment…

  4. 4 homepage September 19, 2013 at 9:04 pm

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    specialists of this sector don’t realize this. You must
    proceed your writing. I am sure, you have a huge readers’ base already!


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