Wee Dog

"Excuse me, is that your sneaker? Please tell me that furry thing is your sneaker." This is asked by a drunken Irishmen on Poop Alley, a street in Sunnyside, Queens so named because this is where the entire neighborhood goes to relieve there dogs. And sometimes themselves. No it's not my sneaker. It's my shih tzu, Samson, 6 months and 2 weeks old and resting comfortably on the same sidewalk as Drunky McAlcoholic, Jr.

"That's a wee dog."

He really said "wee". Vomit McPowers: The Sneaker Who Dogged Me.

Samson looks at him and looks away. He can smell the wiff of an insult the same way I can smell the multiple pints of ale that stain Drunky McFuckerson's polo.

"He is wee. But he thinks he's a Saint Bernhard," I say.

This gets a laugh from Drunky McShitstains but he quickly turns serious.

"Please tell me you've got a girlfriend or a wife."

"Nope, neither. It's just me and a cute small dog."

I see the letters that spell G-A-Y sky written by a small imaginary plane launched from the hangar in his head. GAY hangs and evaporates for a few moments and dissolves into a wry expression. He wants to fuck with me and is going to. At this point in my life I can count being called a faggot in so many different ways, I welcome what might be a new creative way to insult the homosexuals of the world via me. I doubt it will be as funny as what my gay friends sling at each other ("You're so loose, it's like throwing a Twinkie down a hallway" still gets my biggest laugh) and considering Drunky McBeatshiswife current state, I'm betting on something less than stellar.

"Well..uh...."

Here he goes. I see the sputter before the take off. This plane is going into a tailspin before it even leaves the ground. He looks up. He looks down. Slowly. I'm pretty sure the street spins for him. He looks at me. There's not that much to make fun of. Although if he stepped closer, I do have nice naturally arched eyebrows that looked plucked, but aren't'. He seems disappointed. I'm not going to tell him about all my moles and freckles that if connected could create Perseus's Belt, The Big and Little Dipper and part of the solar system, at least up till Uranus. And then he's back on my sneakers.

"Just don't wear those sneakers and good lord those socks."

I'm wearing black Pro-keds and socks with two solid blue and green strips around the tops. Which I'd find cute and fuckable if the long haired beautiful 22 year old Colombian college student in my building who keeps trying to seduce me through my dog were wearing them. Maybe Drinky McStumblenuts wants to fuck me. So he attacks my sneakers. Maybe he has a foot fetish. Making fun of my shoes is hardly the insult I was anticipating. Then he mumbles something about the worlds number one tennis player Roger Federer. Who I'm pretty sure is not gay but who does wear black sneakers on the courts at the U.S. Open. He also wears all black and takes to the courts (at least in Queens the night I saw him) to the Imperial March from the Star Wars movies.
I'm perplexed and so is Stinky McDrunkoughy who looks to me as if he's just taser gunned himself in the testicles -- numbed and Life Goes On retarded. He's run out of steam and insults, even as poor as they are.

Barfy McVomitorium waves and stumbles off, obviously disappointed by his inability to effectively make fun of me and Samson. Samson watches as he walks away. He has not moved from his spot on the sidewalk. He then gets up to where Stanky McBreatherson was sanding, circles for a moment and takes a dump. Satisifed and guilty that I let the dump sit there a little longer tha usual, I clean up, slip on my dog sneaker and head home.