A Pile of Dog Bones

“In each of us two natures are at war… the good and the evil. All our lives the fight goes on between them, but one of them must conquer. In our own hands lies the power to choose. What we want most to be we are.” – Dr. Henry Jekyll

Tuesday, January 30, 2007


Here's a bunch of things I've been wanting to blog about but haven't had the time, energy, or intellect to do so...

Working with me is high stress. Working for me is probably the highest stress imaginable. Yeah... I put a dispatcher into the hospital Friday. The best part? I wasn't even in yet! So that brings my hospitalization total to 7. I have, without physical violence mind you, put 7 people into the hospital. My old quartermaster, the Dark Lord of the Sith, did have quite a few trips at my hands... but I only count him as one 'cause he just has a shitty ticker. So yeah... I've got the power. Hear me rawr!


Saturday night was the OAR concert at the Garden. Now I'll be honest, we knew it wasn't going to be a picnic because of the last show they had there... but it was more like a day on the Island of Misfit Toys compacted into 4 hours and riddled with issues with the Apple and Dog tower elevators. There were two things that made me shake my head... one was the sheer volume of under 18 year olds (fact is, most were 16 or 17) totally intoxicated and the second was the distances these kids came from.

For instance, I met a girl from Saratoga. She was a thin petite little thing with red hair that came down to hover right above her shoulders, and these fucking huge green eyes. She had been crying, having been abandoned by her friends, and the one rule I have is the one I TOTALLY stole from Tom Hanks, "There's no crying at concerts." She refused to give us any info, and of course she asked me my name when it was my turn to interrogate her. So I told her it was Dog, which is what I tell all the kids, and then I crack a joke about that Honolulu Bounty Hunter and how I have a lawsuit pending against him. She smiled, and said "Then you can call me Bitch." Shit. She sounded just like my mom. She looked nothing like my mom, but sounded like it.

Eventually we decided to call her the "Saratoga Racing Bitch". She was an interesting conversation... she had originally passed out, but by the time I got around to her she had pretty much sobered up sitting in the corner. She seemed a very average teenager. She "writes a crapload", she is a "pizza pizza girl"... and apparently her father likes to beat the shit out of her. Right. Well guess who security had called up in Saratoga? Yeah... daddy. He was on his way. Needless to say she was hysterical... and I felt genuine sorrow for her.

I know... people are going to say, "Oh, it was the red hair." or "Oh, it was the green eyes." or "Oh my fucking god! She's only seventeen you fucking pervert!"... but it was none of those things. It was because she said I could call her Bitch. What can I say, I love chicks with 'tude. I almost got her out of going... but dad was already on the way and there was no way of getting a hold of him. As it turned out... I put her into a truck to go to the hospital... after having security take her to look for her friends, and calling their cellphones, and a whole bunch of shit that we wouldn't normally do... and away she went to await her father... or maybe not.

Let's face it... at 17, to travel across the state on a train to see a band takes more than a few brain cells. She was a smart girl, whether she knew it or not. Her parents... well... obviously a few sandwiches short of a picnic basket to allow it. I wouldn't doubt it if she slipped out the back hallway, hopped a subway to a train, then took a plane, and is somewhere drinking Seattle coffee right now. I wouldn't doubt it... but that's not what I hope for.

I like to think that to a large degree her story was just an exaggeration. I like to think that under her bulky clothes there wasn't a mark on her. I like to think that she'll go home and write about Dog the Fat Fuck EMT who sent her to the hospital where she was examined, her father was questioned, and then released sometime Sunday with no proof of the physical harm to give her story credibility. In honest, I like to think she was a liar... because in New York we are mandatory reporters... and if she wasn't lying... then hopefully she's getting the help she needs.


Dunkin' Donuts... that's coming this week... promise.
Posted by New York City's Watchdog :: 1/30/2007 12:26:00 AM :: :: 4 Bones Added to the Pile

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