User:Fishalishalish/UnNews:Squid stole my corndog

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23 March 2011

I wa' jus' tryin' tah eat dat thar cawndawg, thar.

Dat dar aquarium ova thar in da city --So I wah jus’ sittin’ out thar by dat thar aquarium da otha day enjoyin’ me a nice cawndog I got from one o’ dem fine cawndog vendors when I saw dat thar a-squid ova thar, jus’ sittin’ on dat thar table. Not in his cage or notn’, jus’ sittin’. An’ I goes up ta him, an’ I says:

Now dat ain’t no place fo’ no squid it aint. You bes’ be getting’ back tah yo’ cage, y‘hear?”

An’ he jus’ a-sittin’ thar, eying’ me wit’ dem big-ol’ buggy eyes, flappin’ ‘em creepy ol’ squid flippas an' such, an’ he axes me:

“Whar d’ja git dat thar cawndawg thar?”, he axes me.

So I go ahead an’ point ‘im ova tah dat fallar ova thar, ova by da side by dem tables an‘ ticket countas an’ such, where dey’s fryin’ up some mean cawndogs, I tell ye, some reeal meeean cawndawgs. An' den he tell me dat he ain’t got no money. Now I don’t know ’bout you, buh I tell you thar aint notn’ mo' tintilatin', mo’ aggravatin', an' mo’ aspicious than a goddam buggy-eyed squid axin ‘bout yo’ cawndog an’ den telling’ you he ain’t got no money. I swar, I ha’ half-a-mind ta go an’ tell dat thar aquarium employees tha’ we had ourselves a rogue squid on our hands. Shoot. Buh I’m a good Christian man, an’ I was gonna jus’ tell ’im dat Imma git on mah way. Buh you know what? Den he got aroun’ ta axin’ me mo’ questions, dat nosey little bug-eye squid, he did. So den he axes me:

“Weerl den. Ya got any ketchup fo’ tha’ thar hot steamin’ cawndog?”

“Kechup?” I says. I laughed.

“Werl,” I says, “These here, uh, aquarium dawgs? They so hot an’ juicy dat you sure as heck don’ need a-none-o-dat ketchup junk a-cloudin’ up da flavah. I tell ye, theys got a reeeal nice flavah. Spicy they is. Now I bes’ be on mah way. Imma be goin‘ now, mistah squid, ya hear?”

“Oh. Uh huh,” said da squid. “Werl… got any mustart?”

Boy, I tell you you can right well believe dat thar squid was a-gittin on mah nerves. Still I was answerin’ 'im, answerin’ all dem nosy questions, ‘speckin no conniving‘ o‘ nonesuch. Shoot, what a dern fool I’d been, tah be speckin' no connivin'.

“No, I ain’t got no tootin’ mustart,“ I tell ‘im. “Now listen here… why don’t you git ur slimy little fishy ass back thar in dat thar fishy cage befo’ I call da police on y'all. Now I bes' be on mah way.”

Now at dis point, I ha’ a-sarted realizing’what I’d dun. I sah dat thar look in his face. Look like he was gunna ink me, sure did. Was sure gonna ink me good, I thought. Had me a leetle scairt fo’ a minute. Buh still I tell ye, dat thar squid was irkin’ me me real good den, gittin’ me all riled up an’ stuff. Befo' ye know it, I didn’t e'en care none if no squid wen’ an inked me right den. Turn out he didn’t ink me none, tho‘. He jus’ a-kep’ on smiling’, he did, wit’ dat freaky little squid smile thar. Make me wanna slap 'im, it does.

“Got no mustart, huh? Werl shoot. Den werrrl… you got any mayo?”

In da aquarium...

I wa’ gittin' reaaal mad now, I tell ye.

“Now look here, squid. You wan chu some mayo? Some may-on-naise? How ‘bout I slap som’ mayo up on yo’ tentacl’d ass an’ eat you up some. How 'boyt dat? How ‘bout I EAT YOU ALL UP? HUH?”

Now da authorities, they wasn’t takin’ too kinly to mah shoutin’. They axed me tah go outside if I was yellin’, buh I wasn’t havin’ none o’ dis, dats fo’ show. 'Cawse I said sowy ta dem officas, o' cawse. Des's officaws o' da law. Ye know wat dat mean? Dey can lock you up fo' good an' put you in a cell wit' a Chinese man. An' dat Chinese man gonna talk tah ya' all damn day in 'is Chinese talk, an' dey don' let chu drink no wattah.

Buh back ta mah stawy.

So dat squid, he sure a mean squid he is. He say ta me:

“Now if you gonna talk ta my like dat, how bout chu tawk like dat do mah glock?” so den he pull out his glock, an' you know what? Dat suckah pull my cawndawg from right outta mah hand. He run away wit' it, he did.

So if any o’ y’all see a damn squid walkin’ about wit' a cawndawg in 'is tentacle, tell ‘im imma gonna mess ‘im up. Tell ‘im Frank gunna mess his ass up.

Author Frank Harvey lives in a trashbag under a bridge. He has won countless awards for his journalistic integrity. He also likes tomato sauce with a side of salt.


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