Fuck The Dog

The politician sucked on the big cigar with deep concern in his eyes. His brain involved in rapid calculations of how he could use the present Fucked up situation to his advantage. He looked out of the window and saw that his bull dog Fuck was still hunting the neighbor's rabbits and rabbit corpses were strewn across the lawn like a hurricane had mowed through them. 

Blood and white fur decorated the grass like a message of violent graffiti. Fuck was currently licking the brains of another dead rabbit whose skull it had crushed between its steel tipped teeth. From the rampage in the garden in was evident that the neighbors were going to be pissed as hell when they came back to see their herd of rabbits dead and fucked beyond any repair. 

The politician thought about various ramifications of Fuck's debauchery on the rabbits, the media were going to lap this up like hungry sharks in blood filled waters.

"Politician's Dog Mauls Innocent Rabbits"

One picture of dead rabbits with it and the cute factor was going to turn the tide of public support against him. He might lose the elections and he might have to put Fuck down as a casualty of war. He looked from his window at the little dog happily munching on the rabbits and his heart was filled with such a great emotions that his throat choked for a moment and tears made their way into his eyes from some woe-begotten place in his cold dark heart.

He remembered when he was just a child and he had let Fuck loose on a group of teenagers who had been teasing him at school. The doctors had to chop off the gangleader's leg* because Fuck wouldn't let go of it. And the time when Fuck had won him the election by chomping off the jugular of his opposing candidate. The memories were too many, the gratitude too much and the politician just could not think any harm coming to Fuck. He made a decision in his mind. It would take a bigger tragedy to avert any harm coming to Fuck. 

He got up, opened the secret compartment in the wall and took out the sniper rifle from its hiding position. This was the latest model with disintegrating bullets that left no trace.
He positioned the rifle by the window and waited for the neighbors to arrive. 

Down in the garden, Fuck chased another rabbit and chomped home on its head.

*After Fuck had already devoured his balls.

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That was Fuck-ed.

You can read a vodka fueled rant about Mohandas's Birthday at The Fucked Up blog. F-bombs rain in this post.

For those sensitive at heart and dealing with depressive, manaical state of mind, a Poem about being fucked up but alive. Not cuz life can fuck you more in that case, just happy to be alive types, click here to read.

Ah there, entertainment for deranged minds }:) Enjoy, tomorrow you might die.