“Oh What a Rogue and Peasant Slave Am I” HAMLET, William Shakespeare

My inner turmoil and struggle are nothing compared to those of Hamlet, but like Hamlet, I do tend to work myself into an emotional frenzy. One of two things serves as a trigger — food or Lizzie. I am quite sure that Lizzie is the more formidable agent of the two.

Recently I laid bare, what I consider, a very revealing incident/olfactory response to you, dear reader. I am assaulted daily by such conflicting emotions. I would like to punish Lizzie severely, and at the same time, bury my nose in her tantalizing flesh. I spend my days staring fixedly at her, sending out subliminal messages, exhorting her to vanish. And then instantly, like a schizophrenic rat, my pupils turn from hellish red to soft brown, shaded with longing and desire. I am beset with such constant mental instability that I can no longer enjoy those long coma-like sleeps of yore. In west coast lingo, my mellow has been harshed.

If she weren’t so ingratiatingly cheerful and content – which I suspect is due to her significantly lower IQ – I would have an easier time hating and reviling her. No matter how tempestuous my moods or aggressive my behavior, she just slinks quietly away, waiting for a gentle touch or soft voice. Which brings me to the second of my triggers…food. As a result of Lizzie’s toxic scent, I must assuage my fixation with F O O D! I have become even more of a growling, barking, whimpering, demanding beast than before. If I see a dust mote, I attack it like it is my last hope of sustenance and my job is to bring it down swiftly. No human escapes my quest for crumbs, and I fear I’ve made everyone’s life a living Hell. Oh woe is me – a lost pug in Manhattan, struggling to combat my daily demons.

Perhaps if Lizzie is bathed she will lose that atavistic scent and I too will lose my desire for her. I am a monster.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Lost...lost in her scent. I cannot escape.

Here we are together, as always, lying in Dad's bathroom doorway. Look at her staring vacantly into the camera...nothing there at all. I don't get it.

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6 Comments

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6 responses to ““Oh What a Rogue and Peasant Slave Am I” HAMLET, William Shakespeare

  1. Food is definitely a good distraction 😉

  2. Dear MasonPuggy, this here is your good pal Howie. I have not met Hamlet, but he sounds delicious so I hope to at least sample him someday. I have a theory about why you suddenly like the smell of Lizard. I think Lizard must have accidentally rubbed against some intriguing aroma, perhaps dead small critter or juice of espresso, one of my personal favorites and one I like to share with mom when she is in her nicest work clothes. I trust this was just a temporary slip, and soon you will realize what you are dealing with.
    Keep me posted,
    H. Pee

    • Howie…You always make me laugh, and usually when I need it most. An uncanny gift you have, dear friend. Juice of espresso is a particular favorite of mine (and my mom’s too!). Like you, I am hopeful this toxic aroma will fade and I can put the entire episode behind me (so to speak). Thanks, Howie, for your moral support.
      Mason

  3. Hank

    Hello there, Mason, buddy…..wow, ya sure use some fancy, ten-cent words!

    Now I don’t know whut atavistic means, but I’m thinkin’ my sister might be atavistic. I dunno. Anyhoo, time tuh go sniff ‘er butt.

    • Hank…
      You intrigue me because I think you do know the meaning of atavistic. At any rate I love your use of it! As for sniffing her butt, you are definitely on the right track. Thanks for writing…
      Mason

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