Thursday, October 31, 2013

Pit bull and children photos can't prove pit bulls are safe or owners are sane

The twelve year olds over at HuffPo have decided to leave their dangerous propaganda piece up and have added more photos despite having inadvertently proven how dangerous and misleading these photos of children and pit bulls are.  The kids at HuffPo accidentally included a photo of a child hugging a pit bull that later killed that child.  They don't seem to understand or care that they're encouraging dangerous behavior or that they've proven that capturing one moment in time proves exactly nothing.

The flub also has failed to deter parents from submitting for publication absolutely horrific photos of children riding, lying on, hugging on, or being posed with pit bulls.  They don't seem to notice that most of those pit bulls are not only not engaged with the child, but they look annoyed or distressed by the positions these parents are putting their children and their pit in.

So, after the fun we had with the "One of These Things is Not Like the Others" game, I'm proposing a new guessing game called "Which Pit is a HuffPo Submission and Which Pit Killed a Human Being."

We'll start with an easy one:

This is Nephi Selu on the right, of course, and this is the photo the HuffPo kids accidently included in their slideshow.  He was killed this year by his pit bull named Kava.  This is how his family described their relationship: "All of this is definitely a shock because it's almost like two best friends that turned on... like one best friend turned on the other."

Here is another pair of photos - which is a HuffPo photo submission and which is a  pit bull that killed the crawler pictured with it?
The boy on the left is Tyzhel McWilliams.  He was killed by the dog pictured with him, Zulu.  His mother judged Zulu as an individual and found him to be a nurturer and she "expressed disbelief that the pit bull that seemed to watch over the infant like a protective parent would ultimately end the baby’s life."

In this pair of photos, which is a HuffPo submission and which of these tolerant, smiling white pit bulls later killed a human being?
The pit bull in the photo on the right jumped its fence to kill an elderly neighbor  in his own yard.

Which is a HuffPo submission and which is a pit bull that killed a human being?
The pit bulls on the right killed a 10 year old boy after this photo was taken.  The boy, Justin Clinton, had known and played with the pit bulls since they were tiny puppies.

Which is a HuffPo submission and which pit bull later killed the child leading it on a loose leash?
The boy on the right is Nicholas Faibish who was killed by, Rex,  the pit bull on the right.

How about this pair?  Which is a HuffPo fur mommy submission and which child was killed by the pit bull snuggling with the child on the couch?
This one is a bit of a trick because the boy on the right is also Nicholas Faibish.  These photos of Nick look just like the HuffPo fur mommies' photos.  What the fur mommies are trying to show is that these photos prove that pit bulls can be part of normal families.  And it is haunting to know just how dangerously insane Maureen Faibish, Nick's mom, is and look at these photos of what looks like a normal kid with his not-aggressive-at-the-moment pit bull.  If you have the time, you can read her side of the story of Nick's death HERE.  In her side of the story, she wants us to know that mostly, this was a "freak accident," that was certainly not her fault and no one should conclude from this that pit bulls are unsafe and no one should get rid of their pit bull just because her son was brutally killed by hers.

But, a freak accident does not exclude laying blame on her own dead son for escaping the basement she'd locked him in with a shovel wedged against the door.  And if there's any more blame to go around, it should rest on her female pit bull in heat who was not allowing her male pit bull to mate which made Max, the intact male, aggressive.  These photographs don't suggest any of the dangerous insanity this boy lived with until he was killed by it.

As commenters on the first HuffPo story noticed, some of these HuffPo fur mommies could not hide their crazy either. "Our neighbor's new pit meeting our new baby."

Irnwlsn takes the cake, though:
"When we adopted Bowser in 2010, the shelter classified him as "Not adoptable to families with children."  We called BS and took a chance, and a year later when Bowser became a big brother, we proved them wrong."

Just so we're clear: the chance they took was with their child's well being and life and the reason they took chances with their child's life was to prove a point about a pit bull.  Fucking turds.

Helpful Advice:
Dogs don't like hugs

Children need to know that getting face-to-face with any dog can be extremely dangerous. In the dog’s world this can be considered confrontational. A child might do this many times to the family dog with no consequence; however, this is not a 100% predictor of future behavior. It concerns me that I frequently see pet industry advertising showing children face-to-face with dogs.

Dogs don't like hugs and kisses

The Not-So-Hidden dangers of Taking Photos of Pets and Kids  "And stop encouraging dangerous behavior by recording it and sharing it on Facebook just because you think it’s cute."

Why Supervising Dogs and Kids Doesn't Work (answer: because people are too insensitive to their dogs and too stupid to read up on dog behavior)

Why the Huffington Post is Shit!

Sunday, October 27, 2013

one of these things is not like the others

i love that game. i came across a story and a photo that reminded me of it. see if you can figure out which of these things is not like the others.

all of these dogs suffered from a life threatening injury. all of these dogs except one received veterinary care and survived. guess which one.

okay, i know, you are probably guessing the one on the bottom. nope. that's patrick. and although he looks dead, he miraculously survived near starvation.

the answer is number two. that's MASON. his irresponsible owners allowed him and the other dog in the home to freely run the neighborhood.

the story goes like this, MASON attacked a neighbor's dog named Snowball, who was chained in the yard. when the owner of Snowball responded, MASON charged him. Snowball's owner grabbed the closest tool to defend himself, a machete. he hit the gripper once and MASON ran home.

Ken and Barbie Cowart

rather than take their cherished family member to the vet for treatment, MASON'S nutters opted to shoot him on the spot. that's right, ASHLIE and ADAM COWART shot MASON under the pretext of putting him out of his misery. then the outraged COWARTS called law enforcement and demanded JUSTICE for their little free roaming gripper. the COWARTS are upset that LE refused to charge the VICTIM with animal cruelty. LE responded in the only legal and logical way they could, stating the VICTIM was well within his rights to exercise such force under the florida stand your ground law.

what options are left to shallow people of poor character, with entitlement issues and no legal standing? well, there's always facebook and care2.

care2 the COWARTS managed to persuade almost 6000 people that their free roaming gripper, (the one they refused drive to the vet) has been wronged. they plan to take this world wide outrage to the mayor of chiefland, who they apparently and mistakenly view as the great and powerful wizard of oz who can magically bring non-existent criminal charges against the REAL VICTIM.

FACEBOOK! so far, over 12,000 gullible drones have globbed onto the latest 'My pittie was dissed' campaign. these campaigns sprout faster than mold in my bathtub. one of my twitter friends says At the current exponential rate of growth, in 5 years, 60% of Facebook will be "Justice for shot pit bulls" pages. 
12,000 supporters? how do these con artists do it?

the COWARTS have been busy starting rumors about the VICTIM. they have accused the VICTIM of lying and telling multiple versions of the "killing". they have blamed the VICTIM for leaving a female dog in heat chained outside to tempt their grippers, when in fact Snowball is a male. the COWARTS also claim that MASON is not aggressive and swear up and down that he was not acting aggressive despite the fact they were not present. at least three eye witnesses contradict ASHLIE'S pollyanna description of MASON. the COWART'S opinion of MASON'S behavior that sunday afternoon is pure speculation, it means nothing to LE and is inadmissible in the courts.

let's ignore facts, fabricate details to evoke sympathy and outrage, huddle together, hold hands and allow the wholesale slaughter of people and animals while inciting violence against the VICTIM.
YEAH, that's the ticket!

but back to the photos and question above. let's turn the speculative tables on ken and barbie. like ken and barbie, we weren't there so we are perfectly poised to pontificate about MASON'S condition. do you think Mason's injury warranted a mercy killing? compared to PATRICK, OOGY, FAYE, the poor little dog with the fork in its head and the burnt gripper, do you think MASON'S machete injury warranted an immediate dirt nap? or do you think maybe ken and barbie took the easy way out? maybe MASON was reaching that magical age when a lot of pit bulls become too much to handle for the average person and ken and barbie can NEVER be just average people. maybe it was serendipitous that the REAL VICTIM just happened to help them out in that department AND create an opportunity for ken and barbie to parade themselves as victims in the media. looking at their facebook photos, it seems pretty obvious that ken and barbie LOVE attention. or maybe the shallow entitled ken and barbie dolls didn't want to get blood on their clothes or in their car while driving their cherished family member all that way to the emergency vet and are now experiencing dirt nap remorse. i'm sure that you all can come up with more creative scenarios, afterall, you weren't there.

i thought pit bulls were family? that is what pit bull fanatics are always shouting. i think MASON is just further proof that the primary functions of pit bulls are accessories to become landfill material. and 12,000+ nutters agree.

chiefland citizen



Saturday, October 26, 2013

welcome to the sanguinarium!

this year we are celebrating the 7th annual pit bull awareness day in full bleeding color.

and now for the most dangerous 43 seconds of video in america. the forty three horrific seconds that youtube and liveleak won't show you and the pit bull apologia want to bury... brace yourself for... purpose bred puppies!

On Pit Bull Awareness Day, Pit Bull Advocates Should Wear Black 

Pit bull advocacy and basic statistics

Pit Bull Awareness

past craven events

Friday, October 25, 2013

Huffington Post Wins the Egregious Bonehead Irresponsible Pit Bull Pandering Award

HuffPo is notorious for unabashed pit bull pandering, but now they've gone too far and have proven that twelve year old nitwits are running the show.

In a predictable Pit Bull Awareness Day fluff piece called "Your Kids And Pit Bulls Love Each Other," they throw up a couple paragraphs that regurgitate Donna Reynold's admission that the whole Nanny Dog thing is a lie.  And then, like Donna in her original admission, the twelve year olds at HuffPo minimize the significance of the lie by saying that there are just tons of photos that "prove" pit bulls are great with kids.

The HuffPo morons went the extra mile and created a slideshow of 73 photos sent in by loyal pit lovin' HuffPo readers of their children irresponsibly being allowed to hug, lie on, sit on, and ride pit bulls that, at that moment, weren't attacking the kids.

Normally I would not encourage you to scroll through this obnoxious display of flagrant disregard for a child's safety in the pursuit of pit bull propagandizing, but this time I really insist you must.  You must get to photo 61.  You will all recognize that photo of a child draped over and hugging on a pit bull because you all know that child was killed by that pit bull this year.

UPDATE: As predicted.  The tweens in charge at HuffPo have taken down the offending photo but left up the piece proving they are too stupid or too callous to care that the photos are dangerous and misleading lies.

Photo 61 shows 6 year old Nephi Selu hugging on a 2 year old pit bull named Kave whom the family described as Nephi's best friend.  You may recall that reports suggested that the reason the pit bull killed Nephi because Nephi was "riding the dog like a horse."  And you may recall that nutters from every corner of nutterland commented that obviously these parents were irresponsible because you should never let your child ride any dog.  I was staggered by the inclusion of this photo among dozens of equally offensive photos of children riding pit bulls shared with the explicit message, "pit bulls are safe."

Obviously, even though we all recognize, remember, and mourn Nephi's death, the twelve year olds at HuffPo didn't recognize the photo because they refused to look at or quickly forgot accounts of this child's death when they included him in their "pictures prove pit bulls are safe" bullshit.  They don't.  The submitter of this photo knew, though.  R C Palyo included this comment with his photo submission: "pit bull loved this boy to death!"  Even with that, the 12 year olds at HuffPo didn't get it.  And they have proven without a doubt that they seriously do not care about the victims of pit bulls.

Donna Reynolds is the literal architect of the "Nanny dogs may be a lie, but photos prove the same thing anyway so we're still good" line of propaganda.  Huge backfire, Donna.  Maybe you should pay attention to the victims and instruct your millions of mindless minions to do the same.

It is up to us to remember the victims and spread the word about the dangerousness of pit bulls because pit loving sociopaths all too easily can disregard the victims of their propaganda.  For pit bull awareness day, please spread this far and wide - this ugly, ironic oversight that was possible only because these assholes refuse to pay attention to the people killed by pit bulls.

By the way, I haven't left a comment on HuffPo because comments are moderated and my comment will never see the light of day and they will simply remove the single photograph.  They won't remove the propaganda.

Thursday, October 17, 2013

trick or treat!

october is re-home your ugly frankenmauler month.


craiglist ad (now defunct)
Lucy is a 2 year old spayed American Bulldog that needs a loving home where she can run and play. Lucy has had one incident since we had her where she jumped a baby gate and got into a dog fight in her yard and bit the other dogs owner as she attempted to break up the fight. Lucy has never displayed this behavior and was only protecting her family and home. Kitsap Animal Control says Lucy is a danger however she is not. Lucy does not stand a chance at a good life if left in Kitsap County. If here she must be isolated and not able to go on car rides as she so much loves. she loves to play and go to the lake and swim and chase after sticks thrown in the water. Lucy also is very funny and is very entertaining. She is very protective of her family and her home. Lucy is a wonderful pet and just needs to beable to roam freely in a fenced yard and be loved by others. Please call Karen at 360-328-0700 for more details or if interested in this beautiful lovely dog. Leave message if no answer

washington ambull rescue
Lucy is a 2 year old American Bulldog that we are wanting to re-home out of Kitsap County. Lucy jumped over a baby gate and got into a fight with another dog in her yard and bit the other dogs owner. Per Kitsap Animal Control Lucy is a danger and has to be isolated, away from other people and has to be muzzled when leaving the house. Lucy was protecting her environment and she is being punished by it. Lucy is fun, lots of energy, very lovable and funny. She was named after Lucille Ball as she has that goofy funny disposition. Lucy loves to give smooches and sit on your lap. She needs to have grain free food as she has a sensitive tummy and sometimes needs rice and yogurt if her tummy is bothering her. Lucy is updated on all shots. She does have allergies and takes Benadryl everyday and we keep a bottle of liquid Benadryl for bee stings. Lucy loves to go for car rides, does not care for the dog park because she wants to make sure her family is taken care of and she loves the lake but hates having a bath (silly girl) Lucy can self entertain but loves to be around her family. Lucy goes no where without her blankie and will drag it around if she is tired. Lucy likes to be placed behind the baby gate when it is to busy in the house or she wants to sleep. She also has been kennel trained but likes to just be outside mommy's door at night with her blanket and gait up. There is so much to say about Lucy. She has been a great addition to our family for the last year.

compatibility: good w/most dogs, good w/most cats, good w/ kids & adults
personality: average energy, average temperament

att: washington nutters: dog aggressive, bite history, dangerous dog designation, mandatory muzzle, food issues, allergies, in home gate system (which she has proven she can easily breach) LUCY is a real bargain @ $400. 

meanwhile in pennsylvania, there's an everything must go sale...

Hello. My name is Frank McManus. I need to rehome my pit bulls as soon as possible. The State of Pennsylvania has deemed them "dangerous dogs" for attacking another dog.

Mor is 14 months old and is a pure bred old family red nose pit bull. She is about fifty pounds. She does have problems with other animals but not with Finn who she lives with. She has been toy aggressive with Finn on two occasions. She is not food aggressive and loves people. Super high energy. Needs spayed.

Finn is 3 years old and is well socialized, very mellow and a great boy. He is around 75 pounds. He is a rescue from the Harrisburg Humane Society. He is fixed.

Rehoming my dogs is my only option. Being considered dangerous dogs they will never be able to go on a walk again and my landlord will evict me if I do not remove them. I must seek an out of state rescue so that they are not considered "dangerous dogs" which they are not. Finn has never had a problem before. Plays well at the groomer and dog park. Mor needs socialization which has always been a challenge.

I am devastated about having to give them up. I have already been to court for it. However if they were to get out of the gate again they may be put down. And as I said before, as of now, they cant go for a walk ever again and I may be evicted. I am in a terrible position. I never want to leave them but I am being forced to.

My phone number is 717810XXXX. wIf you are able to help PLEASE contact me. I only have 48 hours. I am a long time pit bull lover and I am informed enough to know that all rescues are in a tough spot. But they are great dogs and do not deserve this condemnation. I would be willing to make as large of a donation as I can if you can find a place for them at your rescue.

Thank you for your time,
Frank McManus

"arrogant, asshole, dickhead"

that's what FRANK'S friends say about him. i'd say that's a good start.

i had a lot of questions. i hoped to find the answers on facebook but it just left me with more questions. questions like, why did this mangina drive all the way to georgia, fork over $1500 for an OFR when the shelters in pennysylvania are bursting at the seams with pit bulls? especially in light of the fact that even his friends were saying he needed ANOTHER dog like he needed a hole in his head, indicating that he was struggling with the one mutant. why is this dufus surprised that he can't handle a dog that has been intensively bred for combat for almost 200 years? why does a successful tattoo artist, who can afford to drive to georgia and pay $1500 for a FREAKING DIME A DOZEN PIT BULL, need to trade tattoos for firearms? why doesn't he just purchase them? unless of course, he legally can't. why is he moving? why did his june pride in his little mutant's first kill turn into a desperate need to unload her in august?
I need to find my puppy a home. Her name is Mor. She is one year old and about 45 pounds. She is an old family red nose pit bull. So she is not a rescue. She is a very rare bloodline. It took me two years, a trip to Georgia and 1500 dollars to get her. You can read about the old family bloodline at Because of a highly selective breeding program she is highly intelligent, highly prey driven and extremely athletic. But also a loving and cuddly playful pup. This being stated, whoever is interested in adopting her must be aware that she is a handful. She needs training, time, effort an patience. You must be her pack leader. With classes and socialization and TLC she will grow up to be an incredible dog. She has climbed a six foot fence, killed a possum and fought another dog. This is not because of aggression. It is because of high prey drive and energy. She lives with another male dog now and they are great friends so she has the ability to be good with other dogs. I do not want to give her up. She is amazing. But I have had a difficult time training and socializing her. She needs much more time and effort than I have experienced with my other dogs. So if you are a dedicated pit bull lover interested in adopting her please private message me.
correction: she didn't FIGHT another dog. she tried to KILL another dog. and it has less to do with aggression than an uncontrollable urge to flex her DNA. expecting this mutant to behave politely around other dogs would be the equivalent to expecting freckled fair skinned people to not burn in the sun. and now frank mcmangina is trying to unload his purpose bred fighting dog on the internet to gullible idiots under the pretense of SHE JUST NEEDS MORE SOCIALIZATION!


she NEEDS to be on a logging chain connected to a truck axle driven several feet deep into the ground in the georgia woods!

and i'd really like to know what happened to his other pit bull?

but the really important question here, actually, the only question that really matters is WHY IS THE STATE OF PENNSYLVANIA COLLUDING WITH THIS PUNK IN SHUTTLING A DANGEROUS DOG INTO ANOTHER STATE WITHOUT A DANGEROUS DOG DESIGNATION? this is pinnacle of irresponsibility and criminal negligence. haven't we learned anything from the catholic church scandal?

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

i am the majority

forty year old DONALD MERLO was airlifted to vanderbilt medical center after his cherished family member imposed severe bites to his face and arm. the 50 lb gripper was not up to date on his shots.

darwin attack


wild fight

i am the majority

Sunday, October 6, 2013

nutters eating their own

BONES, the dog who lives on and on and on...

the no kill kooks at lexus project and a toledo pit nutter/rescue angel are having a public dispute.

good times. 

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

part 6

part 7

part 8

part 9

part 10!

thanks to scorched earth for following these lunatics and bringing this scandal to our attention.

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

Gene Gregorits: Dog Days Volume 1, Chapter 5

warning: you may find the content offensive

the book is simply and lovingly dedicated to his cat, Hank.

Pole Cat + Pit Kill

I was with Pablo, ex-Special Ops, USMC, at Kitty’s on Greenmount Avenue. Kitty’s was like a hug and a kiss from your mother, if your mother is the state penitentiary. Kitty’s was the snakepit: blood stains. Kitty’s was the shithole: Packaged goods. Kitty’s was cops and ex-convicts all in a row, murmuring in the afternoon about Central Booking, or guns, or knives, or new drug enforcement policies, or dead people. Kitty’s was the same cops and cons at night, screaming about card games, or dope hustles, or women.

At 6’8” and 260 pounds, Pablo surely felt cramped in there. Kitty’s, on an average evening, could appear almost impenetrable. It was a bar which required strange variations on the typical hairpin turn or tiptoe slide, between a regular patron and the take out cooler, with new patrons arriving and blocking the checkout counter as you’re navigating your way though the crowd of poor blacks and the occasional weirdo white, always a cop. Pablo drank Budweiser and barked didactic Marine corps rebop, at tiresome lengths that would temporarily dissolve any personal fondness because he was in those moments a boorish blowhard drunk, a large one you didn’t dare interrupt or contradict and certainly never hush. In Pablo’s conversational death grip, one understood that this man did not concern himself with your comfort or lack thereof. One suspected that the more visible to him your twitches and squirms, the greater his determination to impress and to educate. I’d never understand the Marine corps experience. His passion was as close as I’d ever come, and I wanted to be close, but as he shifted his weight from one leg to another, clarifying one acronym or slang term after another, and all those Marine thug platitudes, my predominant ills drifted from me, along with my vagrant “freedom”, in all its fictitiousness. I’d lost my own war; Pablo shared his by force.

Pablo: “why you be killin the man’s dog? What the fuck he do to you? That’s some evil shit, brother.”

“I told you. This little scar-faced hippie cunt, it was her dog did the actual killing. There’s three dogs, altogether. The man, he’s the other neighbor, alright? His dogs tore around the place unchained for months before this happened. His girlfriend, she’s a lawyer, this lawyer bitch cunt came to the aid of the hippie cunt in court, after she’d made claims that my animal was rabid, which meant I had to provide a tissue sample, which meant I had to go back out to this fucking field where I didn’t want to leave him in the first place and I had to dig him up with a fucking pick axe- wait, man…it’s a long story. But I can’t have any fucking dignity in this fucking life until those fucking dogs are fucking dead do ya get that?”

“I’m with ya; it’s about respect, alright? I feel that. So, it’s two dogs.”

“There’s three of them, altogether. I wouldn’t kill dogs or anything else if I didn’t have to-”

“Yeah, I know you ain’t like that. But still…you be seein’ me out front there in the morning with that old hound? That my Froggy, and we go back a way. Up on ten years, must be. And I don’t see the love lost over no nasty cat, how you be sayin, but you say he important to you, and I can get with that. And you gettin punked here, look like, so… I’ll tell ya….best way…you gotta kill a dog…best way be anti-freeze…that show up in the blood as Parvo.”

“What’s Parvo?”

“Dog disease. Some kinda worm cause it. Parvo.”

“Well, I ain’t too worried about covering my tracks. They’re ignorant, these fuckers, but they ain’t stupid. I just want the shit to work.”

“Anti-freeze, Gene. Put it in…put it in some…beef chuck, burger meat, whatever. S’all it is. Real simple.

Okay? Show up in the blood as Parvo.”

“Anti-freeze. That’s cheap.”

“Yeah, ‘sright. At’sm nasty cold shit. Fuckin snake’s what you bein. Don’t come cryin when you kill them dogs and you feelin shameful. And man’s gotta come back on ya, you kill his dog. ”

I left Pablo there at the bar, and made my way across Greenmount to buy a case of Miller High Life, and a jug of anti-freeze.

Back at home, I found a crudely scrawled note: “GENE, YOU ARE OUT JAN 1. NO DISCUSION (sic).” I took my beer downstairs, and the anti-freeze, sat down on the bed with Sam and thought about the dogs. I thought about Harrisburg and the moving arrangements. My brother, the rugby champion, had secured an apartment for me. My father was footing the first, last, and security deposit. My favorite bartender was offering to drive the truck for me. And then there was Izabela. As all of normal society encroached then upon Christmas, in those final days of 2008, I continued hung and hooked like wet laundry, in my effortless drift toward Izabela, or rather hanging there in my slothful gazing out at this drift as it occurred, morbidly diverted, half-narcotized, trapped in this gaze which was perhaps not so unbreakable or even effortless, but with some premeditation, a passively cruel inaction on my part, opportunistic, at the very worst predatory.

But as I say, I was not, could not be, entirely certain of my motives or of the nature of my decision making, or of my own heart, as Izabela enjoyed doing all of the work: showing me around in the bars, buying and preparing meals, openly demanding to be wantonly sodomized. I left welts and bruises upon her chubby frame from neck to ankle, unable to consider it rape. Anything short of striking Izabela directly with a closed fist seemed to excite her sexually. She reveled in the public flaunting of our cartoonish affair; I would find myself in her car pondering it all, and as winter light sparkled through her semi-afro (a frazzled and befouled garden of auburn Eastern European hair, like so much chaparral), so too would shine inside me the notion of the two of us, as a legitimate and respectable young couple (if necessarily outside of Baltimore, where her jealous ex-suitors and my illegitimate offspring were omnipresent). I would insist upon the inherent superficial benefits of constant physical attention from a frisky young girl provided that I could assume of myself a certain responsible distance, and never come to seek or desire the worshipful kind of love (for me, the only love acceptable as “pure”) which she could not genuinely inspire nor I (as my recent past so gruesomely demonstrated) sustain. If so enabled and so inclined, with a compromised love by no means beautiful, but not unpleasant, maybe I could return to the business of writing, and of existing in the world as a complete being, moving about with purpose and awareness, making a last-ditch bid on health and on humanity.

Izabela busied herself with school, where she attended “poetry workshops” and took a psychology class. For some time, she’d been employed as a social worker, assisting autistic, retarded, or otherwise disadvantaged persons with the carrying out of their daily chores. She would call me on her cellphone during these excursions, from a shopping center, or grocery store. Her “individual” (this was the only acceptable term for them) would sometimes be audible in the background, gibbering excitedly: a disruptive shriek of some unknowable ecstasy would explode from the lungs of the subnormal man, thus interrupting Izabela’s own mundane sing-song narrative or strenuously affectionate interrogation of my own day’s events (which I would always fabricate, very much in vain).

Her individual’s helpless unleashing of mucous-rich flailing and lashing about in retail stores did not embarrass Izabela in the slightest. Quite the contrary, she would become euphoric, barely able to contain her joy at the man’s involuntary self-immolation. Her voice on the phone was an unwaveringly petulant and self-conscious expression of a supreme self-fulfillment; which was in fact a lie, generated and driven by an inestimable and all-too-palpable viciousness, which a discerning and reasonably cognizant lover could experience only as something potentially Satanic. Izabela’s voice had a quality of insidious insincerity, and when she called me during an errand with an individual (each of whom she’d bestowed with an overtly disparaging moniker: “farter”, “diaper freak”, “boon boy”, and so on), the juxtaposition of her unnaturally exuberant social performance with the individual’s primal high notes would stir in me a vague fascination, as a writer (for material), as a student of human folly (for cheap thrills), or as a helpless victim (for signposts, as would be given over the phone to a potential rescuer).

“HI bay-beeeeeeeee! Oh my god, Farter just cleared out the checkout line at Safeway! You should see the looks I’m getting because of this fucking retard! Oh my god, Gene, it’s horrible! Oh bay-beeeeeeeee, I’m getting all of my Christmas shopping done today with Farter! Please, I want you to come with me tomorrow for Christmas Eve!”

“With your family? Oh, I don’t know, Bela.”

“Oh pleeeeeeese, baby! They’ll LOVE YOU! No, you have to wait until I’m off the phone! Remember what we just talked about at Burger King? Farter is fucking with my iPod, and he’s got snot on his fingers.
Oh BAY-BEEEEEE! I’m coming over after work! I want you to fuck me in my tight little asshole, fuck it really rough and make me come like that!”

“Can’t you get in trouble for talking like that in front of Fart-, I mean, your individual?”

“Anthony, do you want Gene to fuck my asshole?”

“Fuck fuck fuck,” said Anthony.

“See?,” said Izabela.

I didn’t see at all, but I shuddered and sighed affectionately. I said goodbye and hung up. I began to dismantle what was left of my basement room setup and carry the file cabinets full of my writing, published and unpublished both, all of it, up the withered pine staircase and out of the crude stone and cinderblock cellar. Sam escaped deftly between my feet as I grappled with a five foot, 200 pound metal behemoth fit only for a scrap yard somewhere. By the time I noticed the massive bobcat in a blur of his ultra-fine, long yellow hair, he’d zeroed in on Alyosha, my spun-out housemate’s male tabby. The beast had been slightly neglected by everyone, I believed, and he was as a result markedly withdrawn and timid in nature, so it must have been a peak negative experience for the diminutive fellow when Sam took him like a snow plow at top speed, and set upon him with such terrific violence that my heart skipped a beat, realizing then that each of Sam’s paws were the size of Alyosha’s head, and that Sam’s arms were throttling the small cat’s torso. He was raising the entirety of Alyosha’s small frame up and into the front door with a hateful and sickening point-of-impact “WHUMP”, and I heard the air explode from his Alyosha’s lungs. By this time, Sam’s claws and teeth were deeply entrenched in cat-hide, and the majesty of him, all three feet of top predator demon-fire (with another foot of epically plumed tail) worked away, his eyes having flushed in an instant from sick-piss yellow to a hard obsidian, barely seeing at all. Gore spattered, and surrounded by enough loose fur to stuff a parka, and maybe a few teddy bears, Sam retreated from the spent and bloodied tabby only with a hard kick from one of my size 13 motorcycle boots.

“YOU. Little. Mother. FUCKER!”

Before the scene was finally over, I too would be lacerated from fingertip to wrist, and I would have him beside me on my mattress there in that dank cellar, our heads together, staring each other down, me fairly awestruck by the prolonged street cruelty and violence which had molded Sam, his fear and his hate. It was dawning on me, piecemeal style, that I would have to learn to be patient with Sam, and that I must do everything in my power to love this great and terrible specimen whom I pitied with great sadness and the knowledge of multiple sicknesses that were bigger than the sum of me and all I knew.

author and cat

there's only one way to find out what happened to those pit bulls.
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