Man vs. Beast

Just about anyone who has ever met me can tell you that I am not an angry person. I mean, I make Gandhi look pugnacious. During a recent spirited game of Therapy, my irritability was evaluated on a ten-point scale to be a “2”; that is, well below the mean. (ok, the sample size was too small to be significant, but I hypothesize that the results could be replicated…God I’m a nerd.)

Today, however, I indulged in some high-decibel verbal abuse and it felt outstanding. There’s this stupid monster of a dog (to be henceforth referred to as CholicBeast) around the corner from my apartment that has long been terrorizing innocent pedestrians. As my roommate and I casually approached the lair during an ordinary Sunday stroll this morning, CholicBeast decided that our sidewalk traffic was a threat to his lounging in the driveway behind a gate.

CB: WOOFWOOFWOOF!!!! ROWWWRRR!!!!
Me: SHUT UP! SHUT UP!
CB: ROWROWROWR!!!
Me: NO ONE CARES WHAT YOU THINK!!

The experience was even more gratifying when CB’s owner shouted “that’s my dog, you moron!” at me from the curb in front of her house where she was parking her car. She needs to know that this aggression will not stand. If necessary, I will invoke the Bush Doctrine of preventive war to forcibly disband CB’s terrorist campaign. I’m tempted to put a boot in its ass Toby Keith-style, but I don’t have any boots. Perhaps I should go for the shock and awe of a pepper spray offensive instead.

In fairness to CB, it’s not personal. I’ve given that same vitriolic response to Sean Hannity and Tim McCarver before. But yelling at the TV isn’t nearly as satisfying.