Old Dogs

Few of the people in my day-to-day life know I have this website.  Most of the
people in my day-to-day life think the internet is used to get two things: (1)
directions, and (2) porn.  But mostly porn.  So I’ve kept it a secret, kind of, and
have only told a couple of people that it exists.  My parents know; my sister
knows.  And El Dukay knows.

But though El Dukay knew about the site, he’d never actually read any of the
essays.  He doesn’t spend all his life staring at a computer, like some of us who
work in law firms and who find themselves researching -- I don’t know, legal
precedent on chicken plantations in fucking
Guam, which is purely an example I
made up just now and which I have certainly never, ever done on 6:30 on a
Friday evening when I was already late to my grandmother’s 86th birthday party.  

Nope.  Never.  

But anyway.  So Dukay had never ready my essays.  Until yesterday.  Yesterday,
Dukay -- who happened upon a random abundance of time -- sat himself down
at a computer and proceeded to read Miss Doxie.  All of it.

And I knew it was coming.  I knew that as soon as he saw the entries, we would
be having The Talk.  Somehow, some way -- I just knew.  

So last night, after a very fancy dinner, as we lay with the dogs in front of the fire,
feeling cozy and content, he brought it up.

El Dukay:        So.  I read you site today.

Self:                Really?  What did...what did you think?

El Dukay:        Oh, I loved it.  It’s really great.

Self:                Thanks.  

(silence.)

El Dukay:        You know...

(DUN DUN DUNNNN. )

Self:                Yes?

El Dukay:        You should write more about me.

And here we go.  I
knew it was coming.  So I hedged.

Self:                You, huh?  Well, what have you done that’s funny?

El Dukay:        Lots of things!  I’m very funny!  Funny funny funny!

Self:                Yeah.  Hmm.  Well.  Do something that’s funny between now
             and Monday, and I’ll write about it.

El Dukay:        Okay.  Now and Monday?

Self:                Yes.

El Dukay:        Okay.  Hmm.

(silence.)

El Dukay:        Knock knock!

Self:                Oh, good lord.

No.  I kid!  But Dukay did suggest that I write about something that he does, and
that he does with alarming frequency.   Something that drives me up the wall, but
which is flat out hilarious.  

Dukay talks in his sleep.  All the time.  And what Dukay says?  Is
comedy gold,   y’
all.

Because El Dukay is no normal sleep talker. Dukay has shit to SAY!  Dukay
wants to have a CONVERSATION!  With ME!  At FOUR a.m.!  He’s just not going
to wake up for it.

There have been many, many instances of Dukay shaking me awake,
screaming
my name, to make some completely nonsensical pronouncement.  But these are
my three favorite.  Remember, all of these actually happened.

So, without further ado...  

                                    El Dukay Sleeps:
                            A Dialogue of Nonsense

                         Starring El Dukay, as himself
                                        also featuring Miss Doxie, as herself

                                          SCENE 1.
           (El Dukay’s bedroom.  Night.  4 a.m.  Crickets chirp.)

Miss Doxie:                 Zzz.

El Dukay:                      Zzz.

Miss Doxie:                 Zzz.

El Dukay:                      Zz -- !  BABY! (Sits up; shakes Miss Doxie.)

Miss Doxie:                 Zzz.  Z?

El Dukay:                      BABY!  WAKE UP.

Miss Doxie:                 What?!  What’s wrong? Are you okay?

El Dukay:                      Baby.  How tall are you...

Miss Doxie:                 Wh--

El Dukay:                      ...exactly?

Miss Doxie:                  WHAT.

El Dukay:                      (Sigh.)   How tall are you, exactly?

Miss Doxie:                 Uh...five foot nine?  Five...ten?

El Dukay:                      (Sigh.  Relieved.)  Oh.  Cool.  Zzz.

Miss Doxie:                 ...the FUCK?


                                            
SCENE 2.
            (Same location, same time, same crickets.  Different night.)


Miss Doxie:                 Zzz.

El Dukay:                      Zz--BABY!  (shakes poor Miss Doxie.)

Miss Doxie:                 Zzz-humph?

El Dukay:                      BABY.

Miss Doxie:                  What?!?  What is WRONG?

El Dukay:                      Baby.  Do your wheels come off?

Miss Doxie:                 Do my -- what?

El Dukay:                      I said.  (Patiently.)  Do your wheels.  Come off.

Miss Doxie:                 But I don’t -- I don’t have wheels.

El Dukay:                     (Huge Sigh.) NEVER MIND.

Miss Doxie:                 But...sweetie?

El Dukay:                      No.  Forget it.  Whatever.  (Huge, HUGE sigh.  Curls up
                            on other side of bed.)

Miss Doxie:                 ...sweetie?  (leans towards El Dukay).

El Dukay:                      No.  Don’t touch me.


                                    SCENE 3.
    (Slightly later, same room, no crickets, different night).

Miss Doxie:              Zzz.

El Dukay:                  Zz--?

Miss Doxie:              Zzz! Z!  Z!

El Dukay:                  (sits bolt upright; swings legs over the side of bed.  
                       Stares into corner.)

Miss Doxie:              Z! Z! Z...baby?

El Dukay:                  Shh!

(Pause.)

Miss Doxie:              (Whispering.) What is it?  Did you hear something?

El Dukay:                  (silence.)

Miss Doxie:              (silence.)

El Dukay:                  (silence.)

Miss Doxie:              (sil--) Dukay.

El Dukay:                  (Huge sigh.) Well!  (Throws his hands in the air.)  
                       
Well!  They’re here!

Miss Doxie:              What?  Who?

El Dukay:                  They’re.  Here.

Miss Doxie:              Who’s here?

El Dukay:                  Them.  Obviously.  (Gestures around room.)

Miss Doxie:             Hmm.  Okay.  Because I am not -- I am not actually
                       seeing anything.

El Dukay:                  Well.  They’re there.

Miss Doxie:              Right.  Okay, know what?

El Dukay:                  What?

Miss Doxie:              You’re dreaming.

El Dukay:                  Am not.

Miss Doxie:              Are too.  You’re talking in your sleep.

El Dukay:                  No, I’m not!

Miss Doxie:              Yes!  Yes, you ARE.  Now, honey.  Who is here?

El Dukay:                  What?

Miss Doxie:              Exactly.  Go back to bed.

El Dukay:                  But...

Miss Doxie:              No!  Back to bed!  Lie down!  No one here!

El Dukay:                  (alarmed.)  Here?!  Who’s here?  It’s 5 a.m.!

Miss Doxie:             (Sigh.)

                                            --FIN--



So there you go.  Dukay sleeping.  The things that go on in my boyfriend’s
subconscious are mysterious and strange, and better left unexplored.  But I’m
serious, y’all, he does this ALL THE TIME.   He wakes me up, he asks me some
damn question that makes zero sense, and then he goes back to sleep, leaving
me awake and pondering whether this is normal, or whether my boyfriend has
taken the first difficult steps towards full-blown dementia.

As final proof of how insane my wonderful boyfriend is (love you, sweetie!  
Kisses!), I will leave you with a quick scene.  Of him actually waking up.  Actually
happened.  

Y’all, he is going to
kill me.

                                            SCENE.
                    (Morning in Dukay’s room.  Birds chirp.)


Miss Doxie:                  Zzzzzzzz...hmm.  Mmph?

El Dukay:                      Zz.  Mph.  Mm.  Rg.

Miss Doxie:                 (yawns.)  G’morning.

El Dukay:                      Rg.  Z?  Nd.  P.

Miss Doxie:                 Hi.

El Dukay:                      Fmp.  G.

                          
Then suddenly...

                          PFFT.
                         
(he farts.  Loudly.)

Miss Doxie’s Brain:    Do not laugh. Do not laugh. Do not laugh. Do not
                           laugh.  Do not laugh. Do not laugh. Do not laugh. Do
                           not laugh.  Do not laugh. Do not laugh. Do not laugh.

Miss Doxie’s Mouth:  Heep!

El Dukay’s Brain:         ...?

El Dukay’s Mouth:       Did I just -- fart?

Miss Doxie’s Brain:    Do not laugh. Do not laugh. Do not laugh. Do not laugh.
                           Do not laugh. Do not laugh. Do not laugh. Do not
                           laugh.  Do not laugh. Do not laugh. Do not laugh.

Miss Doxie’s Mouth:  Yes, dear.

El Dukay’s Mouth:       Oh.

(silence.  Then El Dukay’s eyes suddenly fly open.)

El Dukay’s Mouth:       Oh, my GOD!  I FARTED! In the BED!  I’m
                           sorry!!! PLEASE DON’T STOP LOVING ME, BABY!

Miss Doxie’s Brain:    Do not laugh.  Do not -- oh, fuck it.

Miss Doxie’s Mouth:  BWA HA HA HA!

                                         -- FIN --

Oh, y’all.  He’s going to kill me dead.  He’s going to rip my face right off my head.  
Of all the kind, loving things I could write about my boyfriend, I just wrote a fart
story for all y’all.  Mean.

But don’t worry.  He won’t
really kill me.  He wouldn’t dare.  I’m really wonderful
and adorable and sweet, and I’m very understanding when he wakes me up in
the middle of the damn night to ask me nonsense questions.  He knows I love it.  
It cracks my ass up.

And besides, he can’t kill me.  ‘Cause if he did?  He’d
never find out whether my
wheels come off.  

Dream On

Home

About

Old Dogs

New Tricks

Speak!

El Dukay, holding a glass of wine AND an
unidentified blonde on his lap.  Or maybe
that was me.  Before I cropped my ass out.
Anyway, doesn't he have pretty teeth?

Special love box!

The following people are the
coolest.  For varying reasons.

Sarah B. knows the value of
flokati rugs.

Lauren feeds her sister mud.  

Coleen only dates men with
golden eyes.

Allison knows where to find
rock stars

AB has excellent taste in
journals.

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