Angry Birds…and people

Rosie: What are you doing?

Mitch: (absorbed at the computer) Damn you, pigs!

Rosie: Aw, jeez, you’re not having a 70′s flashback again, are you?

Mitch: Shut up, I’m playing ‘Angry Birds.’

Rosie: A computer game? Didn’t you tell me that computer games were–

Mitch: (wildly animated) Oh, c’mon! I hit that pig!

Rosie: You said computer games were a waste of–

Mitch: Do you hear that? Those pigs are laughing at me!

Rosie: Those are just sound effects. There really aren’t any–

Mitch: I’ll use that Super Slingshot thingy!

Rosie: You’re not listening to a word I say, are you?

Mitch: Die, you porcine bastards!

Rosie: (sigh) I’ll have to shock him out of it. Hey, guess what? Obama just pardoned Mumia Abu-Jamal!

Mitch: Hah! See that? Level cleared!

Rosie: ‘Pussy Riot’ is playing a concert at the Howmet.

Mitch: ‘Poached Eggs’ level seven! Let’s go, baby…

Rosie: Your ex-wife is on the phone. She wants to patch things up.

Mitch: C’mon…c’mon…Yes!!! Level cleared!!!

Rosie: Oh, my God, are you using a catheter?

Mitch: The pigs are stealing bird eggs!

Rosie: This is worse than I thought. (gently) Mitch, I think it’s time for an intervention.

Mitch: One more level…

Rosie: I know this guy…he’s an expert at deprogramming Angry Bird addicts.

Mitch: (fading) Must…get…to the…next…level…

Next Episode: ‘Calling Dr. Labradoodle’

Dear Rosie

Rosie: I’m going to write an advice column, and I need your opinion.

Mitch: (opening a beer) An advice column? Advice for who?

Rosie: Lovelorn dogs, unhappy dogs, etc. Here, I’ll read you some letters, and my responses, and you give me your thoughts.

Mitch: You’ve already gotten letters? You haven’t even started the column yet!

Rosie: And what do we do in cases like this?

Mitch: (sigh) We just go with it.

Rosie: That’s correct. Here’s the first letter. ‘Dear Rosie: I am a standard poodle, living in substandard conditions. My master makes me sleep on a dog bed on the floor, instead of letting me sleep on his bed. I’ve got this funky haircut,  and I have to wear a pink ribbon in my hair. What can I do?  Signed, Pathetic.’

Mitch: That doesn’t move the dial for me.

Rosie: What are you saying?

Mitch: I’m saying, that dog’s got it pretty good, all things considered.

Rosie: Here’s my response: ‘Dear Pathetic, who are you calling ‘My Master?’ Listen sister, you are the master of that household, and don’t let him forget it. The only reason I let Mitch share my home, is because he can turn a doorknob. In fact, when I think ‘Mitch,’ I think, ‘doorknob.’

Mitch: That’s…real nice.

Rosie: ‘Good luck, and thanks for writing.’

Mitch: When you think ‘Mitch,’ do you really–

Rosie: Here’s another letter. ‘Dear Rosie,  When I was two, I learned that the dogs who share my home, are not my real parents. Now, I’m on a mission to find my family. Do you think my life would make a good reality TV series? Signed, Searching.’

Mitch: What the hell kind of question is that?

Rosie: ‘Dear Searching,’ Absolutely! I’d make my life with Mitch into a reality show, but I’m afraid Mitch’s lifestyle might be too low-brow for reality show fans.

Mitch: (chokes on his beer, blows it out his nose)

Rosie: Thank you for making my point.

Mitch: (wipes his shirt)  Can’t wait to see this in print.

Rosie: ‘Good luck, and thanks for writing.’

Mitch: How about this one? ‘Dear Rosie, I’m a very patient man, with a very demanding dog. She never misses an opportunity to make me look like an idiot, and she insists on having her way in every conceivable situation. What should I do? Signed, Mitch.’

Rosie: Well, that proves he’s an idiot–he signed his own name.

Mitch: (sigh) Are we done, here?

Rosie: Almost. ‘Good luck, and thanks for writing.’ Now we’re done.

Rosie’s Voicemail.

VM: You have…eight…unheard messages. First message, sent Saturday, February 2nd, at nine-oh-four am.

(Beep!) Rosie! It’s ‘Max the Beagle.’ Remember me? We sniffed each other’s butts over at Gunner’s house? Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to hang–(Bleep!)

VM: Message deleted. Next message, sent Saturday, February 2nd, at ten-fifteen a.m.

(Beep!)  Hi, Rosie, it’s Bruno–the dog at Whitehall Pet Practice? You’re on our books for a nail trim and exfoliation on Tuesday. I see that, once again, you’re bringing your friend Madam Rosa with you.  Just a reminder that we do not serve alcoholic beverages, and we do not allow alcoholic beverages in the clinic. Call me if you need further clarification of that polic–(Bleep!)

VM: Message deleted. Next message, sent Saturday, February 2nd, at eleven-seventeen am.

(Beep!) Hi, Rosie, this is Lilly, Paul and Susan’s chihuahua? Listen, this is very important! I’ve got a message for Mitch, and it’s a matter of life and–(Bleep!)

VM: Message deleted. Next message, sent Saturday, February 2nd, at twelve-oh-one pm.

(Beep!) Heeeey, girl! It’s me. Dante. The long, cool, labradoodle who sniffed your badonkadonk on the beach yesterday. Wasup, dawg? You said I was, “One smooth criminal.” I love that! Girl, you is absolutely off da chain, na mean? How ’bout we go taggin’ tonight? Just you and me. You know my numba. Just holla. (Beep!)

VM: To delete this message, press seven. To save it, press nine. (Beep!) Message will be saved for…14…days. Next message, sent Saturday, February 2nd, at six thirty-six pm.

(Beep!) Rosie, it’s Max again. I left a message earlier, and I was afraid maybe you didn’t– (Bleep!)

VM: Message deleted. Next message, sent Saturday, February 2nd, at six-fifty-one pm.

(Beep!) Rosie, it’s Mitch. Listen, I was expecting a very important call–(Bleep!)

VM: Message deleted. Next message, sent Saturday, February 2nd, at nine-twenty-seven pm.

(Beep!) This call is from Verizon Wireless. You have exceeded your allotted minutes on this account. If you want to continue making calls–(Bleep!)

VM: Message deleted. Next message, sent today, at seven-fifty-three am.

(Beep!) Rosie! It’s Max–(Bleep!)

VM: Message deleted. End of messages. To hear your saved messages, press one.

(Beep!) Heeeey, girl! It’s me. Dante. The long, cool, labradoodle who sniffed your badonkadonk on the beach yesterday. Wasup, dawg? You said I was, “One smooth criminal.” I love that! Girl, you is absolutely off da chain, na mean? How ’bout we go taggin’ tonight? Just you and me. You know my numba. Just holla. (Beep)

VM: Re-saved. Main menu. To listen to your saved messages, press one.

(Beep!) Heeeey, girl! It’s me. Dante…

Rosie Gets ‘Catfished’

Mitch: Tell me again why I’m taking your picture?

Rosie: It’s for my passport. Just shoot.

Mitch: Got it. What do you think?

Rosie: Sheesh, it looks like a mug shot.

Mitch: I’ve seen your mug shot. This is better. Why do you need a passport, anyway?

Rosie: Take another one. If you must know, I’ve met someone over the Internet, and he wants me to come and visit him.

Mitch: Where?

Rosie: In Sweden.  Take another picture.

Mitch: What’s the name of this Swedish hound?

Rosie: Bjorn Bjorgenbjorn.

Mitch: Bjorn…Borgen…?

Rosie: Bjorn Bjorgenbjorn!  He says it’s the most popular dog name in Sweden.

Mitch: I’m sure. Aw, hell. We can’t use this picture.

Rosie: Why not?

Mitch: I shot while you were talking. You’ve got your mouth open. Not that it isn’t an accurate representation of–

Rosie: Stop yourself! Shoot another one.

Mitch: What does this dog do?

Rosie: He’s a watchdog at the Vatican.

Mitch: Say again?

Rosie: I said, he’s a watchdog at the Vatican! He’s the ‘Premier Papal Pooch.’ He protects the Pope.

Mitch: You’re spitting all over me.

Rosie: And, he’s responsible for the ‘Papal Pooper Scooper.’

Mitch: Okay, hold on a second…

Rosie: It’s a very important responsibility, wouldn’t you agree?

Mitch: I know the Pope is old, but I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing as a ‘Papal Pooper Scooper.’

Rosie: Yes there is! Bjorn told me all about it!

Mitch: Have you ever talked to this dog over the phone, or is it all–

Rosie: He sent me a picture. See?

Mitch: Wow, that’s…that’s…too good to be true. But have you talked to him?

Rosie: E-mail and text. He can’t give me his phone number–it’s a State secret.

Mitch: Aw, jeez.

Rosie: The Vatican would have his hide if he gave out his number.

Mitch: Sweetheart, I love you, but…

Rosie: But what?

Mitch: I think you’re being played for a fool.

Rosie: No way. I’ve got my eyes wide open. Bjorn and I are–

Mitch: Really? Bjorn Bjorgenbjorn? I’m not sure that’s even Swedish! And I just Googled the most popular dog names in Sweden, and the top three are Molly, Wilma, and Ludde.

Rosie: ‘Ludde?’ are you sh**ting me?

Mitch: I think you’re corresponding with a ‘catfish.’ Do you know what that is?

Rosie: Somebody who poses as somebody else, just to mess with people?

Mitch: That’s right. I’m sorry, sweetie. Hey, now. C’mon…

Rosie: Oh my God…this explains so much…

Mitch: C’mon now…there’s plenty of…dogs in the…sea…or something.

Rosie: I’ve even been studying Swedish!

Mitch: Let me hear it.

Rosie: (through tears) Så vacker du är.

Mitch: That’s a lovely sentiment.

Rosie: You don’t even know what it means!

Mitch: I don’t need a translation. If you said that to me, it would melt my heart.

Rosie: It’s probably some cat!

Mitch: Here, have a Jerky Treat.

Rosie: They’re probably laughing at me right now.

Mitch: No one’s laughing at you. ‘With you’ maybe…

Rosie: Damn Internet.

Mitch: It sucks to be you.

Rosie: (Sigh) Damn cats…

Unu Bieron, Mi Petas

Mitch: Rosie! Wake up!

Rosie: (starts) What!? Have they come for our guns?!

Mitch: No one is coming for our guns.

Rosie: Yet.

Mitch: Would you please stop reading World Net Daily?

Rosie: That’s unvarnished truth, my friend.

Mitch: This is important. I’ve been working on my Esperanto, and I want–

Rosie: Wait! Stop! You’ve been doing what?

Mitch: I’m studying Esperanto. Since I conduct wedding services as a sideline, I thought some couple, some day, might want to have their service in Esperanto.

Rosie: When Lesbians marry on the town square in Selma, I’ll believe that someone, somewhere, will want their wedding service in Esperanto.

Mitch: See? There could be an opening for me.

Rosie: For your great-great grandchild, maybe. But really, Esperanto?

Mitch: Listen, according to Wikipedia–

Rosie: (sigh)

Mitch: Esperanto is “the working language of several non-profit international organizations, such as Sennacieca Asocio Tutmonda, a left-wing cultural association–

Rosie: Left-wing? No kidding.

Mitch: And the World Esperanto Association has “an official consultative relationship with the United Nations and UNESCO.”

Rosie: Wow, that’s a shocker. Imagine, a left-wing language association having links to the UN.

Mitch: Well anyway, I’m working on my conversational Esperanto. Here’s how you order a beer.

Rosie: Of course that’s the first thing you’d learn.

Mitch: Unu bieron, mi petas.

Rosie:(thinking) ‘ Unu moron,’ is more like it.

Mitch: Mia nomo estas Mitcho. That means, ‘My name–

Rosie: I know what it means!

Mitch: You do? Oh, no…don’t tell me–

Rosie: Yes.

Mitch: Since when?

Rosie: Since 2003. My previous owner was a left-leaning college professor–if you’ll pardon the redundancy.

Mitch: And he taught you–

Rosie: SHE taught me, you sexist oaf. I’m fluent in Esperanto, as well as 14 other languages, including one, from the Amazon Basin, that consists entirely of clicks, grunts and glottal stops.

Mitch: That’s…that’s just great. I’m happy for you.

Rosie: Ne dankinde.

Mitch: I need a bieron.

Rosie: Click, click!

##

Holiday Pounds

(Rosie’s friend Felipe’ is over for a play date)

Rosie: I can’t believe how much weight I’ve gained over the Holidays.

Felipe’: Girl, I hear you. I ate some cat poop yesterday, and it went right to my hips!

Rosie: Yesterday, I just rolled on a dead squirrel, and I gained half a pound!

Felipe’: I’m so fat, that when the vet trimmed my nails, I had to take her word for it.

Rosie: Mitch says they’ll have to weigh me, using a Richter Scale.

Felipe’: Light bends around me.

Rosie: If I disappeared, they’d have to use all four sides of the milk carton for my picture.

Felipe’: I have to put on my collar using a boomerang.

Rosie: My shadow weighs 50 pounds.

Felipe’: When I talk to myself, it’s a long-distance call.

Rosie: The last time we went to the zoo, the elephant threw me a peanut!

Felipe’: Have we made our point?

Rosie: I think we’re done, here.

Felipe’: What about ‘Mr. Skinny?’

Rosie: Mitch? It’s affecting him, too. He’s gained 10 pounds since he came back from Thailand. He’s afraid he’ll outgrow his clothes.

Felipe’: With his wardrobe, that could be a net plus.

Rosie: I think I need to get on a program.

Felipe’: Wasn’t Mitch on some kind of home fitness program?

Rosie: He was doing P90X. He called it his ‘testosterone booster shot.’

Felipe’: How’d that work out for him?

Rosie: He’s now on the testosterone transplant waiting list.

Felipe’: People are so messed up.

Rosie: I think I just need to chase a cat, or something.

Felipe’: Or something.

Rosie: Need to build my strength for that, I think.

Felipe”: Agreed. Let’s eat first.

Rosie: I’m right there with you.

Felipe’: Happy New Year, sweetie.

Rosie: And a Happy New Year, to all.

You Mean It Wasn’t a Dream?

(Mitch and Rosie are at home, in Montague, after an adventure that saw Mitch spend time in an Arizona jail for pot smuggling–see previous two posts)

Mitch: (awakens, bolts upright) Where am I?

Rosie: (from the foot of the bed) Chill out, Robert Stroud. You’re safe in bed.

Mitch: Jeez, did that really happen?

Rosie: What do you think?

Mitch: I think I was in jail! In solitary! They must have thought I was dangerous.

Rosie: It was for your own protection. Apparently, there aren’t many middle-aged white guys in Arizona jails. They were a little flummoxed.

Mitch: The other inmates gave me a ‘handle.’

Rosie: What was it?

Mitch: ‘Carne.’ I think it’s short for ‘Carnage.’

Rosie: It’s Spanish for ‘meat’, you dumbass.

Mitch: Maybe I misunderstood.

Rosie: Oh, I don’t think so.

Mitch: Still, I did hard time!

Rosie: All 24 hours of it. I’ll bet you didn’t even ‘pack the rabbit.’

Mitch: Pack the rabbit?

Rosie: ‘Take it to the hoop.’ ‘Put it in the safe.’

Mitch: What are you talking about?

Rosie: Hiding contraband in your backside!

Mitch: I didn’t even hide it in my pockets!

Rosie: (derisive snort)

Mitch: Look, I know you were in the ‘Puppies for Prisoners’ program at Alcatraz–

Rosie: Folsom.

Mitch: Whatever. But this was my first time, and I think I deserve some props for not ‘tattling.’

Rosie: (starts) Tattling!? In prison? Tattling? Tell me you didn’t say that to anyone!

Mitch: I kept my nose clean.

Rosie: (puts her face in her paws) Tattling…

Mitch: Okay, so I’m not fluent in prison argot.

Rosie: Fluent! You had to Google ‘argot!’

Mitch: Busted.

Rosie: Pray to God that you never go back to the joint.

Mitch: I think it’s unlikely…unless I’m arrested again for felony escape, kidnapping, interstate flight to avoid prosecution–

Rosie: Forget all that. It’s just a blog post.

Mitch: Oh, right. It ain’t real.

Rosie: It ain’t real.

Mitch: But here’s something that is real.

(he jumps up, puts on Wayfarer sunglasses)

Mitch: I learned this during my time in solitary.

(Cue music: Psy’s ‘Gangnam Style.’

Rosie: (jumps up) Now you’re talkin’!

(Mitch and Rosie begin ‘Horsey dancing’)

Mitch and Rosie Together: Heeeeey sexy lady!

On The Lam

(This is the second in a series. As we open, Mitch is sitting in an Arizona jail cell, awaiting trial on marijuana smuggling charges. To pass the time, he’s learning the choreography to Psy’s ‘Gangnam Style’ video.)

Mitch: (dancing ‘horsey style’)  Heeeeey, sexy lady!

Guard: Coleman! Package for you!

Mitch: (takes the package through the bars) Thanks.

Guard: Lookin’ good (does a little ‘horsey’ himself).

Mitch: You’re not doing it right.

Guard: @&*# you. (he leaves)

Mitch: (opens the package to find a single cupcake. He bites into it, and hits a piece of folded paper. Unfolding it, he reads)

Stay strong. A guard will come. He’ll have a key. Follow his instructions. See you on the outside. Rosie

Mitch: Oh, my God. My dog is planning a jailbreak? (slaps his forehead)

Guard 2: (approaches and whispers) Señor!

Mitch: (muttering) Now what?

Guard 2: Señor Coleman. Señorita Rosie sent me. I have a key. We must leave now (unlocks the door). Come quickly!

Mitch: I’m not leaving. I really need to work on this dance.

Guard 2: But you must! Señorita Rosie, she has everything arranged!

Mitch: How do you know this? How do you communicate with her?

Guard 2: I speak Chihuahua. We make it work.

Mitch: Of course.

Guard 2: You must come. We dare not incur the ‘Wrath of Rosie.’

(they exit the cell block in late evening darkness and walk together along a high, stone wall, to a heavily-barred door. The guard unlocks the door, and opens it onto a quiet city street. A 1978 Buick LaSabre sits idling at the curb. Rosie stares out the front passenger window)

Guard 2: (opens the car’s rear door) Quickly!

(Mitch jumps in. The guard jumps in after him, and the car roars off)

Rosie:  Stay calm. Remember, we’re just an ordinary family, out for an evening drive with their dog.

Mitch: (eyeing the driver) A young African-American woman, a uniformed, Hispanic prison guard, and a middle-aged white guy. That’s an ordinary family?

Rosie: It’s 2012. Just go with it.

Mitch: And wasn’t Sheriff Joe Arpaio supposed to be in this post, somewhere?

Rosie: It’s okay. We’ve got him in the trunk.

Mitch: (slaps his forehead)

(the car drives through the night, picks up Interstate 40, and heads east).

(to be continued)

On The Road

(At Rosie’s insistence, the two of us are taking a cross-country road trip. As we open, we’re driving a rented Lincoln through Arizona, just north of the Mexican border)

Rosie: Isn’t this great? Don’t you love the freedom of the open road?

Mitch: Oh, it’s great all right. But why did you insist on renting the largest car Hertz had?

Rosie: For comfort!

Mitch: And why did we have to cross the border into Nogales?

Rosie: I wanted you to experience an authentic Mexican cantina. Wasn’t that great?

Mitch: Yeah, but you disappeared on me. I thought I was going to have to come home without you.

Rosie: I just had to use the facilities, that’s all. Hey, what’s that behind us?

Mitch: Oh, jeez, it’s a cop.

Rosie: Floor it!

Mitch: I’m not gonna floor it! He’s pulling us over! He knows it’s a rental. Probably has us spotted for tourists, and he’s going to write us up for violating some little-known local ordinance. That’s why I always carry this (reaches into his shirt pocket, takes out a $50 bill, and paper clips it to his driver’s license)

Rosie: That’s why I always carry this…(she paws at the floor mat, uncovering a pearl-handled, .44-caliber, Colt Python Revolver.)

Mitch: What the hell? Where’d you get that?

Rosie: Shut up! Do everything just like I say, and nobody gets hurt. (she pulls the floor mat over the gun, hiding it)

Mitch: (pulling to a stop on the shoulder) We’re carrying a gun? Is it licensed?

Rosie: What, to me? Even U.S. gun laws aren’t that lax!

Mitch: Christ…

Cop: Good afternoon, sir. Do you know how fast you were going?

Rosie: Don’t you?

Cop: Hey, she’s got a big bark for a little dog. Can I see your license  and registration, please, sir?

Mitch: We’re just visiting. Sure is beautiful countryside. (hands over his documentation, with the $50 attached)

Cop: I’ll be right back with this (goes to his car).

Rosie: (mocking) Sure is beautiful countryside!

Mitch: Stop yourself. He took the $50. Didn’t even say anything. He’ll come back to the car, and we’ll be free to–

Rosie: You idiot! Don’t you know what’s going on?

Mitch: When have I ever known what was going–

Rosie: While you were in that cantina, some friends of mine were loading 90 kilos of prime Mexican bambalacha into the trunk.

Mitch: Is that marijuana?

Rosie: (rolls her eyes)

Mitch: Jeez, 90 kilos, that’s almost…

Rosie: Two hundred.

Mitch: Two hundred pounds! We’re carrying two hundred pounds of marijuana in the trunk?

Rosie: And you just tried to bribe a police officer.

Mitch: Oh, @#$%! (he starts pawing at the floormat)

Rosie: It’s too late for that! Let me do the talking.

Mitch: He won’t understand you, and I won’t translate!

Rosie: Fine, you’re on your own.

Cop: (walks up to the car) Sir, I’m afraid you dropped this. (hands over the $50) And I’m going to have to ask you to open the trunk for me, please.

Mitch: (looks over at Rosie, who yawns, and starts grooming herself)

(Next: Mitch and Rosie meet Sheriff Joe Arpaio)

Road Trip

Rosie: Listen, you know what we need to do? Take a road trip–get out, get around, see the country. Maybe meet some new people, some new dogs, have an adventure. Whaddaya think?

Mitch: What? Wha…?

Rosie: I’m speaking English, here. What’s the problem?

Mitch: What’s the problem? It’s three a.m. I was sound asleep!

Rosie: Fine, go back to sleep. Sleep your life away, for all I care.

Mitch: I can’t go back to sleep, now.

Rosie: Why not?

Mitch: You’re standing on my chest!

Rosie: I’m trying to emphasize the urgency of the situation.

Mitch: It’ll have to wait ’til morning.

Rosie: It is morning! It’s already three a.m.!

Mitch: (sigh) Okay, what were you saying?

Rosie: Road trip! You, me, a bag of Jerky Treats, the open road–

Mitch: You get sick on long car rides.

Rosie: I do not! And if I do, it’s because you drive like a spastic.

Mitch: Don’t say ‘spastic,’ it’s offensive to the physically disabled.

Rosie: Okay, you drive like a crazy person.

Mitch: Oh yeah. Much better.

Rosie: I feel pretty strongly about this.

Mitch: I know what that means. It means I won’t hear the end of this–

Rosie: Until we’re on the road. I’ve been reading Jack Kerouac–

Mitch: You’ve not been reading Kerouac. Nobody really reads Kerouac.

Rosie: Well I’ve been perusing it–

Mitch: Oh yeah.

Rosie: …and that’s the feeling I want to capture.

Mitch: You can’t capture that feeling! That book takes place in the late ’40′s. In those days, America was strung out along the shoulders of Route 66–that great, restless  red line across America that coiled and curled and shook its clothes, like a young jazz cat, sweating and hitching up his horn and writhing into it.

Rosie: You’re mimicking Jack Kerouac now, aren’t you?

Mitch: Ah…little bit.

Rosie: See?! I have perused it!

Mitch: Look, just let me get some sleep and–Ooof!

Rosie: Sorry, took a bad step, there. You okay? Maybe you’d feel better if you got up, and started planning this trip?

Mitch: When the pain subsides, I’ll–Ooof!!!

Rosie: Darn it, did it again.

(Next: On the Road)