Tales of the Surreal Dog
(with Joe the Government Plant)
a literate stream-of-consciousness prose comic strip
Panel I
Today was a normal day. The surreal dog walked down the side street,
sniffing the garbage that died in the alley the night before. With
pictures of Michael Jordan covered in White Castle burgers, the surreal
dog walked down the alley, discovering that the exit had become a lid on
a soup pan. Drinking away, the surreal dog lapped to the bottom of the
pan, only to discover that there was a wishbone.
Pulling the wishbone with his teeth, the surreal dog wished for
a diet bone, only to discover Lawrence Welk was his true friend.
and from the corner, someone whispered, "Joe was a Government Plant"
Panel
II
And it was true, Joe was a government plant.
Sitting alone in dimly-lit corners, his chlorophyl count dwindling,
Joe smoked cigarettes. A cannibal, he satisfied his cravings
smoking the dried remains of his previous victims. Joe was a nasty
plant, and knew exactly who the Surreal Dog was, and the threat he
posed to the government and its' plants.
Plants in high places, the surreal dog strolled through the
arboretum, viewing the message scrawled dimly in the oak, "Marlene
Loves Welk." What did it mean? Questions flew this way and that,
and the Dog ran through the flowers, dreaming of Tiny Tim singing
"Tiptoe through the Tulips." Lawrence Welk was nowhere, and the problem
remained: where to find a diet bone and what to do with the universe
clutched in his non-opposable paws.
Panel
III
In an octopus' garden, a diet bone lurked alone, dreaming of
the day when something interesting would happen in its life. It was
a confused and maligned bone, having both been done and been there
by many creatures of the night. Searching for meaning, finding none,
its only solace the sounds of Lawrence Welk echoing through dimly-lit
corridors, the bone cried Mary.
Panzer
IV-e
The universe was weighty. Not in terms of philosophy
nor in actual mass, but rather in proportion to the surreal dog's
rather short attention span. Groaning with effort, the dog forgot
his problems, danced a jig with a Spanish mime, and with a careless
whisper, scattered the universe on the winds. Never minding the
repercussions, the dog stood entranced, staring at the street signs
blocking his every move.
NO DOGS
ALLOWED
Panel V
Literacy was an overrated thing. In an age dominated by often
strange images, the surreal dog was no intellectual featherweight. He
had read Marx, and understood that bad translation, coupled with the
Red Menace, had led to the downfall of Rome. History was an open book
to the dog, who liberally applied pawprints on the timeline of history,
stopped for a minute by the street sign that blocked his way.
For the surreal, nothing is possible. Walking alone, the dog
pondered his fate, trapped by the hexagontal circle of protection that
barred his passage. A whisper shook the land, echoing:
A straw blew across the circle, magus perde yanked the chain,
and the dog was free.
Panel
VI
Surrounded by devastation, something was amiss. The street was
littered with the signs of death that normally accompany a full-scale
holocaust, but the dog was happy. Gnawing on bones, free to loot the
music stores for records and bootlegs of his icon, the dog stomped
through the land, only to discover that there was nothing left nor
nothing right, but up above loomed a copper torch, bent with the weight
of a thousand suns.
Panel
VII
Covered in the glow of a cathode-ray lament, Joe was a government
plant. The sensors were true, damn it; New Brunswick was gone, and that
dog was to blame. Lighting another cigarette, this time rolled from
the internal organs of the Green Giant, Joe contemplated his fate and that
of the world in which he lived, staring up at the Statue of Liberty,
screaming "Damn you!!!Damn you all to hell!!!Why won't my Clapper work any
more?"
Panel VIII
Batteries were included in the Surreal Dog's new bone. Hanging loosely from the
street sign barring his passage, the Dog had found a new trick: a handheld LED
football game from sometime in the early 1980s. Obsessed by the bleeps and
vibrant colors, as well as its battery consumption, the Dog stalled, wondering
where to go, and why a magus perde continued to yank
the chain.
Rain began.
Panel IX
Running from the rain, the dog searched for cover. Billboards for a host of
local cable access programs provided nothing, and a flood swept the land. From
somewhere unseen, a whirlpool came up, catching the dog in its evil grip.
Dog-paddling valiantly, the dog was swept into the eye of the storm.
Days later, somewhere in the darkness, a light erupted, and banished the
shadow. Shining into nothingness, the dog's self-illuminating collar provided
an insight into the cavern, where bones liberally littered the ground below.
Sounds of jazz echoed through the corridor, minor sevenths, leading the dog to
howl in agony, and exclaim, "Help me, I'm in hell", before walking
onward pulling on his wishbone.
On drums, Joe the Government Plant hit the skins, laughing
as the surreal one moved ever closer.
Panel X
Yes, the dog was in trouble. Diminished chords danced about the room,
discovering new inversions with each passing beat, and the view shifted.
Falling, the dog walked through unknown spaces only to discover that there was
no hope, no charity, and no love left in the world.
The cage slammed shut, the music began anew, and the
surreal one knew that there might not be any escape this time. Sitting on the
nearby table, a sign announced "Welcome to Max's (Cincinatti)".
While a nice word, and much less strange than Cleveland or Newark, Cincinatti was the home of government plants, renegade
fevers, and associated flytraps waiting to consume the dog alive...
Panel XI
There was something in the air, and it wasn't the smoke of the Government
plant. The dog cried for respite within the plastic cage, as the jazz pounded a
mambo beat relelentlessly into its skull. Switching
to 6/8 time, the pace quickened, truth became fiction, and the dog's wishbone
provided the key.
Snap! The lock crashed open, and from the shadows
jumped a score of ninja searching for prey. As properly-educated ninja, they
realized the importance of fiber and green matter in their diets, chasing Joe
the Government plant towards the exit with a sigh, and the dog wandered into
the streets, where a preacher shouted:
Free at last! I had a dream!
Thank dog almighty!</center
To be continued...
Back
to home page at Geocities:
Where even surreal dogs get free pages.
Panel XI.V
Please not that I, the webmaster, am not the original
author of this or it’s sequel. The original Author is
Rev. Rob. I do not believe that the
surreal dog is still on his website, nor do I know if has one, so I have
archived it here, with out permission, and with out request, but with the kindness love and respect.
Hey Rob, if you read this I’ll buy you a cup of coffee if you ever find
yourself in my home town.