Hapless Mac

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Cindi finds Mac whimpering under her desk. No, Mac isn’t a co-worker. He’s not some random dude, either. He’s Cindi’s boss’s golden retriever puppy. 

(Later, when Cindi shares this news with me, she adds that her boss moonlights as an analyst for the NSA. The extra moolah supposedly supports his cocaine habit.) 

Cindi captures her boss’s attention long enough to point out that something purple protrudes from Mac’s butthole. 

Cindi’s boss calls from his office. “Here, Mac!” He whistles in that shrill, staccato way some dog owners do. “Here, boy!” 

The hapless pooch waddles in. Every few feet he stops to squat. He doesn’t squeeze anything out. He can’t. Cindi’s boss crouches for a closer look at the purply wad. He follows Mac around the office on his hands and knees. 

Finally, he says, “I know what this is.” 

He reaches out and pinches the purple lump. Then he pulls at it. The puppy’s whimper swells. The purple thingy stretches. Cindi bunches her fingers and presses them to her lips. She wants to tell her boss to stop. But it’s clear the purple gob isn’t supposed to be corking up Mac’s shit end. 

Cindi’s boss decides to give it a yank. 

The purply thing SNAPS from the puppy’s anus—too fast for anyone to dodge out of its trajectory—and adheres to Cindi’s boss’s forehead. Think something like a facehugger from Alien, but less creepy and way smaller. And it’s not an alien. It’s a purple poop-stained sticky hand toy. 

11 March 2000

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