You're so fine you blow my mind, hey Mickey!

Perhaps I have mentioned here before that my mother is a very sweet person, much nicer than the likes of me, and certainly not the kind of woman who'd violate toy amphibians. Nope, Mom is a gem, a lamb, a sweetheart who was inexplicably punished with awful children. And by "awful children" I mean me.

When I first moved to Flint, I shared an apartment with my parents, Tardist, Tardist's bitch, and his dog, Mickey. Long-time readers may best remember Mickey as the dog upon whom I once vomited. When he wasn't covered in beer spew, he was quite a handsome dog. He was a German Shepherd/Norwegian Elkhound mix, which meant he was rather large and looked a lot like a steer. My mom, who tends to gush over all things animal, was absolutely in love with Mickey, and would often describe him with terms like (and I am not makin' this up, not a word of it), "dark golden stocking leg" and "black velvety goat ears." There was no doubt that Mickey was her favorite grandchild, and she felt no need to make a secret of it.

Mom and Mickey spent many hours of quality time together. He'd do a little trick and she'd praise him. He'd eat his food and she'd praise him. He'd take a dump in the yard and she'd praise him. I think you get the picture by now - Mom adored that damned cow of a dog.

One particularly chilly autumn day, I was doin' my best to play the fuck out of Mom's piano, or at the very least make it feel extremely violated, and Mom was outside with Mickey, runnin' the field in front of our apartment building. The front door opened and Mickey burst through, all chilly weather exuberance and spoiled dog glee. Mom soon followed him, with a scarf wrapped 'round her hair to protect The Bouf from windshear damage, a fluffy winter coat to keep her warm, and some white sweatpants that were strictly for comfort. I swiveled around on the piano bench to greet Mickey, and he spun back and forth, gettin' petted by me, then Mom, then me again. He was in the Cute Zone, all dog smiles and big fan of a tail goin' a mile a minute. Mom was tuned into his zone, apparently, because she was especially delighted with him, and she kept petting him with both hands and exclaiming with sheer adoration, "Oh, Mickey!" He'd wheel around and show me his dog smile and I'd love on him, then he'd veer around and grace Mom with the happy face, whereupon she'd hug him, clap, and once again burst out with a very loving "Oh, Mickey!"

This went on for a few minutes, the back-and-forth with the dog. Then the look on Mickey's face changed ever so slightly; in retrospect I can say exactly what it was, but I had no clue at the moment. All I know is, as I sat there watchin', Mickey backed up to my mother, pushed his asshole flush with her sweatpants, and wiped. This wasn't just, "Oh, the dog brushed against me accidentally." No. It was a very purposeful wiping of the ass. The dog's ass. On my mom's pants. Once he had finished scraping his sphincter across my mother's clothing, Mickey adopted the most self-satisfied expression on his face, wagged his tail even harder, and pranced away from the scene of the crime. When he stepped away, he revealed what might have been a good copy of the Nike swoop logo, had it not been brown, and on my mom's white sweatpants.

Mom and I saw the evidence at the exact same moment. The look on Mom's face quickly became disbelieving horror, and her approving cries of "Oh, Mickey!" were replaced by a plaintive and slightly irritated "Ohhhhh, Mickey!

I'd like to be able to tell you that I was helpful in my mother's moment of need, that I sprang right up to console her, and to help her get those streaked sweatpants into the wash. But it would be a lie, a big dirty lie, and I save my big dirty lies for home. I was absolutely no help, as I had at that point fallen off the piano bench and was on the floor, clutching myself to keep my ribs from busting through the skin as I laughed, breathless and completely helpless, at my poor mother's misfortune.

I'm sure Satan has some interesting skidmarks in store for me when I get there.