Come together and tell a tale too ticklish to tell in memory of a man and a dog

You would have never guessed this of me if you had known me in my younger days. I was not the mean-spirited type of kid that usually foreshadows the spiteful and dangerous adult I have become. I never pulled the wings off of flies or tortured the neighbor’s kittens; sure, I burned a few ants with a magnifying glass, but who hasn’t. I was, instead, a rather sweet and forgiving person. I forgave my alcoholic father for his Sasquatchian romps though our family harmony. He was as mean as a trapped opossum and as stupid as a carnival vendor, but he never physically harmed me. I forgave my best friend, Andy, for sleeping with my high school sweetheart after she left me. He is now a distant maggot-eating, slime-sucking, someone-I-used-to-know son of a bitch, but forgiven. I even forgave my older sister, Julie, for telling me she got an abortion at age 17 and making me keep the secret. As a 13 year old, I was mortified, especially since she never told me of the father. In my mind, I created this huge ugly older man, chocolate as a Hershey Bar, pounding my sister from behind with sweat popping from his body as she moaned with the satisifed look she has when she takes a bite of cotton candy at the fair.
But I am no longer that man. I would go to bed angry, night after hellish night, only to wake up with an optimism and a fresh approach. The pounding my heart took the day before having restored itself like a balloon reinflated, I would promise myself to smother the bitch with kindness and thereby force her to adapt and revert into the girl I thought I married. Only to again be pounded, berated, belittled, and bitched into submission, frustration and anger again and again. Until the day came when I woke up and the place on my heart remained flat. It scarred and calloused, became infected and grew into a living tumor of hatred, vengeance and spite. I know it is there because I can feel it throb and spasm, radiating hatred so fiercely at times, like now, that it fogs my mind, dims my hearing, and clouds my vision like a putrid fog from the fart of a three-day dead elephant. It is all I can do to keep my eyes on the road, but I will. I will keep driving, I will not let this diseased hatred kill me; at least not until I find her. Find her and take my revenge. For me and for Dookie. Here I come bitch, here I come.

I heard Cobb Dawg did Vidalia in the shithole but what could you really expect from a poor county girl named after an onion? Seriously, were her parents stoned that weekend or just such loathsome trailer trash they thought only of their cheap amusement instead of the lifelong torment and deflated self esteem that would lead to a life of prostitution with a client list littered exclusively with dwarfs and cajuns with weird sexual practices involving waterfowl smeared with swine feces. Since Cobb Dawg was a midget in a traveling Mexican minstrel show I guess it came as relief to each when the sun went down and darkness soaked with low rent liquor closed in on both of them in a sweet sticky embrace. Still, even in the 3am terror sweats both dreamed of a bigger, bolder, broader life of carny workers or septic system semi professionals. Life was simple as Cobb Dawg enjoyed peeling back Vidalia's layers and she enjoyed it was all over before she really had do do anything of great effort, well at least not until he asked for a ...

Are you writing this or is he who must not apparently be named sending you stuff?

#1 came from Chef in the original thread

#2 came from Broncothor in the line up thread

#3 came from Cobb Dawg in the line up thread

#4 came from yours truly in the line up thread

This thread was intended for the writing only and the link in the OP was to direct who was next, comments and questions were supposed to go there. Lordy, does anybody read anymore?

Well this fizzled with the quickness