Cujo–Stephen King

Okay look Stephen King: You just fucking stop it. 

Why do I fucking read these books? Why do I seek out this terror? This book was so fucking stressful. 

And I’m going to spoil things, so you are warned. I have to spoil things because I need to channel this energy of rage this book gave me into a posting because I CAN’T BE ALONE WITH THESE FEELS.

Let me first tell you what I thought this book was about: 

A psychotic dog that eats people. Thought it was possessed or something. 

Here’s what the book is actually about: 

A sweetheart of a dog that gets poisoned when he chases a rabbit down into a cave that is full of sick bats. Rabies type virus ensues. 

Sweetheart dog starts to feel sick. We get to see into his thoughts as well (thanks a lot for THAT Stephen King.). We get to see it take him. Which is so fucking heartbreaking. Moreso than if that was happening to a human because dogs are little rays of light in an otherwise dark and stormy world.

How dare you come after a dog Stephen King!!! 

I’m going to be cursing him until the day I die. 

Anyway. There are a few players in this book that circle each other (and I DO forget their names so I’ll just describe them.) : 

One: Hapless husband who goes on business trip. Gets calls from wife nightly for updates on life. 

Two: Menacing Mechanic, owner of Cujo, altogether unsavoury asshat.

Three: Mechanics wife and son, who leave for a vacation with her sister. Son is the true owner/friend of Cujo. Kid is a sensitive sweetheart, wife wants out of her life. 

Four: Neighbour and only friend of menacing mechanic. 

Five: The cops. More or less useless. 

Six (and most important.): Hapless Husbands wife and four year old son. Wife needs car fixed, is sent to mechanic by husband. Car breaks down there. 

And hell fucking breaks loose. 

Now here’s how things went: Dog got sick. Dog turns slowly but surely. He eats mechanics friend. Then Mechanic goes to visit his friend because they are supposed to go fishing or something because the wife and kid went on vacation. Mechanic gets eaten at some point. 

Hapless husband forgets to check in with wife and son and after DAYS finally notices she hasn’t been calling either and calls the cops. 

Mechanics wife and kid are having a grand old time, although the kid just KNOWS something is wrong with Cujo even from afar.

Cut to: The hapless families wife and son are packing up snacks and whatnot for a small drive to the mechanics out of town just in case the car breaks down on the side of the road before they can even get to the farmhouse. 

And this is stressful for me because at the time I was looking after my four year old cousin and I couldn’t even fathom how a mother wouldn’t do EVERYTHING in her power to save her fucking kid.

The heat rose to excruciating heights. Kid is dehydrated, dog keeps attacking car, but is getting more and more vicious by the hour. They are both dying. Everyone is dying. The mom knows there’s a phone in the house, knows the dog is in the garage in the cold. She tries once to run for the phone…but the dog gets her leg, then she gets stuck back in the car.

Eventually all the things collide: someone at the police station finally believed the dad that his family was missing and they sent a cop to go look around. Cop sees note that the wife left saying where she was going. (A note she wrote for no one by the way. She just “had a feeling”.) 

Cop gets eaten. 

Wife and kid still. stuck. in. the. fucking. car. The kid is delirious. Like straight up heat stroke, had seizure, etc. 

Eventually the cops notice that their other cop didn’t come back. 

And everything explodes.

Hapless dad comes back before the cops get there, he finds the wife who (in her delirium and idiocy) goes for a bat instead of the cops rifle/radio, and is now beating the dog to death. 

Cops swarm, wife thinks husband saved her (which was annoying), and guess the fuck what. 

THE KID FUCKING DIES ANYWAY.

After all that. I fucking threw the book. 

How dare that end in the death of that sweet little four year old.

Fucking Stephen King. A plague on both your houses.

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Puppy Love

 

I friggin love my dogs. Artie is so smart and handsome, a real snuggle butt and always wants to be your friend, and Dexter (AKA-Goose) is such a happy little weasel, she got her nickname from the fact that she gooses you when you walk in the house, and she’s always up for hugs and kisses and funny games.

I taught her that if “Statue”, where you stand real still and then out of nowhere pop up and scare the other one. It’s hysterical when she does it.

 

Goose and Artie!

Constant vigilance.

Keep Moving Forward

I am having major body image issues this week.

Mostly because I can’t stop eating. And crying. And eating because I’m crying. And crying because I’m eating.

Let’s put this in perspective though: People gotta eat. And ladies get PMS, and sometimes that PMS makes us batshit. *shrug*

I’m just eating the bad stuff. ALL the bad stuff. And it’s delicious, but I feel like poo. I’m trying to recognize that this all makes me feel like garbage so that I stop. But part of me is like “Quite frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.” And then I’m a bitch to myself and glare at my body in the mirror while thinking mean thoughts.

I can say things like “Well, no more! I am wonderful! And I’m hot! And I’m beautiful no matter what!” But I don’t believe myself this week and that’s because my inside feels like garbage and the outside is starting to reflect that.

So what I’m proposing is that I hold myself accountable for my actions (mainly the action of continually buying Sour Cream and Bacon chips every five minutes) and have you guys hold me accountable as well.

I am going to make a more active effort.

And I’ll be marking my progress here and Instagram likely.

I’ll talk more next week about this, ideas are still circling.

But for now, keep moving forward and if you are like me, stop believing the bad stuff, start eating the good stuff, and put down the chips, man.

Constant vigilance!

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That dog is my spirit animal.

Sick as a Dog, But Not as Cute.

I’ve been so sick that I could barely get out of bed even though my dog was crying outside my door to be my friend. Migraines, cold, fever, you name it, I’ve had it this week. Clearly I was in some need of rest and relaxation. Unfortunately, I had just moved home and needed to get organized and whatnot.

So I’ve been fighting my OCD as well as my actual illness. The only semi-solace I got was in the laughter I got because of my fever hair. It was so messed up it was amazing, I needed to post them on Facebook.

Lucky for you, my little cousin was around to help me sort through some stuff and guess what I found?

Poetry. Pure, tweenage, distraught, poetry. Oh yeah. This is happening. AND I took a much needed walk into some fresh air to a thrift store today and bought some Stephen King books for 25 cents a pop, including the new Joyland! Whoohoo!

Here are some pictures of my week:

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Pretty ginger beauty right? These “selfies”, contrary to what is happening on Facebook lately, are not for breast cancer awareness or to show off my impeccable make up-less face to raise money. This is me being just plain old laughing at myself because I look insane.

What’s next? Oh right, I started a store on Etsy. There will be new stuff to come on there, but if you are looking for some dish clothes and pillowcases, feel free to order some! Look for DerangedLibrarian and you’ll find me (once again looking like a dork).

Are you ready? Are you now ready for our new segment: Shitty Things I Wrote In High School.

Please note I was insanely melodramatic when it came to poetry. Also. Go right ahead and judge me haha.

“Falling to Pieces:

Falling to pieces

All by myself

Falling to pieces

I put my heart on a shelf,

Try not to look at it as you walk by

Try not to look as I sit and cry.

Falling to pieces

All by myself. ”

A poem, by 14 year old, Allison Abate, DDS.

You’re welcome. Please feel free to submit your own shitty poetry or writing. Hell, if you have paintings, diary entries, or short films that you are still laughing at your seriousness over the topic, send them on over!

Constant vigilance.