Call me fido, cuz i’m the ultimate rover doggin’ the white whale, cuz i’m the red baron snoop rappin’ and fightin’ and writin’ on the kennel, cuz i’m the cujo messin’ with your pinto brain, cuz i’m the “who’s your doggy” dawg your mamma don’t want you to meet, cuz i’m the zombie raisin’ hell in doggone zomcom, cuz i’m the taco bell chihuahua who turned ren after too many jalapenos, cuz i’m scooby doo and dino rolled up into one fatty yabba dabba doobie, cuz i’m bo, yo, ‘from the doghouse to the whitehouse,’ cuz i can roll with cerberus or anubis, tartarus or cannabis, cuz i’m goofy and droopy, benji and lassie, beethoven and rin tin tin, cuz i’m the everyman, so call me what you want, just don’t call me pavlov’s dog.
French bulldogs, rottweilers, chow chows, lend me your floppy ears, cuz gone are the days of lonesome ramblin’. I’m itchin’ with fleas to guide you around my turf, the fenceless dogyard where i roam, the digital colosseum where our gladiavatars are crowned and wined and dined and chewed up and shat out, the new new york of the dubya dubya dubya where the rags to riches hopeful strut their wuff for their 15 million hits of fame, the electronic jungle with ten thousand talkers whose tongues are all dangling, the betweenthenet bedsheets where there’s ten thousand whisperin’ with nobody listenin.’ Just follow your fido, yo, and he’ll open doors for you where there were only walls. We’ll go snout to snout with sweet cottonball biatches in the poodle chatroom, sniff some bums on fecebook—that’s fessebook for you ma chère bulldog francaise—cruise around to our favorite dogblogs, leave our marks in the comments sandbox under raised legs, pad down password protected pages, crack codes to the crypt, set off viral wildfires. Just don’t misread my hacker’s heart and pimped out prose cuz under my faux fur coat is a saint bernard’s soul. Enough yappin’ bro, i gotta go. Hidden bones in the matrix are callin’ fido.
*FIDO WAS ELIMINATED AFTER ROUND 2
Fido aint grieving. A dog on the go knows leaving and arriving are just two sides of the same bone, so don’t cry for me, fourthficreader. I knew that my dog song was my death knell, that i was doomin’ myself to the pet vet, bitin’ myself in the hind leg, barkin’ up the wrong tree, pawin’ up my own grave. But this dog would rather be gettin’ his woof on, raisin’ hell out in the wild, than snoozin’ in the parlor.
I won’t whimper or slink to the chopping block. My dog pride is intact, my heart no mangier than before. I’m down with being the thorn in the rose, the scorned prose, the hellbound hound. I can’t tone down for the tone deaf. You can take my life but you can’t take my bone.
It’s been a raging ride. We’re all surfing the lip of a techarybdis whirlpool of terabytes that’s about to suck us all down its wired maws. Publishers, you better start checking your emergency exits, cuz your house of cards is soon gonna fold.
A wag of the tail to dan daman and dannabones and djammin djemal and djodi and the rest of the dotcompadres who’ve tossed me cybertreats these last two months. You too host. I dug that last vid. Royalty pronouncing my fate, a righteous dumpster burial, a doggy challenge… damn, yo, i’m almost shedding a mongrel tear.
As for you, fellow currtestants, your faithful friend will be keeping an eye from the sidelines, waiting to lend an afterlife paw to all those poor V.I.P. R.I.P. pooches you’ll be sending in my wake this week. Sniff you all again when my winter hair comes on. Dogspeed to you.