Well. This was certainlly interesting!

Backstory: The parents graciously decided to leave what we all know is MY house for awhile and head off to the country side to apparently bask in the sunlight they told me about today while I stayed here behind in the rain. With the dog. THAT DAMN DOG! He was supposed to go spend the week at a doggy hotel as it is well known that I hate and detest this slobbering shit-f0r-brains (albeit adorable) creature and refuse to doggysit him. But much like in our beloved christmas gospel, there was no room at the inn so foul-tempered me ended up having to watch the dog for a few days despite hysterical protests on my part.

It has been some comfort to me however that he ate a pair of my mother's shoes. I think he was trying to make me happy. Aww, bless his little chomper teeth.

Well, a part of this ritual of "doggy sitting" is taking the critter out for walks. Like I hinted at earlier, we are at the dawn of a new Noah's flood here and it has been raining constantly for days so instead of walking him, I've been driving him out into the "country" and letting him run around for half an hour. Much more fun for him anyway.

Tonight's proceedings were cut short however by the arrival of two uniformed soldiers on the scene. They shone several uber bright lights into my eyes and I was barely able to make out two masculine shapes bounce towards me in a masculine walk akin to that of someone who has an exceptionally large penis or has been riding a horse for three weeks straight. We can only guess which effect these gentlemen were going for.

They were almost by my side when they notice the dog running around, wretched criminal that he is. So they decide that before they deal with me, they'll tell the dog a thing or two about American justice. So they cowboy swagger over to the dog instead, shine a bright light into his eyes and start yelling out "sit! sit! sit doggy, sit!!" My beloved Sam, being the world's worst behaved dog, decides that rather than sitting... biting these gentlemen in the face would be much more fun. You can imagine how thrilled G.I Joe was at this point. But it seemed to sink in that my dog was most likely a serial offender, a sociopath even, and is far beyond a mere mortal's ability to help. So he gave up and decided to harp on the owner of this Crime Dog instead.

Again, I got to enjoy the flashlight lighting up the back of my skull while soldier boy barked "Who are you? Who ARE you?" and I couldn't help but chuckle a bit at this point and repeated his question back to him, somewhat bewildered. In retrospect, this appears to have been a notoriously bad idea. G.I Joe came stomping right up to my face, flashing lights and cowboy swaying completely forgotten, where he spat out "If I seem hostile towards you ma'am, it's only because this is a restricted area and you could be in danger". Whatever, bunshole. If you seem hostile towards me, it's because you have a complex about being short and ugly, you powertripping little jockstrap.

Thankfully through the grace of the Lord, those words did not escape my lips until I was safely inside my vehicle.

Next there was some uncertainty about my identity. Who WAS this person so bold as to walk her dog on the outskirts of this town? Could she have been a terrorist? A spy perhaps? G.I Joe just had to know. This time, the light was recruited to help. "ARE YOU AMERICAN OR ICELANDIC?" he yelled in such a tone that I half expected the other guy to fall in line behind him and they'd stomp off rythmically chanting "this is my rifle, this is my gun...". Being the truthful little tart that I am, I told him I was in fact as Icelandic as they come. At this point he thought he had me outsmarted and grinning from ear to ear he asked to see "SOME IDENTIFICATION, MA'AM". He took my card and shone such a bright light on it that it seemed like it was coming at us with the support of some satellite far off in space and he stared at it very intently for quite some time, reviewing it carefully until he was eventually satisfied that I was in fact as Icelandic as I'd said I was. The disappointment was such that he looked like a little boy who's just opened up his christmas presents to find only Malibu Barbies.

Nothing much happened after that except he barked in his best "my daddy beat me" voice to get the dog and get out of the area because I "could be in danger". Whatever, G.E.D boy.

Amazingly enough my four legged slab of beef answered to his given name of Sam for once in his life and we drove off into the sunset like Thelma and Louise, vowing to never go hungry again.

The Woof Tang Clan ain't nuthin to fuck wit'!