“Look at me. Look where I am. Look at this filth, this matted hair, these ribs poking through skin. Look through that video camera I stole and paid Milkjug a half-empty fifth to use to record this, and see who I am.”

“Hey”, a drunk voice says. Dirty fingers wave from behind the camera.

“That’s Milkjug. You can make him too, if you want”, slurs the skeletal golden retriever with teeth missing, using a bag of trash as a beanbag in some slimy alley.

“Anyway, MTV, I’d like you to look where I am, and I’d like to ask if you know how it feels to have a family that loves you, that saves you from a drunken clown and makes you into a local sports star. I’ll tell you, it feels incredible. Everybody loves you. Who the hell wouldn’t love a golden retriever who can play pretty much every sport ever, and whoops 7th graders’ asses in them on a routine basis? I’ll tell you that too: nobody. And then when they start making movies based on your life, and you are a star. Pedigree, Iams, jesus, even Meow Mix practically begged me for endorsements, and I’m not even a cat. And the Hollywood parties, and the award shows, and god almighty, the sex. Women go absolutely nuts over a celebrity dick, particularly a real-life hero. Most of the time they even forgot I was a dog.

I was a role model. I was a star and a beacon of light representing anything for everything everywhere around me, and I ****ed it up. I got full of myself. I left them. They saved me from that clown and I left them. Thought I would try my hand in the Octagon. You see these movies about you and the first one is a hit, and then slowly, confidently, everybody starts liking you a little less with every release. They start going straight to VHS, which means nobody is watching them. South Park makes fun of you. Everything around you is crumbling, and you just have to do something to get back on top.

I had this great trainer. Helio Gracie. The man founded Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, for christs sake. He would always tell me, he would say, “Air Bud, you goddamn champion, you’re gonna be incredible”. And he was right. I was unstoppable.
My first fight, and the guy stomped on my foot. It’s completely legal in the UFC, but it just pissed me off so bad. Instinct kicked in. I went for his throat.”

The beaten dog looks down at the ground, either remembering or trying not to remember. He takes a massive gulp of some brown liquid in an unmarked bottle. Maybe trying not to vomit.

“He died. I was kicked out. Sent to the pound. I got out of there thanks to Milkjug, but that’s another story.”

Milkjug laughs, “Chhhuhyeah, ‘nother story”

I tried to go back to my family, but they hated me. They knew what had happened. It was just unacceptable for such an innocent, G-Rated Disney family to harbor a vicious killer.

Do you know how hard it is to get a job as a dog? Especially if you are Air Bud, the one who killed a man just because. Just because my ass. You can’t be a janitor because you can’t hold a mop. You can’t work at a convenience store because your brain doesn’t have the capacity to work a register. I could just turn myself in to a shelter and have them find me a new family, but I want more than that. I want to be really loved.

I have no friends, except for Milkjug and Bicycle Dave, and between you and me, they both smell like piss. They don’t really love me. Helio Gracie loved me. Those women loved me. I’m not a champion anymore. I’m not loved anymore. I spend my time stealing things and selling them to some pawn shop so I can buy cheap liquor and drink it by myself.

MTV, please. Please make me into something else. I just want to be loved.”

The tv clicks off, and everyone in the small, dark film room is silent. One producer is spinning around in an office chair, staring at the ceiling.

He looks down and asks, in pain, “Do we really have to keep sitting through these twice a week?”

“Wonder how Milkjug feels about all that”, said another.

They laugh.
Today I feel electric grey
I hope tomorrow, neon black
Sh.it. I was hoping your piece was going to be a poem. I'm in the process of reading 200 pages of a textbook for class tomorrow and don't have time to read this right now. I'll be back tomorrow.
Don't worry about it too much. No sweat.
Today I feel electric grey
I hope tomorrow, neon black