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Sunday, January 30, 2011

129th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Saturday July 14th, 1999 11:03 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Let me tell you about my life.

After we stopped emailing last night, I hoped for some kind of Friday 13th kill-thrill movie marathon to cap off a seeming perfect day. Not that I wanted to be gouged optically, hacked and minced internally or threatened by a vocally vocoded Lurch who desperately ‘wanted to put their evil inside me…’

No, I simply wanted to be frightened by watching it happen to others on my wonderful cathode ray tube telly. For that’s what the Friday 13th’s about, an indestructible killer in a mask, yeah?

So - there I was – home alone. Elsa was out with some friends at some costume party (come as ‘your favourite psycho’ party) not to return until the wee hours. (Note: I had elected to stay home because the idea of wearing that Winnie the Pooh costume again was too much for me to bear)

Besides some solo time was just what this misanthrope ordered.

And it seemed perfect. I toasted a toastie, made a strong cup of Yorkshire Gold tea, turned off the lights, lifted Oftenbark onto the couch and prepared myself for some classic slasher horror to keep me company and guide me into the 14th.

It seemed like a perfect waste of time.

And I was so ready; ramped up, fore-played and titillated by our moody cruel banter of bloodlust-Badlands-Moors-Bonnie-and-Clyde-Leopold-and-Loeb murdering of our dear bloody Russell:

I was set aquiver.

But then - the TV exploded.

Okay not exploded – maybe more whimpered as TS would say leaving me just with the grainy super 16 memory of masked killers and bad acting.

Damn you Cathode Gods.

So I went to bed, wanting to dream the bad that good man fear.
But that didn’t even happen. All I got was one of those work panic dreams where I forget how to use the bar code.

I hate that dream.

So I woke on the 14th feeling betrayed and craving comic book violence.

Elsa wasn’t home yet so there was no one to moan to or at least be tortured by with indecent tickling.

I guess she had a good night. You know those dancers - once they get the kick, they’re kicking until dawn.

Even Oftenbark was weary of the idea, preferring to lazily chomp on a squeak toy that looked kinda like my Uncle Dan’s face after he was badly sunburnt last New Years day.

So what was I to do? Well, I showered, ate toast, invented a new facial expression and decided to make a weapon out of alfoil and coat hangers.

And that’s when he returned, my Boogie Man, my Jack the Ripper, my nightmare, my slasher, my killer in a mask.


Him: Hey!

Me: Keith!?

Him: Do I know you?

I couldn’t believe it. It was Keith. He was obviously still dressed in his Ed Gein costume from the previous night’s party.

Me: What you doing here?

Him: Need to piss.

I shook my head trying to block out this all encompassing image as Keith waddled drunkenly toward the back of the flat.

Elsa walked in shortly after.

Me: What’s Keith doing here?

Elsa: He gave me a lift home.

Me: He’s drunk.

Elsa: I don’t think so.

We then heard vomiting.

I turned and looked at Elsa as she shrugged and collapsed on the couch. She tried to turn on the TV to lull her away from the boozy night.

Me: It’s broken.

Elsa: Oh.

More vomiting was heard from the toilet.

Me: So Keith was at the party?

Elsa: I know.

Me: Why?

Elsa: We have mutual friends.

This seemed implausible as Keith finally emerged from the toilet.

Him: I wouldn’t go in there for a bit.

He said as he plonked himself on the couch between us.

Me: So, Keith. I see you went to the party as Ed Gein. I really love the hick bib and brace and leatherface mask.

Keith looked at me, bewildered.

Him: Who’s Ed Gein?

I couldn’t be bothered responding - here I was again with this immortal extra sent to taunt and torture me forever.

Him: Hey do you mind if I sleep here today?

Keith finally said after what seemed like the longest ten seconds of my life. I looked at Elsa – who was moments away from sleeping.

Me: What?

Him: I’m wiped.

Me: So?

Him: Do you have one of those allergenic pillows?

Me: No.

Him: I might snore then.

Me: You can’t stay here.

Him: Why?

Me: Because you frighten me.

Him: Really?

Me: You’re always going to be in my life, aren’t you?

Him: I don’t know.

Me: You’ll always be after me?

Him: Only if you steal my wallet.

Me: I can’t kill you can I?

Him: No.

Me: I’ll never be able to kill you?

Him: No!!

Me: Even if I stab you with this fake alfoil sword, you’ll come back from
the dead time and time again.

Him: I might just go, okay.

Me: But you’ll be back.

Keith started to back off out of the lounge room, nervously.
I watched him go, never taking his eyes off me until he reached the door. And there I was again, alone and comfortable with Elsa sleeping next to me. And though the TV was shot and it was a day later than I hoped, I realised I had finally got what I wished for.

I had gotten my horror film.
I had gotten my boogy-man.
His name was Keith.

Him: Hey, mind if I borrow twenty bucks. I’m nearly out of petrol.

Said Keith as he made one final appearance in my life for that day.

Me: My God, I’m in the sequel already.

Him: So no to the twenty bucks?

Me: Burn in hell.

Keith shrugged and left. His smell still lingered from the bathroom, his torture was complete and I was eternally going to be his last girl.
Please help me.

Dom xx

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

128th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Friday July 13th July 1999, 22:21 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Yep, yep, yep… done and dusted…checklist ticked…you can count on me to give you everything…least I can do for a dying man, right?


PS though I might baulk at children that respect you...unless you’re made out of chocolate...

Sunday, January 23, 2011

127th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Friday July 13th, 1999 21:21 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

If you’re shouting, I’m getting me the biggest coffee ever.

And a sandwich.

And some cake.

And some orange juice.

And some more cake.

And a little chocolate something.

And a fancy coffee that actually ruins the taste of real coffee.

And some new trousers.

And some chocolate trousers.

And some socks.

And a new Television.

And a car.

And some more cake.

And a return ticket to Rome.

And a house.

And a chocolate house. (NOTE: It doesn’t have to be too fancy)

And a wife that adores me.

And children that respect me.

And a winning lottery ticket.

And a doctor on call to stop any illness.

And a Mausoleum for when the doctor fails.

Speak during the week.


PS And if you get my that Mausoleum, I want it to have a 24 four hour coffee-stand just in case I come back from the dead (‘Cause I’m really going to need a coffee then.)

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

126th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Friday July 13th July 1999, 19:01 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Love to come over and share the thrill…but I’m working early tomorrow at Guide Dogs selling Tea Towels and woollen underlays…wanna get some cash...gotta stop sponging off Marcus…need to grow up...

And I know you’re thinking; Stacey - tomorrow is tomorrow…let’s be in the present and enjoy the now…

…but I know that if I play in the present…I’ll not sleep ‘til six…not wake up on time…and be stuck eternally with this poverty monkey that loves to mock me…

So it’s best…I go to bed soon…and toss and turn and not sleep for a few hours and eventually get so sick of myself that I will literally fall asleep as an act of self hatred…

Wanna have coffee during the week as paltry counter offer? My shout…


Sunday, January 16, 2011

111th email - 125th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Monday July 9th July 1999, 17:46 PM
Subject: RE Pancake thank you

I hate that Russell guy…let’s kill him…

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday July 10th, 1999 10:06 AM
Subject: Ways to kill Russell

Yes. Let’s kill him. Any suggestions?

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Wednesday July 11th July 1999, 18:26 PM
Subject: RE Ways to Kill Russell

We could spike a small glass with of whiskey with bleach…encourage him to do his Aunt Maxine shtick…and when he’s finished…offer the lethal glass for him to put his false teeth into…so the next time he acts like a knob he poisons himself with his own performance…

You got a better idea?

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Wednesday July 11th, 1999 20:20PM
Subject: RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Or how about we advertise an audition for a new low budget privately financed film about the perils of hypnotic regression and just invite Russell.

When he turns up, you pretend to be the director and we’ll get someone like Marcus to pretend to be the Psychological adviser.

Russell, ever eager to please will do whatever you want.

So we’ll pretend to put him under and take him back to his childhood, encouraging a recall of his hardest memory.

We will then get him to recount it in GREAT DETAIL, filming the whole thing.

There will be tears. He will be truthful.

Once finished we make many copies of and send them out to everyone that he knows with a comedy soundtrack.

Russell will be humiliated and will lose control.

This is where we step in again and run him over with a car.

And I will never stop hating him.

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Thursday July 12th July 1999, 13: 26 PM
Subject: RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

You could just cut his penis off…

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Thursday July 12th, 1999 17:29PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Put bottle of gin into an enema and insert accordingly.

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Thursday July 12th July 1999, 23:47 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Make him drink petrol…

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Friday July 13th, 1999 6:11AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Something to do with Spiders. I don’t like spiders.

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Friday July 13th July 1999, 10:21 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Dare him to do a Parachute jump and when he’s not looking take out the silk and put an anvil in his pack instead (I think I’ve seen too many Loony tunes cartoons…)

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Friday July 13th, 1999 11:59 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Cut off his eyelids, put him on his back so he’s staring at the sun and tie him down in the desert during the longest summer’s day of the year.

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Friday July 13th July 1999, 14:41 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Mugged by clouds ‘cause that would be funny…

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Friday July 13th July 1999, 14:43PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Sorry meant to say ‘clowns’… not clouds…

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Friday July 13th, 1999 16:36 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Make him eat his own cooking.

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Friday July 13th July 1999, 17:41PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Cut off all his fingers and all his toes…stitch his fingers to his feet and his toes to his hands and then hang him off the story bridge and take bets on how long he lasts…

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Friday July 13th, 1999 18:01 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Ways to Kill Russell

Ignore him, avoid him and forget him. He’d never get over it.

Or I could be successful. That would shit him. I could get a gig in Los Angeles as a writer and pen thinly disguised stories about him.

I like that. Yes, I like that a lot.


PS Hey did you know that it’s Friday the 13th. What you guys up too? Want to come over and watch some cheesy 80s slasher films?

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

110th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Sunday July 8th 1999, 14:54 PM
Subject: Pancake thank you

Good Afternoon Stacey, thank you so much for the Pancakes. It was lovely.

Elsa is still sleeping when I got home. I did get a grumble that she hoped I had a nice time, though.

As it happened it was nice just hanging with you. We haven’t done it in ages. There always seems to be other people around. Not that I’m complaining. It’s just you’re so damn popular, girl.

Funny to see Marcus’s flat again - towels, bath mat, large framed and ironically expensive Posters that drip with Soviet aesthetics. I mean, jeez, who knew that Lenin was so expensive.

Anwyay – odd to see the flat again and man, it was a weird week I spent with Marcus last year.

And as promised - this is what happened that set me on Marcus’ couch. Reliving it earlier would have certainly ruined the pancakes.

So; it started with a girl. I mean it always starts with a girl, right?

See, I’d just split up with this girl. Her name was Therese. We’d been seeing each other since high school and had just started living together.

She was smart, sweet with a very strange best friend.

His name was Russell. He was a complete attention seeker. He was this wannabe actor with a passive father who raised Greyhounds and a domineering mother who looked like Elizabeth Taylor.

Fortunately Russell was amusing. But he was very possessive over Therese. They’d known each other since primary school and they often declared arrogantly that they were best friends to strangers. Russell sent Therese her first ever Valentine’s card and Therese had seen Russell naked “accidentally” on at least two occasions.

Strangely I knew and trusted their physical intimacy. He would often ask her to sit on his lap, braid her hair and pinch and grab her. He liked to gently bite her eyebrow and she often held his hand when we all watched a scary movie.

And I have to stress, it wasn’t romantic. Really, it wasn’t romantic.

Six months ago, he came out and it all made sense. He felt because of his choice, he had the right to be overtly physical with her. He felt he had the right to own her as sex was never going to get in the way.

And he worked it. Boy did he work it.

He made her laugh more than I did.
He was allowed to show more public affection than I did.
They shared secrets.

One night around November of last year, Therese and Russell went to Sydney for a trip to see another one of their tight-knit friends. They’d been planning this trip for ages. They saved up, caught the train and stayed with their mutual friend in her share house in Darlinghurst; 6 bedrooms - near the Taxi Club, from memory.

I was not invited to join them.

Russell had stressed that this was a Therese and Russell trip. He didn’t think I’d fit in with their Sydney friends and besides we were all getting that little bit older and this might be the last chance they had to share some quality time together.

After they went I spoke to her on the phone. She said she missed me and really wished I was there. She was certain her friend wouldn’t mind either. There was a couch in the living room big enough for two.

As she was talking I could here Russell in the background, holding court and making people laugh. He even interrupted our call pretending to be an operator demanding that the line was free in case of emergencies and witty banter.

The following day I bought a train ticket and went to Sydney to see Therese.

This really annoyed Russell.

The first night I got to Sydney, Russell had organised a dinner for Therese and some other friends.

I was not invited.

Therese thought it was poor form. But Russell said he had already bought the ingredients and there wasn’t enough food for me too.

So I spent my first night in Sydney, alone, waiting for their dinner to be over. I roamed around Circular Key, trying to make friends with the Buskers and counting the boats on the harbour.

Finally I went back to the Darlinghurst home around midnight.

The dinner had wrapped up and Russell was dressed as an old woman. The Old Woman was Therese’s long lost Aunt Maxine (one of Russell’s many characters. He liked to pretend to be other people.)

As Maxine, Russell wore this second hand lavender dress. He had this grey wig and custom made false teeth (from his Brother Dentist) that made him slur. His false breasts, made from stitched-in gym socks, rested on his hips. His heavy fabric pearl coloured tights had multiple ladders.

But all this design was nothing to the spirit of Aunt Maxine.

Aunt Maxine was filthy. And this night in Darlinghust was no exception.
Aunt Amaxine was on a roll, discussing the importance of genital hygiene and recalling bogus story’s of Therese’s lack of maintenance.

I tried to join the laughter but as soon as Russell saw me he turned his improvisation in my direction.

Russell (as Aunt Maxine): And here’s a nice clean boy. He washes himself all the time. He’s so clean; I can’t smell him at all. It’s like he doesn’t exist. As if he’s not here. And I don’t trust it. He’s like an intruder.
Everyone laughed. I even laughed trying to fit in.

But deep down I felt I was on the outside.

As the night went on, people dropped off, went to bed, went home. And soon it was only Russell, Therese and I. He had taken the wig off and his false teeth were floating in a small glass of Scotch.

Russell (as Russell): Well I’m going to brush my teeth. Are you coming Therese?
There was an awkward moment. I wasn’t sure what was happening.

Russell: Dom, there’s your couch.
And there it was. Russell and Therese had been sharing a bed and I was again not invited.

Later, on the couch and alone, I couldn’t sleep. I felt betrayed. Therese was my girlfriend. We should be spending the night together.

Soon I became obsessed. I wasn’t going to take it anymore. I crept upstairs to their room and carefully opened the door.

I could see them, lying in the bed together. They were spooning and Russell was snoring. I whispered to Therese that I needed to speak to her. She didn’t wake up. I whispered again, a little louder. She stirred.
Russell stirred too. He told me to fuck off. He was tired.

I skulked out of the room. But in the corridor, anger started to build. This wasn’t right.

I re-entered the bedroom. But before I could get a word out, Russell let me have it.

Russell: How dare you. I am trying to sleep. You know I can’t get back to sleep once I’ve woken up. What is wrong with you? Not only are you not welcome in this room, but you’re not welcome in this house.
I looked over at Therese who was now sitting up.

Dom: What you do you think, Therese?
Therese blinked.

Therese: I’ll sleep on the couch with you tomorrow, okay?

I nodded as this great sense of loss welled inside me. I knew I was never going to win. And as much as it hurt, I couldn’t be with her.

I turned and walked out of the room, offering a passing and final comment:

Dom: Okay.
I went back downstairs and packed. I wrote a small two word note ‘gone home’ so they wouldn’t be worried and went into the kitchen. I stole some fruit from the fridge and quietly left the Darlinghurst house and walked to Central Station.

The next train to Brisbane was a few hours away; so I found a little nook near a 24 hour coffee shop and managed to get a couple of hours sleep.

A week later they returned.

Russell was bullyish as ever; demanded an apology for my dramatic and selfish behaviour. Not only did I impress myself on his friends; I also left without thanking them. Who did I think I was?

Russell: Also, Therese thinks it’s best if you don’t see each other anymore.

Dom: Is this your decision or hers?

Russell: Hers of course. Who do you think I am?
I turned and walked away. But as I turned the corner, I realised I wasn’t thinking of Therese at all. I was only thinking of him.

I was in a relationship with Russell all along!

How did I fall for this?

I felt for Therese then. She had to break away from this guy too. I needed to see her and offer one final plea for our escape; perhaps the mountains; perhaps an island.

She didn’t listen. She just directed me to her room. My belongings where stacked neatly in the corner.

Therese: You can’t live here anymore.

Dom: You know that you need to get out of here too. Maybe not with me, but you still need to get out.

Therese: But I like it here.
I left without saying another word.

I contacted Marcus. We’d recently connected at University over a mutual disregard for our film genre classes. I knew his parents owned the inner city apartment he was living in. And I knew it had a spare room because I’d stayed there a few months back when we watched the film I am Cuba together and got hopelessly drunk on Rum.

He let me stay until I got my feet back in the ground.

That was nice of him. We watched so many films that week. Mostly political in nature, though we did have one night where we watched some Ben Hecht written films and delighted at his subversive and comic disrespect for the American upper classes of the forties.

A week later, I bumped into Elsa and moved into her place.

So all said and done; it’s funny how our pancake breakfast made me think of this again.

And how much it seems in the past.
And how much I was hurt.
And how much I look forward to the future.

Oftenbark misses you already by the way.


PS Oftenbark thanks you for his reference. I’m not quite sure what he’s talking about :)

Sunday, January 9, 2011

109th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: To: Oftenbark Borax
Sent: Saturday July 7th July, 1999 23:41 PM
Subject: Re Reference for Stacey Marchenkova

Dear Oftenbark thank you so much for the reference…I will certainly use it when I go for my next job…your words are certain to seal the deal…and I think it’s only fair to offer you a reference in please find attached...


PS: See you tomorrow, my furry funny friend…

Stacey Marchenkova
15/371 Brunswick Street
New Farm, Brisbane AUS

Saturday July 17th 1999


To Whom it May Concern:

My name is Stacey Marchenkova and I’ve known Oftenbark Borax for quite a long time. We’ve been writing and discussing weighty issues for the last few months.

During this time, I have found Oftenbark to be a reliable source of valuable advice.

Now I know this could read hollow so let me share some specific moments for illumination.

To start with, Oftenbark is computer literate. Now call me foolish but I’m not aware of many dogs that can use Microsoft Word and Outlook Express.

Not only that he has conquered attachments and has a good grasp of the short cut keys. Unfortunately I can not attest for his skills with other software but I am certain that he could master any programme that’s placed in front of him.

But I don’t want to pigeon hole Oftenbark Borax as a simple desk jockey. He can do so much more than that.

Oftenbark is also a wit. He can be really funny, understanding that in itself a dog that chooses to communicate in the virtual world can be a mildly humourous concept.

But just existing in the virtual world is not enough for Oftenbark. His text is also funny too; revealing a dog that not only understands comic concepts but also the need and skill to fill the concept with comic elements.

So for these skills alone, I would recommend Oftenbark for any writing or even stand up performance gig.

But again, Oftenbark is capable of so much more.

Oftenbark also has a strong sense of literature and history.

I am delighted to have been introduced to the writings of Maya Angelou through Oftenbark. I wasn’t aware of her poetry and after his suggestion; I have now taken her words to heart.

Alaric 1st is another piece of historical teaching bestowed on me by this learned canine. This introduction has led me to reengage with my ancient history passion particularly the Fall of the Roman Empire.
See I adore a sad ending.

(and to note having both these references play against each other is not only testament of Oftenbark's expansive knowledge but also his understanding that clashing these two unlikely figures together is the academic essence of comedy – IE

“There’s an Englishman, Irishman, Maya Angelou and Alaric 1st sitting in a bar...”

The gag writes itself, doens’t it?)

So with these qualities, Oftenbark could easily take on the role of teacher in any capacity. He has taught me so much and I am proud to call him sir. Plus he’d look so damn cute in black teacher’s robes.

Finally Oftenbark is empathetic. This is a quality that I regard as a true definer in humanity. And to have it in a dog is humbling to say the least.

See, I am constantly battling my own sense of self importance and Oftenbark has shown me that the Universe isn’t just an idea in my head; other people exist, other people get sad, other people are affected by the tides.

So for these qualities: Technical competency, humour, exapansive knowledge, ability to communicate and empathy to aspire to, I whole heartedly recommend Oftenbark Borax for any challenge that is placed in front of him.

Simply if you have the fortune of hiring this dog, take it. He will change your business and life for the better.

Stacey Marchenkova.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

108th email

From: Oftenbark Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Saturday July 7th, 1999 21:42 PM
Subject: RE RE RE Stacey here.

Hi Stacey, Oftenbark here. I just heard we’re coming by tomorrow morning. Excellent. I’m really looking forward to it.

And he has no idea that we set this up to see each other, does he? Jeez he’s a putz. Let’s never tell him.

And yes, I do have a favourite treat. I’m quite fond of Choc Drops.


PS and I just finished a reference for you in case you need it in the future. Stand by:

Oftenbark Borax
4/15 Albert Street
West End, Brisbane AUS
Saturday July 17th 1999


To Whom It May Concern:
My Name is Oftenbark Borax. I have known Stacey Marchenkova for only a few months. I know that's not a long time and usually references are written by people that have a longer relationship with the referenced.

But I'm a dog. And in Dog Years, time is different. In Dog years I have known Stacey Marchenkova for a considerably longer duration. So please take this into consideration when reviewing this truly excellent human being for their applied position.

I first met Stacey when she came to dinner one night a few months back.

The guy a live had cooked a mediocre meal. Something Italian, he said. But I know it was more German. It was too controlling. It had anchovies.
And anchovies must be German, right? I mean if any food was going to invade a recipe it would be anchovies don’t you think?

Besides I heard once from a guy at the pub, that Alaric 1st smuggled this recipe in his golden robes when he invaded Rome for the third time.

Anyway, I digress.

Stacey never once complained about this obvious Gothic infused and bludgeoned dish. She ate it all and even offered a small compliment after.

I knew, however, that she was only being polite.

See we shared a moment late in the evening when I lay at her feet and she stroked my stomach with her foot.

It was in this connection that my sixth sense kicked in (by the way I hate that sixth sense can be called Dog sense from foolish ignoramuses that think sixth sense is the exclusive domain of canine – or even worse it’s the pecking bird brigade of uninformed elitists that Maya Angelou so wonderfully suggests could peck you to death with their unintentional insults because they simply don’t understand – hey and by the way did you hear Maya Angelou speak at Clinton’s inauguration? Amazing. But I digress again.)

Back to Stacey –

So Stacey is rubbing my belly and I learn that the meal wasn’t all the successful with Stacey’s digestive system. I and only I could hear the rumbling. But she never made mention of it. She smiled and kept his controlling fascistic ego happy. She even asked for the recipe. What a legend.

So it was with this connection that my regard for Stacey began. See this action displayed empathy and a kindness. No need to be cruel.

And if I was ever in the position of seeking an employee, this would be one of the first qualities I’d look for – see I don’t need to have some assistant telling me I’m lazy, fat and obsessed with walking. I know this already. I’m a self aware dog.

What I need is an assistant that will make my life easier and not be scared to lie every now and then to protect my feelings.

Isn’t that what we all want? Do you hear me God? Isn’t that what we all want? A little lie every now and then wouldn’t go astray. For instance I’d be much happier not knowing about Revelation or the Old Testament for that matter.

Just give me the happy bits with a little more Benji and Lassie narrative-like strands thrown in to keep me a least moderately engaged.

For instance – wouldn’t the Last Supper be far more engaging if it had a dog in it. Don’t you want to go back and think about the story again, huh?

Anyway back to Stacey: from this moment on Stacey and I started emailing each other. Simple at first but again (to iterate) in dog years it has now been going on for six months or so and each email reveals deeper levels of truth.

What I discovered in this discourse is that Stacey is a truly deep thinker. She cares beyond most and indulges others with such patience.

She is funny, hard working and a true team player.

Okay I’m assuming the team player bit. But I know that is an important comment in these references. If it helps, like my God, I will lie for a beat and say that Stacey is such a team player – so much so, that all breeds want her for their team.

I wouldn’t hesitate in recommending her for any job as I am certain she would be a valuable addition to any team.

Please contact me on the above address if you have any further questions.

Oftenbark Borax

PS: And if you don’t hire her never expect any dog to love you unconditionally again. See we all talk. We all talk. Don’t ever forget that.

Sunday, January 2, 2011

107th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Oftenbark Borax
Sent: Saturday July 7th July, 1999 18:29 PM
Subject: RE RE Stacey here…

Hi Oftenbark…thanks for your email and your lovely words…I was having a rather shitty day…cash poor…been living off Marcus for a few days…hate that…so I went looking for work…had no luck…

But today…I got a part time gig…yeahhhhh…

…it’s telecanvassing…nooooo…

I know that’s so dull…but it is for the Guide Dogs for the Blind…so I thought you’d approve…

I wanted to tell them when I applied that I was having a correspondence with a dog…but took your words of advice and elected to keep silent…

I mildly flirted instead… (though I’m sure a letter of support or a reference from you would’ve seeled the deal earlier)

Interesting to hear your thoughts on Elsa…but pretty hard core…as she seems rather nice, I thought…but perhaps nice in my language translates to plain in yours…not sure…

I also think it’s important to say that though I think Dom is great…but it’s not going to happen between us…not now...he’s got someone…I’ve got someone…timing is out…shame, I know...

I’d just hate for you to get your hopes up…

But on a more positive note when will I see you again…?

You should convince Dom to bring you over for a visit…do you have a favourite treat? I’ll get it in!!!

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