Tag Archives: karaoke

The Story Of The Dead Dog

In New York City, in a roomful of girls one Valentine’s night, my throaty friend Heather put down her cocktail and re-lived this, the story of the dead dog.

So me and my friend Shauna used to get into all kindsa crazy trouble and there was this one night in Seattle when she was stayin’ at my place and we go to Queen Anne to this dive bar called Ozzie’s to sing karaoke.

We get to the bar and there’s this sketchy guy in there carryin’ this tiny little dog and Shauna starts chattin’ to him and we’re havin’ drinks and shootin’ the breeze.

Then this guy tells Shauna he’s gonna go get some smokes so she says, Ok, and off he goes with the dog.

Well, he buys the smokes and he puts down the dog to get one out and the next thing you know a taxi clips the corner and takes the fuckin’ dog out.

Then there’s all sortsa shoutin’ and commotion and suddenly this guy’s back in the bar cradlin’ this dog like before only now the dog’s dead and there’s blood runnin’ down the guy’s stark white shirt.

And the guy’s howlin’ and cryin’ and callin’ out for Shauna.

But Shauna’s in the bathroom, so this guy’s standin’ in the middle of the bar with the dog and everyone’s lookin’ at him and he’s howlin’ and it seems to go on for ages and no-one’s takin’ control.

So I say, Dude, I’m sorry for your loss but you need to get the dead chihuaha out of the fuckin’ bar. It’s totally bringin’ down the vibe.

Then Shauna comes outta the bathroom and sees the guy and cries out, Oh my god, Oh my god, What happened to your dog? and there’s more wailin’ and ruccous before another guy steps in.

And I’m thinkin’ maybe he knows the dog guy but instead he walks up to him and slaps him in the face and says, Pull your shit together, man; it’s a douche-bag dog.

So the guy and the dog and some of the people from the bar go outside and I guess Shauna’s feelin’ kinda emotional coz she just lost two dogs of her own so she’s with them and she’s holdin’ the dog and she’s cryin’.

And it’s lookin’ up at her with these wide-open eyes that can’t see any more so she starts tryin’ to close ’em.

But the eyes won’t shut so she’s pushin’ ’em down and they’re poppin’ back up and she’s pushin’ ’em down and they’re poppin’ right back up again.

And it’s really kinda disturbin’ coz she’s callin’ out to the guy, Jesus wants your dog, Jesus wants your dog, Go to Jesus, little doggy, and tryin’ to get the fuckin’ dog’s eyes to close.

Course there’s so much noise that people start gatherin’ ’round and the dude’s still wailin’ and then like from out of a movie or somethin’ two hippy stoner dudes appear from nowhere and come skatin’ down the hill carryin’ bunches of wild flowers.

And they see a crowd of people around this dead dog and so they stop and lay down the flowers and soon everyone’s havin’ a moment’s silence and there’s this little impromptu doggy funeral outside the fuckin’ karaoke bar.

Next up, this police car comes drivin’ by and it sees this group of people and stops to investigate. So the cop hears the story and takes the details and gives Shauna a little yellow HazMat body bag, which she lays the dog in and starts rollin’ up like a frickin’ burrito.

And I’m thinkin’, This is off the scale, man, I swear-to-God, this is one freaky-ass evening, I’m goin’ back inside the bar. So in I go.

Then 10 minutes later this guy comes up to me and says, I think you need to go find your friend. She took off with the dead dog guy and he’s a total tweaker. He hasn’t been to bed for 2 days straight and he just lost his pet so I think you’d better go get her.

So I start freakin’ out coz she doesn’t have a cell and I don’t know where he lives so I’m chasin’ all over tryin’ to find her and eventually she gets on a phone and says, Heather, you have to come get me. I’m in this dude’s apartment and it’s totally messed up.

So I ask her if he’s there and she says, No, and I say, Where is he? and she says he’s gone to buy a beer because they decided to go bury the dog and he needs a beer to bury the dog.

So I jump in a cab and go to the apartment and Shauna was right, the dude is a serious crackhead- McDonalds boxes and food and shit piled high on every surface.

I use my arm to clear a space on the coffee table for the yellow bag and I put the dead dog there and I say to Shauna, We gotta get outta here. And she’s sayin’, No, we can’t, the dude’s not gonna get closure with the chihuaha if we leave. But there’s no way we can stay, I say, If we stay we’re gonna rot. And  if we leave, she says, the dog is gonna rot, for sure.

And I’m tryin’ to talk her round to bailin’ but she’s feelin’ for the dog so there’s only one thing for it, right?

We grab the yellow bag and bolt as fast as we can because we don’t know which way the tweaker guy went and we don’t want him to catch us stealin’ his dead pet.

When we get home I put the yellow bag on my coffee table and we sit and look at it and I tell Shauna I can’t deal any more so we call it a night and we crash.

Then in the morning the sun’s shinin’ and I’m wakin’ up slowly and walkin’ through to the kitchen and Shauna’s on the sofa openin’ her eyes and we both see the yellow bag and look at each other in the same way, like, that was for fuckin’ real?

So I have to get on the phone and tell my work I’m not comin’ in coz I have to handle some personal issues and then I ring ’round Seattle tryin’ to find a restin’ place for the dead dog.

And I find this vet in Eastlake and I take the strange dude’s deceased chihuaha in and I say, This yellow bag was on my friend’s coffee table, then on my coffee table and is now on your coffee table. It contains the body of a dog who passed away last night and now I would really like for you to cremate it.

And she did.

And I went home.

And that, ladies, is the story of the dead dog.


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Blissfully Naff from Hammersmith

Dear Auntie Soph,

How right you were.

I’m so naff I could marry Geri Halliwell at a Sandals Resort.

Not too-naff-for-Hoxton but properly white Ugg boot naff- right to the tips of my highlighted hair.

I feel like I’ve been trapped in some kind of hellish media-world merry-go-round and you’ve come along and set me free.

Everything about me was a lie (apart from my thing for karaoke, which friends thought was ironic but wasn’t).

I’m out and proud and being slightly too friendly to cool people.

I’m telling them that I like white bread.

Not hunks of thick-crusted rosemary and walnut bloomer but thick-cut Sunblest slices with iceberg lettuce in the middle. And malt vinegar.

I’m rubbing their eye-shadow free faces in my French manicures and taking mail-order catalogue gifts to their ‘kitchen suppers’, with a bunch of garage flowers.

Before your letter I was ashamed to say three little words. Now I’m prepared to shout ‘Malibu and Pineapple!’ from the back of the Eight Bar.

I love Dale Winton, roller-blading and yellow sports cars.

I think Mr Bean is comic dynamite.

Plus I’m going to let my parents stay with me and leave the house in daylight. They’re not as naff as me but they are old and unsightly.

Gastropubs are arse.

If you want the truth, lentils make me gag.

I crave breaded mushrooms at a Harvester.

And if it’s my birthday I want them to turn the lights off and for the whole restaurant to sing to me over a Viennetta with sparklers in it.

Don’t give me a glass of dry white wine, for crying out loud.

I want it sweet and I want a bottle. Wearing a dinner jacket wine-cooler.

And at Christmas you can ***k off with your Jo Malone.

I want a perfume gift set from BHS and tickets to see Gareth Gates. In anything.

Today in Waterstones I bought a copy of ‘Girl Power’ when I was waiting at the desk to pay for Kerry Katona’s autobiography.

I’ve enclosed it for you to sign (remember to dot your ‘i’ with a little heart).

Love and hugs,

Blissfully Naff from Hammersmith xoxoxox


Dear Blissfully Naff from Hammersmith,

Please stop writing to me.

Auntie Soph


Filed under Mumbo Letters, Musical Mumbo, Uncategorized