blank'/> The Libe ob Don Estorbo de la Bodega Dominicana: November 2012

Friday, November 23, 2012

The Boid

I yam Zen.

Eben though I yam honghair. Eben though I yam the boid, the beeg, blag empteeness. Eben though I yam populaded een my stormarch by leedle Estorbitos: worn honnered y  forty leedle Estorbitos who are also Honger, the collecteeb Boid, the small bod loud Empteenesses, always cryeen' por food.

So whyporqueWHY does the Wooman, the cruel, eensenseeteeb Wooman, put ou'side where I can see eed...a GOOSE?

She say, The keetchen ees full, Cad, y eed ees nice y cole' ou'side, y the goose mos stay cool while I yam makeen' spaze por Thanksgeebeen' Deenhair...

Bod there ees spaze eenside me, I say helpfully. I yam the Boid.

She loogh ad me, you know, scrutinizeen',  tryeen' to read my mine'. Bod my mine' pure.

Como snow from Heaben.

Your heart ees blag, Cad. She say.

No keedeen', I say, I yam a blag cad. I YAM THE BOID!

Whadebber, she say, waid por deenhair.

So I waid, I waid. I yomp arnto the stone table y I doan' eben look at the forgheen' bird, I mean boid...forgue. The boid contemplades the boid.

Ees berber' deep.

(So ees the boid. Endless, full ob leedle hongry, cryeen' Estorbitos)

I waid.

Ad deenhair I seed ad the feed ob the yoomans, occasionally rafteen' (thad ees anorder story - thank you por your patience) como usual, y they feed me  p  e  q  u  e  n  o  pieces ob the goose. Ees ber' deleecious. The leedle Estorbitos are silen' y go to sleep, porreen', por seex whole meenutes.


Y now? Terreeble news. I go to the bed. Ved. Bed. Whadebber. He measure my typhoid lebel again. The Woooman weell essplain abou' the boid. Because always I yam hongree. Ees terreeble.

I yam honghair.

Ees there a peell por thad?

Neghs weegh they leab me. Always, I yam lefd. Senor John ees cormeen' to loogh after me. Maybe I weell geeb heem the leedle Estorbitos. I can care por them no more.

Maybe he weell breeng me a keetteen.

I yab always wanted a keetteen.

I yab larst my keettens.

The leedle Estorbitos are nard keettens. They are my borden.

Sunday, November 18, 2012

Happy cad...waid...

I yam yompeen weeth happeeness.


Porque I yam feelled with proteinas y fatty acids: the Wooman ran oud ob canned cad food y tonighd I was geeben TUNA por deenhair.

Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaajajajajaja, Yes. Feesh!

I can lebitade. I yam the mageec cad. I yab spreengs een my feed.

I yam....whad...

Whad do I hear?

The bed? I mean ved?

You say I yab an apppoin'men' weeth THE VED, bed, whadebber, this weegh!


The day after Thangsgeebeen'???

Bod I weell be full ob torkey! Or ham! Or both! My typhoid lebels weell be sky-high!

Libe can be cruel y onnusual, sormtime'.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Si se puede

My presiden': Eef they mess weeth you, they mos mess weeth me.

I weel ponch them righ' arn the nose!

Thursday, November 1, 2012

Horricane sheet

I larst my caddle een the storm.

To wash the beetter tasde oud ob my mouth I ade sorm meent. The Wooman yell, DOAN' eed thad, cad! Bod I ead, anyway. Whad ees a leedle bomeet between frien's? Eed's nard lighe I threw orp een the aparmen' - I sabe eed por the roop.

Deed I do thad?

Forgheen' Sandy. Loogh ad my terrace.

Ees thad worn ob my caddle? Queeck! A space blangkhet!

Too late.

Maybe I weell keel the squirreel.