by Matthew PonY Bones
Death does a lot of murdering. Bullet (s) and stiffened canine flesh. A messy bootleg wedding.
The circumstances of the dog’s assassination will forever be investigated. Unnoticed and unscathed, Two other dogs lingered inside the house deep in the Arkansas woods. The winter shades of night ran darker wet with plasma. Multiple gunshots are heard. The shotgun pistol machine gun was blasting out barks.
This is all about a fairytale mimicking real life. When this type of situation goes down, the tendency is an outcome of good endings suffering the violence of mortality. She was a good girl in a bad life.
Once upon a time, the porch was stained with blood, The porch naturally made demands for more blood. Inexplicable atonements luridly leer. A man met death. A woman met death. There was a dog that met death.
Did the other two dogs bark when their canine brethren died?
Mindy McCready’s soul was barking and yowling deep down inside her depressive saturated flesh. The brain was not working right. Every thought was a burned out dog bark. Ten thousand angels visited down with shotguns blazing then succumbed back into the ether. McCready was set up by the divine. She also fought back by taking on the divine by taking out the dog. Some have speculated that she is absolutely evil for this odd calculation. The sad faucet dripping has been interpreted and does sayeth the divine has gone thuggish whilst soaked in molasses dripping Morse code. The whole world is churning.
Guys do it all the time. Her lover and father to her child splashed the porch with blood a month earlier, sealing the occultism faith that death does a lot of murdering.
What was that dog’s name? Was the dog’s name Shotgun Willie? Was it all just a washed up country star cursed?
I repeat and intone she was a good girl in a bad life. I looked for answers. I crawled inside the echoed impression of her ghost brain. I wanted to know how she felt when she pulled that trigger and heard that dog yelp. It was a new type of nausea. I feel it. I felt her nausea. I time traveled back to that fateful day and became part of her hallucinations. There is the smell of metal. The moon is going backwards against the sky.
Let us blame Randy Travis. Let us blame Alan Jackson was good enough in bed. Let us blame Alan Jackson was not good enough in bed. Let us blame the assassination of the dog. This is proof she is a ghastly evil. I am underneath the sunlight eating rain upon my dead lover’s corpse. My body is swelling from alcohol. I go to the doctor. I am the doctor. The sheriff is against me. I don’t care about the sheriff. I am guilty of accessory upon my lover’s murder. I am the accessory to my own murder. My mother is the cult. She throws snowballs of snow at me. I am guilty of this life.
Lee Greenwood you should be ashamed, not about this death directly. Randy Travis is down at the station talking to the sheriff. He has infiltrated the beans with razors. The whole business is corrupt. I have been corrupted.
Let us blame Roger Clemens who destroyed the peace with the crack of a bat and slathered leather glove. God is not smiling on the Dixie road. This is our first lesson we all forget. I have forgotten every God damn thing.
There is a dirty plate in the sink with fatty steak gristle upon it. I hear a dog whining on the porch. I hear a dog whining on the porch. I hear a dog whining on the porch. I hear the silence of my children gone. There is a darkness talking in those woods.