My dog, though a dainty little bitch, goes by the name Bubba Franks on Monday nights. She’s a pretty good tight end (great with the ten yard curl patterns) but not so good when it comes to a wide receiver’s duties.
A child’s clown bank sits on the top of my computer. It only recently came into my possession. However, it has found a way to encourage me to save money. It laughs at me when I pay my bills and celebrates with me when I come into some extra money.
My vehicle goes by the name Emilio. He encourages me with the incessant “Come on, man! Let’s go!” in his imperfect south-of-the-border accent. He likes Santana and minor league hockey. Especially the Charlotte Checkers.
This list is painfully incomplete. Nearly 50 percent of the inanimate or non-human things in my life come alive in my head as human companions.
Is this a sign of lonliness? Boredom? Madness?
Lt. Death Head, the Breaking News Hawk (actually an eagle), Marty Moose, the Coconut Monkey…they all grace my work desk as the hall monitors of my mind. Lt. Death head (actually a pez dispenser) keeps track of dead people. The Breaking News Hawk supplies adrenaline. The Coconut Monkey monitors the police scanner (while dreaming of a life in New Orleans). Marty Moose doesn’t do much but fall off the edge of my cubicle partition. That always makes me sad.
Insanity? Lost childhood? Too much time in the sun?
No time to decide. Emilio is babbling about Santana’s newest instrumental. I think he may leave without me for the next hockey game.