Mr. Popo's Lineup

Lined up on the table, naked, I count ten beautiful specimens. One of the masters inform me that each one is the cream of this season’s crop. He wears a DnD T shirt and I sigh and hum. This is an occasion! How dare he dress so casually. I flash my teeth. He stares, blinks, and stares again. I stare back and curl my lip, feeling my temper creep toward the surface. However, I decide the confrontation would ruin the feast and hide my deadly pearls. Just a dumb fool doing his job.

He smiles and guides me through each number. My mouth waters, and I struggle to contain my hunger until payment is settled. The two that stand out are Numbers 1 and 4. Number 1 shines brighter and is a flawless piece, like a star fallen from the heavens. T shirt Master tells me she is from New Zealand, and is a simple creature who roamed the prairies before she was shipped off to the markets. Number 4 is heavier set than the others, but her curves are tasteful. She wears the extra fat with grace and beauty. Master says she is from Japan. Apparently, she was not allowed out of her room and put on a fattening diet. I have no idea how you could take such a bountiful bessie from her own home, but master assures me the markets know what they are doing. Best of all, there are no chicks whose bones are much too skinny, or the stupid dolls who do no give the same bite when you sink your teeth in. No, these two are perfect.

I catch myself panting with excitement and adjust my seat. My patience grows thing, but I bark my approval to the master. My prized Bessies flinch. They look simply terrified, and my pride swells. It must be hard to be put on the market at such a tender age, but I would treat one of them well. Even though I stand a commanding 6’4 and my shoulders and hips fill out my fur coat handsomely, I can be delicate. I would treat one of the daises with dignity and honor. I think a nice walk and tour around my favorite local spots ought to soothe their soul before I have my way. A pleasant thought.

Just then, the other master, a vile woman dressed in an extravagant pink suit, barges in with a devilish smile. It is a one piece suit made from some extravagant material to match my fur coat. Even though I am pleased she meets the occasion, I hate her. She always tries to extort me. Extra payments, physical and psychological abuse, some stupid game. T shirt master greets her with a kiss and strokes her hair. Yes, cute, a family business, but we have business to attend. I adjust my seat again, slam my paw of a hand on the ground, sit up straighter and growl. Pink master spins around, greets me warmly and tells me to wait. They confide in private while I salivate and dig my nails. I whimper and whine, but they ignore me. My patience is dwindling.

Done with their conference, T shirt master goes off to the corner of the room to fix something. After bumbling around, he stops. Looking satisfied, he gives us a thumbs up and takes his leave. The useless piece of driftwood is sent to task and kicked out. I turn my attention to Pink Master. At least I am with the real broker and I steel myself for pink master’s terms. Staring into her evil eyes, Pink Master says, “Mr. Popo, you’ve been so good to us lately, we’ve decided you can have a bessie for no charge.”

Huzzah! Pink Master is being reasonable. I mean it’s about time. I frequent this exact establishment everyday. A loyal customer! I even wear their tacky merchandise. Naturally, because Pink Master is a psychotic narcissist, it is a pink choker. It fits me well, but I think the color blue suits my usual coat much better. Anyway, I am overjoyed, and give puffs of affirmation to signal I am pleased.

“Such a big man you are Mr. Popo.” She chooses number 4, and while I would have preferred number 1, free is an amazing deal. I lick my lips and make my way toward the daisy. Perhaps I will take them to the garden outside. “Go on,” pink master encourages, “E-”

Suddenly, a masked bandit bursts through the door and attacks Pink Master. I know I just droned on about hating her, but I puff my chest and let out a war cry. I see the other nine Bessies fall over themselves in panic and I have a decision to make. Protect Pink Master or my prize. I run to shield number 4. I don’t even know their name yet.

Pink master screams. The bandit mounts her, and strikes down with a club.

I bark a couple times and growl. The bandit does not even flinch and continues to attack. I am 180 pounds of rippling muscle and my bite tears flesh. Why doesn’t he flinch? He must be a demon!

Wait, the demon isn’t hurting Pink Master, the club is light and harmless.

The bandit’s mask is a plastic demon mask with chew marks. My chew marks.

The bandit smells familiar.

“Help me, Mr. Popo! Aaaahhhhh,” says Pink Master.

Then it hits me, the masked bandit has a DnD shirt on. Its T shirt Master beating Pink Master with a balloon. I glance over to number 4 and the others. Its one of Pink Masters stupid games, and I’m about to win.

I chow down number 4, so much for a nice walk I think and stretch my jaw to pick up numbers 1 and race toward the door.

“Mr. Popo! No! Bad dog,” Pink Master says, trying to reach around T shirt Master. “Get off me Michael, get him!”

T shirt Master rips of his mask and lunges toward me. I side step his outstretched hands and race toward the door that leads to the gardens. I hear DnD master crash into the table and groan. I make my way through the door and down to my makeshift picnic. My tail wags when I know I am safe outside.

I place numbers 1 on the ground. I lather my tongue before gracing my tastebuds with prime New Zealand beef. I lock my eyes on the door to the house in case Pink Master chases after me, but all I hear is laughter.

“Oh my god Michael are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m okay Ana, but that damn dog is too smart. He took the Wagyu and New Zealand beef strips!”

“Its only because you spoil him” she teases, “anyway did we get all of it on film?”

“I hope so, or else this concussion was for nothing.” Michael sighs, and checks the camera in the corner of the room. “Yeah its all here, even the part where your stupid dinosaur tail tripped me to crash into the table.”

“I did not! Don’t make fun of my onesie,” Ana slaps his shoulder, “Do you think we’ll go viral?”