The Shaker

Some of you may know the Shakers, the north american bible bashers who believe Jesus will come again, presumably because they missed him the first time, but, you know, a remake is seldom a good thing (Jaws 2, Rambo 17). Think about it, JC is an Arab so what do you think he’s gonna do when he gets here? First he’ll try and rip you off, then he might do a bit of spitting but then he’ll kill all those north americans and no doubt more than a few south americans too and why would he stop there? Whitey will be dead meat - trust me, you don’t want him back.

This, however, is not about some religious zealot, this is about one of my previous owners who shook like a hood rat’s booty in a jungle club. Had I known when I first went to live with him that he would develop The Big Pee and by that I don’t mean the first one of the day, I mean Parkinsons, then I wouldn’t have gone there.

For the first few months he was quite a decent specimen for a human. He’d reached an old age, something of a rarity, and local women would forever be trying to get their teeth (tho’ not necessarily their own) into him. I was his first love so I reckon they’d have me rubbed out at the first opportunity. You’d be amazed what depths they’d sink to for their first lay in 35 years and they’d want loving like there was no tomorrow, but then for many of them there wasn’t. Poor Shaker wasn’t really up to a love-in though. It was like trying to poke a fried egg into a slot machine. I think sex at that age is wrong; it’s just one stop short of necrophilia. Yeuch, imagine the poontang! We’re talking something so old it had a separate entrance for blacks, dryer than death valley....

When Parkinsons struck he became very popular, he was always doing that involuntary waving and everyone seemed to wave back. He was also adored by the visiting care worker and she was a little hottie! Since the Shaker was incapable of stopping me I would hump that baby’s leg twice a day every day throughout my time there, niiiice! My goo-bazooka notched up 3 pairs of ruined leather boots – result!

The other bonus was that he had onset Alzheimer’s and couldn’t remember much. Quite often I’d get fed twice, kerchingggg! The best thing about it was hiding his possessions – he’d spend hours looking for stuff and I’d follow him around trying to look as puzzled as he was: the old head on one side routine never fails ;-) I was sorry to see him go in the end. Maybe I shouldn’t have hid his pills....