Christ I remember all the student movies I used to have to suffer through. Well, some of my fellow students at NYU made decent shit. Some even made better films than me! Quite a few actually. I held my own on the sixteen millimeter battle field.

What I mostly disliked about it, well there was two types of chumps projecting their work on screen that I didn't like. The first, while aggravating to sit through their creations, were easy to ignore. Rich sophomoric fuckers, taking everything for granted or as a joke. Completely insipid turdburgers they would show.

The best, or worst as it were, was this fratboy porterhouse brained tool. Made a short movie, shot on beautiful 16mm black and white. I still like the look of 16mm black and white, it's got a street like quality. Anyway, he spat all over the medium with a little number called "What Mountains Are Made For". Quick cuts of guys tearing down hills on mountain bikes, with whatever fratrock was popular then. Wasn't even an amusing Gatorade commercial.

The other type of crap merchants, was even more terrible. Pretentious, I am making the world's greatest art bullshit. So fucking full of themselves. I don't know who filled their ass with all that golden butter back where they came from. It was tedious dealing with their egregious self love. Their films just an extention of their vain mirror peering masturbation.

I had fun with the shit. Out of the five films we were tasked to make, three of mine dealt with plungers as the central theme. "Plunger Envy" was fun. Cause it had me and this French kid who was on my crew, fighting over a plunger in Washington Square Park. There was a foot of snow on the ground. We were rolling all around in it, fighting over a plunger, old ladies worried for their safety. Of course I ended the movie with me bent over a tree stump getting plungered in the ass by the Frenchman. Was popular with the park goers.

Been thinking I should make shorts again. Which takes motivation. Slacker spanky doesn't like motivation.

I keep making this short in my head about my Grandmother on my Pop's side. Well, her dead poodle anyway. Her black poodle Sambo. Nice name huh? Yeah, well this is why I'm not invited to holiday dinners anymore.

My folks would often deposit me with my Pop's parents during summers. My sis would go to my Ma's folks. Pop's mother wasn't a big fan of my sis. What a fucking cunt, making favorites out of her grandchildren. Grrrrr. Didn't think of it much that way as a rosey cheeked munchkin. Rankles my yambag now.

So, the poodle. I really liked the curly little devil. We played hide and seek. Sambo found it easy to find me with Milkbones in my pockets. Giggles galore. I thought he was my buddy.

In defense to the horribly named pooch, he was getting on in years as I was just starting life. Eye's cloudy and hearing shot. Would just stare out the window, enjoying the fuzzy nondescript glow of sunlight.

At five years old I thought it would be great to give my friend Sambo a big hug. Course, Sambo took it as a surprise attack from the unprotected rear. One minute fruitlessly gazing out the livingroom window, the next beset by a miniture grippy monkey. Spun around and clamped down on my face. I mean, Sambo had my mouth in between his teeth. Lips sealed shut by fangs digging into my flesh.

I couldn't scream cause Sambo had the face on lock down. The more I struggled to get free the more his hairy salt and pepper furred face dug into mine. I remember those milky eyes engrily facing mine. My Grandmother shrieks. Swats Sambo with a broom.

The next time we went to Chicago to visit, Sambo was no longer present. I was told he went away. Yeah, to the great gas chamber. He was blind and deaf, but I felt guilty later on when I realised they put him down ultimately cause of me. Felt even shittier when I realised people lied to me about it. If you snuffed the little rascal out just tell me for gourd's sake.

The scars on my lips are fairly imperceptible. No hair will grow on the mustache where teeth raked at my skin. Seems he got more of foothold on the left side of the face too, as there is a more noticeable mark on my bottom left lip. I wonder if he had anything to do with my lips being soft, strong and full today. If he did, big ups to Sambo the black wiry haired poodle.