Brain dogs

    THERE ARE SEVEN DOGS on my street.  One day they started barking and they haven’t stopped since. I can hear them wherever I go. It does not matter if they appear to be barking or not; Inside of my head they never stop.

    It had taken me sometime to realize that most of them sound like people I know. My pharmacist and my sister are just two from the merciless canine choir that growl and roar while I try to sleep or eat my food.  Those two bark the loudest when it is time for me to take my medication. But I have stopped taking those pills. I’ve been saving them.

    My computer is full of spyware, and the customer service representative who is supposed to be helping me fix this, thinks that it is funny to put on different voices every time I call to ask for help. I know this is the same person, because they always fail to fix my computer. When this tricky son of a bitch isn’t sabotaging my computer, he’s barking in my head with the rest of the dogs.

    I don’t watch the shows on my television. All of the programs on TV are filled with people pretending to be somebody else and you cannot trust people who make a living as liars. Even I if wanted to listen to their bullshit, there is always music playing in the background and it distracts me from what is being talked about. I only watch the news when it contains information that could affect me. I have however, become increasingly concerned about the station director (who also happens to produce the nightly news) David Bruce. I have trouble deciphering the strange facial expressions that people are always making and lately I have noticed that the news anchors have been squinting with their eyes or setting their mouths in a very peculiar way. I believe this is done to confuse and irritate the viewer in order to elicit stronger emotions during viewing. I would simply watch the news on a different network, but the reception is poor and together with the barking, I cannot hear over the static. This has confirmed my worst fears: these sadistic forms of torture have been (by the command of David Bruce) directed at me. I also believe he is one of my dogs. Even though I have not met this man or heard his voice, the language and technique are identical. I even fear this is all his design.

    For a living, I take orders by telephone and you can be certain the dogs call in pretending to be customers. I work for a company that sells sporting goods out of a catalog. One of the saddest and hardest things that I have to deal with is that, Richard, my best friend and co-worker, is my fifth dog. I like him because he has a simple smile. I know that it means only joy or approval and it’s not tricky like the smiles of everybody else. Richard barks the loudest when I am lonely or depressed. It almost makes me feel better and that's what hurts the most; it's a ploy to make me dependent on the barking. The dogs, whatever they really are, know that I can stop them and they will do what they can to keep me pacified.

    If I decided to fall in love, it would be with Janet Sayers. She is a data analyst at the catalog company where I work. She is like Richard in a way; she isn’t always making stupid or tricky faces. She does make those faces sometimes, but only to teach me a lesson if I say something stupid like ‘How was your day, Janet?’ I don’t need her and since I haven’t decided to fall in love with her, I haven’t decided what she means to me. It’s convenient that she’s around; I don’t have to rush to judgment on anything. I’m relieved she’s not one of the dogs, but it’s likely they are using her.

    When she isn’t howling in my head with the rest of the pack, my sister stops by or calls me on the phone. She claims she wants to Make sure I’m doing alright or other things like that, but I know she just wants to make sure I’m taking the pills. The pharmacist probably told her I have stopped taking my Meds. He probably barked it to her in doggy code, right in my head, right under my nose. That son of a bitch started making those tricky faces at me the second I decided to quit the pills. So now, I have had to take steps. Every day, I take three pills (my daily dosage) out of the bottle and hide them under the- never mind.  If my sister comes sticking her snout around my house, she’ll think I’m taking them. Now the pharmacist (Todd, the smug son of a bitch) can see what it feels like to be unsure. Yesterday, my sister asked me if I have met anyone special. Chills ran down my spine. Poor Janet Sayers I thought, maybe you don't know about the dogs, but they sure know about you.

    The other two dogs are me and the bus driver. He scares the hell out of me, because he keeps his face as straight as I keep mine. Every time I have a particularly bad day at work or say something stupid to Janet, it’s after he drove me in. The worst thing about the bus driver, is that his barking sounds like silence. Whenever he barks, I can hear howling, it's the cruelest device in their arsenal. It’s not really me of course; I’m the one being tormented. They use my voice and every stupid thing I have ever said to Janet. This is how they punish me. This is how they're destroying me.

    Perhaps this all sound crazy to you. You may wonder, how people can sound like themselves, while simultaneously sounding like barking of dogs? Maybe you want to know how one person can hear something when nobody else can. If you have to ask, then you could never really understand. You probably can’t understand that for two days red was the only thing I could smell after seeing Janet smile when my boss put his hand on her hip. Do you think I haven’t tried to go to the source and deal with the dogs on my block directly? Why do you think I have been saving my pills? I gave two weeks worth of medication to the dog next door, the one that sound like my best friend Richard. All seven rose to a howling crescendo as I watched the little girl next door bawling over her dead retriever. I already told you that it doesn’t matter whether they appear to be barking or not.

    So, once again I have been forced to take steps. I spent last night waiting outside of David Bruce’s office. I killed him of course. Item #864HK in my company’s catalog is a large hunting knife. The brain dogs (as I have come to call them) are still barking. I think that I know why they have not stopped, but I won’t bother telling you; it may sound crazy. I know that I should just blow my brains out (Item # 533HR Walnut Arms 300 Winchester) but I’m afraid these dogs will be barking for eternity while I’m burning in hell. I have a plan that I cannot deviate from.  Yes, maybe I do sound crazy, but let me ask you this; could an insane man stay as calm as I have for the past two months with a pack of dogs snarling and barking in his head?

    While I write this, I am waiting in my home. Soon my sister will come knocking and tonight I will have to ask her some questions. I don’t expect that the dogs will stop barking regardless of how thorough my questioning is. My friend and co-worker, Richard, gets out of work soon and the customer service rep who pretends to help me is just a three hour drive from here.