The Gonzo Wolf

I know many of the things I speak about on this page are extraordinary, but that’s always been my life. I make up things for a living, and I can’t make this stuff up. I mean, I could, but I don’t need to. It actually happens.

My wife was on the couch doing some course work for Cornell (that’s a bit of a brag on my wife btw; love how incredible she is) – over-achiever – and I just couldn’t get this rhythm track right for a song I was recording. Needing a break, I walked outside. I was instantly reminded of last week’s trash fiasco.

Our courtyard just happens to be a wind-tunnel due to the placement of the other units, so an impressive amount of trash collects there regularly. As luck would have it, I was trained by the best trash picker-uppers in the business (before they succumbed to cancel culture and fired me for writing a disturbing horror novella three years prior to employment): Six Flags Over Texas.

My trash picker-upper thing runs circles around the ones they issued to us on the railroad. I’ve got the Porsche of trash picker-upper things. Seriously, you could beat someone’s ass with this thing. Little did I know, I would need that added strength on this very afternoon. Never skip on the bells and whistles, kids. Quality of life is important.

Now, if what I’d found – the item which sparked this particular work – were in my yard at my good old rural homeland, I would say it was one of those glass domes used to wrap telegraph wires around from back in the day. They resembled paper-weights, in a way. I found them all over the place as a kid when I’d go stomping around in the woods.

Here.

I found a photo of one.

They’re called glass telegraph wire insulators or something like that.

It was in the worst condition I’d ever seen; cracked and chipped in various locations. Without a second thought, I picked it up with my fancy grabber and placed it in the trash bag.

Pause. Skreech. Smile.

I don’t live in the woods anymore. I live a stone’s throw from Downtown Dallas. That wasn’t a glass wire insulator from the telegraph days, and I’m ecstatic I didn’t inspect it further using my bare hands.

(The cover photo is actually an AI creation from reading this piece. It knew exactly what I was talking about. Kinky.)

Now, this is where one of YOU may come in.

Dear “Whoever was in my courtyard with a glass dildo”,

Are you okay?

Where is the rest of it?

It’s not still “in-there” is it?

Like, I don’t know if you’re a dude or a chick, so I can’t say which “there” it’s in, but I can imagine your shock when you only removed a portion of the entire “sculpture”.

Would it make you feel better if we referred to it as a sculpture? That sounds fancy, right? I was actually in the art industry for a very long time, and I installed penis and vagina sculptures all over the United States. Mostly penis’, or penises, or peni, if you will. Not necessarily heterosexual couples, nor was it vaginas with lesbians (they like vagina paintings, though; as do I). Gay men love their wiener art, though. I’ve unpacked and installed some priceless dildos in Manhattan. I miss the art world sometimes, but, as usual, I digress.

Let’s get back on this dildo thing. Gently.

So, there was a broken glass “sculpture” in my yard, and the other piece was nowhere in sight. Should I check the hospitals like they do when there’s been a shooting victim flee from their captors successfully?

Whatever it was you heard coming from my bedroom window that made you clench up and break the damn thing in half must’ve been impressive considering I’m a white dude in his early-fifties. I wish I could find you and ask exactly what night that was in particular. If I could put my finger on it (the situation, not the sculpture), I’d like to do that more often.

I mean, if it made you do what you did, imagine what it did to the person I was doing it to?!

I’m a giver.

Anyway, you’re better off just buying a new one.

Do you still have the receipt? I assume you use a new dildo for each occasion; sculpture, I mean. Was it under warranty?

Stay classy, Dallas.

Best,

Yeah, so that happened.

Preach truths, toke jokes, and shoplift Amazon. If anyone needs assistance in caring for their own sculptures, I know people who do that.