the video: http://www.veoh.com/videos/v85453393GEGbFkd
Willy Dachshund, the sense driven, has an uncomfortable anxiety about life around him. Humans especially disrupt his chemicals; they have very questionable qualities about them. Some of them enjoy maple syrup and cream cheese, and others eat ovaries. Willy wrote up a proposal a few years back in a fit of creation for a diet that he knew was effective. It was his own. To hype his product, Willy conceived of a hook to reel customers into his wavering boat of truth. The Dachshund diet enjoyed a glamorous and ubiquitous popularity before researchers declared it cancerous.
Willy had been concerned about the world from an outlandishly young age. Bourne out of an innocent liaison to the zoo, little Willy cried embarrassingly in a main walkway. He’d been confronted by, in a short succession, an expansive elephant pen and an ice cream stand sporting 42 flavors of ominous frozen treats. His father, a man that believes firmly in reserving emotions, afterward could manage only vacillating affection for Willy. Later in Willy’s life, this ambivalence served ultimately to split his family apart. For Willy could endure only strong, unconditional love.
When someone mentioned early-morning malaise, or talked about election politics, Willy cringed physically and metaphysically. It was no different with poverty, war, peace or activism. His mind curled up into itself. Things came with too much variation, too many different forms, too many “right” answers. Willy prayed to the second toe from the left on Jesus’s left foot every evening, asking the glowing apostle if he would not color-correct the world’s moral and physical issues into either spiteful or acceptable forms.
Willy on this particular day was particularly weary of being confused about what he thought should be simple. Willy blearily fingered his glossy periodic table. He rested his hand on it and pretended it was definitive. When that didn’t calm his nerves, Willy sank into a temporary depression. When it did not become a constant or at least oscillating melancholy, Willy was only frustrated further.
So, Willy thought about Sonic Youth—a band that, he was sure, everyone agrees is the epitome of sound in music. He was glad that since 1986, they had kept the same members and have never gone on hiatus or broken up. Bands like Sonic Youth allowed Willy to think clearly.
Willy stepped out of his home on 12 Ample Road, into the blinkingly bright sunlight. He took approximately 5.3 steps toward his garage. This was the moment he overheard an argument about the poetic value of Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man Of The Sea. Willy, slowing down uncontrollably in pace, took another 2.7 steps. The old man fearlessly faced an enemy and in his struggled, triumphed. He then unevenly fell to the cement of the driveway. On the ground, Willy’s arms formed symmetric right angles on either side of his chest, his nose and forehead resting solidly on two separate pebbles. I think he did that on purpose.
Willy is rushed to the hospital with the well wishes of his arguing neighbors. It takes 2 minutes and 19 seconds for Willy’s jiggling organs to reach the hospital. Bureaucratically, Willy is rushed into the ER ahead of a man with a swollen lymph node. Many physicians had philosophized over the node’s origins. It was node to be noden for at least another century, and even then, it would be wrong.
After an interminable time under the sterile lights, Willy was slid into a bed in the recovery ward. His cheeks jiggled unevenly as the nurse fluffed his pillow. He had had a myocardial infarction in his left coronary artery. The physicians had revived his wheezing and jiggling heart. When he awoke, steaming uncomfortably underneath the hospital blankets, his consultant told him there were a few complications.
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