Dividends Almost Takes a Jog
Dividends Phosphate was sitting on the third floor of his spacious and well-appointed abode with his beloved Affenpinscher Rags Hoolihan curled at his feet, sipping from a glass of Chinese deer penis wine and reading from the various jottings and other personal writings collected in Elias Canetti’s The Human Province (written 1942 – 1972; translated 1978) when, through the east facing window on the other side of the room, he saw an individual in a brightly colored yellow windbreaker and pink compression shorts jogging down the sidewalk across the street.
“What a lazy piece of shit I am,” Dividends remarked, comparing himself to this hale and hearty passerby. “Would I leave this house in which my own body resides unpainted for twenty years in the kind of climate we have around here? I should think not! And yet I treat this very same body, the temple in which my spirit resides, with veritable indifference.”
In short, Dividends was inspired to go for a jog himself. The only problem was that he couldn’t quite find the motivation to actually get up and do it. Therefore, he called his priest, Father Casserole, in search of some assistance
“I’m not really an expert on jogging,” said the solemn man of the cloth, “but if you’ve dressed immodestly, taken pleasure in they who commit acts worthy of punishment by death, or eaten the blood or meat of strangled animals recently, I’m happy to hear your confession.”
“Oh, for crying out loud.” Dividends hung up on his longtime spiritual mentor and put a call in instead to his old high school sweetheart, Cornelia Hundeluft, who he was certain he could still count on in times like the present.
“Dividends who?” inquired Cornelia when Dividends identified himself.
“Surely you haven’t forgotten,” said Dividends. “We went to Winter Formal together sophomore year. Well, technically we didn’t go together together, but we made extended eye contact while you were dancing to ‘My Pony’ by Ginuwine with that douchebag captain of the football team, Tad Wellington.”
“Hey!” said Cornelia. “That’s my husband you’re talking about!”
“Ah. A bit disappointing, isn’t it? Anyway, enough about old times. The reason I called is that I was wondering if you had any ideas for how I could motivate myself to go for a jog instead of sitting here like moss on a log all morning.”
“Hmm,” said Cornelia. “I can only speak from personal experience, needless to say, but the last time my own pace exceeded a leisurely saunter, it was because I was being chased by someone whose name I’m prohibited by ongoing litigation from disclosing.”
“That’s a great idea!” enthused Dividends. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down after everything we’ve been through.”
Since it would have been impossible to find someone willing to chase him on such short notice, Dividends decided to put his preternatural powers of imagination to use by completely convincing himself that a bloodthirsty serial killer was hot on his heels.
“Help!” he cried out, bursting through the front door at a full sprint. “Somebody stop this maniac before he bludgeons me to death and then skins me, guts me, cooks me like a salmon, and feasts upon my seared flesh while sipping a dry white wine and listening to ominous orchestral music!”
As chance would have it, a police officer was walking by at just that moment, and Dividends ran smack into him.
“There, there, citizen,” said the officer, catching Dividends and draping an arm around his shoulders. “It seems I’ve once again found myself in the right place at the right time — let’s head inside together, you and I, and I’ll take care of this murderous menace once and for all.”
“Oh, thank you,” wheezed Dividends, whose preternatural powers of imagination were so preternatural that he still hadn’t remembered he wasn’t really being chased by anyone. Without delay, he led the officer up the front steps and showed him into the foyer, where the pair was greeted by a yapping Rags.
“I see the homicidal scoundrel has sent a rabid dog to head us off at the pass,” said the officer. “Should I shoot it?”
“Don’t you dare!” shouted Dividends. “That’s my beloved Affenpinscher, Rags Hoolihan, and he’s up to date on all of his inoculations.”
“Nothing to worry about, my friend — I meant with this.” The officer reached into one of his ample cargo-pockets and extracted a small point-and-shoot camera. “In my spare time,” he explained, “I dabble in pet photography, and without tooting my own horn, I must say I’ve gotten pretty good at it. It’s all a matter of forging an animistic connection with the true spirit of the animal. With your permission, I’d like to take a few snaps of this charming little fellow. I’ll share the proofs with you free of charge, and if there’s one that catches your eye, I can sell you a framed print at a very reasonable price. Previous customers say they’re perfect for hanging up at the office, because in that manner your beloved companion is never far from mind even when you’re away at work.”
“Thanks for the offer,” said Dividends, “but I’ll have to pass. To make a long story short, I don’t have any office in which to hang such an adornment on account of the fact that I’m currently unemployed.”
“Surely you’ll find a new job soon, though,” suggested the police officer.
“Unlikely,” said Dividends. “After all, I haven’t worked a day in my life!”
“How were you ever able to afford such a spacious and well-appointed abode, in that case?”
“Very easily. I’m a bank robber.”
“A bank robber?” The police officer unhooked a pair of handcuffs from his belt. “Nothing personal,” he said to Dividends, “but I’m afraid I’m professionally obligated to act on this piece of information.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Dividends held up his hands. “I’m not actually a bank robber. I just have a passion for wearing pantyhose on my face.”
“Well, that’s good,” said the police officer, “because I’m not actually a police officer. I just dressed up as one for Halloween, and it so happens I still haven’t changed out of my costume.”
“But Halloween was six months ago,” observed Dividends.
“Six months?” replied the uniform-clad carouser. “No wonder I smell like a pickle!”
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