(Content Warning: Violence, blood, Gore, Murder, Language, and Crude humor.)
In Chesterfield, Oklahoma, Big Jimbo had just finished his shift at the puppy mill and was eager to get home. He put his yellow raincoat on and tucked his curly tail into the convenient waterproof pouch, which he greatly appreciated. Having a wet tail always puts a damper on your evening.
Before leaving work, Big Jimbo pranced into the doggie room, cocked his leg on the urinal, and took a whiz. The sweet feeling of an empty bladder filled his senses with joy. He washed his paws and snarled in the mirror to ensure his canines were sparkling white. His wife Betsy hated when he came home with discolored teeth.
He remembered one time when he walked through the doggy door to see his old gal staring at him, but it wasn’t just a stare. It was—the look. Every man knows the look, and to explain that cold hard scowl would send shivers down Satan’s spine. Betsy was ready for Big Jimbo to perform his faithful duty and service her until her heart’s content, but after finding a brown blemish on his upper tooth, her overzealous expectations were ruined. Needless to say, Big Jimbo spent that night outside in the dog house.
On this night, Big Jimbo was proud to say that his pearly whites passed his thorough inspection. He spat out his bacon-flavored gum in the trashcan and was thankful for that crutch. Making puppy food in the mill was a dubious task and one that made him hungry. Being able to chew on that salty goodness allowed Big Jimbo to keep his sanity.
The alarm on his watch beeped, and Big Jimbo knew he had to hurry to make it home on time. He jumped into his doggie cart and paddled home. His legs were tiny but powerful. At fifteen miles per hour, he was very proud that after all these years, he could still keep up with his fellow Chihuahuas. Although in truth, most well-trained dogs of his breed could run at thirty miles per hour, making them the fastest dogs on earth.
When Big Jimbo arrived home, he noticed the flashing lights of the television bouncing off the windows. He dashed through the door and saw Betsy sitting on the couch wearing her pink bathrobe and 3-D glasses.
“Hello, my darling!” Big Jimbo greeted with a smile.
Betsy turned her head ever so slightly and growled, “Shut up, doofus! Can’t you see my show is on!”
Jimbo hung his head low and huffed, “Oh, sorry, dear. I must have forgotten.”
“Of course, you did,” Betsy yelled. “Tonight is the special Chippendale extravaganza!”
“That’s nice, dear,” Jimbo said. “I’m glad you found some joy in that boob tube.”
Betsy shook her head and uttered, “Don’t be so glum. You know I love watching those humans shake their rumps. I love my sweet man meat!”
Big Jimbo nodded and, in secret, tasted bile in his mouth. “I’m just going to grab a bite to eat and go to bed.”
“Yeah, yeah…” grumbled Betsy. “Tonight’s the night where the guys jump around on swings and roundabouts! If I pause it just right, I might see a surprise!”
Jimbo lost his appetite and grimaced. “That’s nice, dear. I’ll just leave you to it. Goodnight.”
Betsy didn’t acknowledge her husband’s gentle sentiment. Her focus was on the TV. She sat back and chomped down on her favorite primetime snack—popcorn—and ignored everything else.
As the hip-hoppin’ beat blasted through the living room and a red strobing light pulsated through the house, Big Jimbo walked down the hallway and entered the bathroom. He wasn’t sad as he had grown accustomed to his wife’s insults. He was exhausted and didn’t think he could “perform” his faithful duties anyway.
Working in the puppy mill making dog food wasn’t a high-paying job, but it was an honest living. For five long years, Big Jimbo put in his time, and as any good dog would know—that’s quite an accomplishment.
Jimbo met Betsy at his best friend’s bachelor party. She was the stripper who popped out of the celebration cake and immediately took an interest in him. He was just as shocked as everyone else but went along with the flow. Betsy was supposed to dance for all the other dogs but couldn’t keep her hands off Jimbo. After the party, Betsy went home with her newfound stud muffin, and the following day, Jimbo had a new nickname… Big Jimbo. The rest, as they say, is history.
The warm shower was relaxing, and Jimbo felt a sense of peace, but it didn’t last long. His wife’s annoying voice cut deep like a thousand razor blades.
“Hey, Big Jimbo, stop wasting water and get your little ass to bed! Do you think we’re made of money?!”
“Yes, dear!” shouted Jimbo.
He stepped out of the shower, shook the water from his short brown hair, and took a deep shuddering breath. Jimbo knew there was no use arguing, so he crawled into bed for some much-needed rest. Betsy’s howling rang in his ears as darkness took him into dreamland.
Later that night…
Big Jimbo awoke to a soft scratching noise coming from underneath the bed. He instinctively started shaking like most Chihuahuas would do when they get excited or scared. Jimbo was not the exception. He reached over to the nightstand and turned on the lamp. The golden light was like a savior reaching out with a gentle hand to take him to the safe beaches of Heaven.
Upon searching the room, Jimbo didn’t find anything out of place. Oh, how he wanted to call for Betsy to help, but he knew there would be hell to pay if he disturbed her. His tiny heart was beating a mile-a-minute when he turned the lights off. He wanted to leave them on, but his wife would throw a bitch-fit. Her shrill voice echoed through his thoughts: You can’t waste electricity! We are not made of money!
Over the next few hours, Jimbo dreamt about a peaceful life where he was happy. In his dream, he walked down the neighborhood tossing doggie biscuits to all the little pups and found great joy seeing their smiling faces. Then his mind took a dark turn where he made a fresh cup of brown gravy and took it across the street to his bosomed Rottweiler neighbor, Minxy. She was very appreciative…
Big Jimbo rolled over in bed with his tongue sticking out and had a big grin plastered on his angular face. Then, his eyes popped open when he heard the scratching noise again. Fear gripped him in its icy cold hands and twisted his spine like a dead branch that needed to be cut from a blooming tree.
He quickly flipped on the lights and scanned the room. Nothing was disturbed, but Jimbo knew what he heard. He was such a light sleeper that if a mouse farted in his vicinity, it would wake him. Something wasn’t right, and he knew it.
Jimbo scurried off the bed and sniffed the room. He knew every smell in that bedroom, and nothing would lead him astray. His snout took him to the window, where a strange odor tickled his nose hairs. He followed that scent around the fluffy carpet where he found himself doing donuts until, at long last, the trail led under his bed. He narrowed his eyes and saw two fiery eyes staring back like a hungry predatory ready to attack.
“Help!” he yelled. “There’s something under our bed!”
Betsy was nodding off on the couch when she heard her husband’s cries. God… what a wuss! He’s always been a scaredy-cat. It’s probably just a bad dream.
Big Jimbo hopped on the bed, afraid for his life, and knew he had to sweeten the deal if his beloved wife was to come to his rescue. “Oh, honey… If you come here and help me, I’ll get you those tuna biscuits you like so much!”
Betsy’s eyes popped open like she had just won the lottery. Wow! He must be desperate if he’s offering my favorite snack. Well… this show sucks anyway, and I love my tuna biscuits.
“Fine!” yelled Betsy. “Here I come, but I better not miss those Chippendales later!”
“Oh, thank you, my dear,” Jimbo praised. “I know how you love those stud muffins, and I really appreciate your help. I’ll love you for a long time!”
You better… making me get off my soft, comfy couch to tend to your underinflated ego!
Betsy set her popcorn to the side and crawled off the sofa. She was still groggy, and visions of man meat flashed through her mind. As she walked down the hallway, she saw Big Jimbo shivering on the bed like a frightened child.
She entered the bedroom and closed the door behind her. Betsy rolled her eyes at Big Jimbo and ducked her head to look under the bed. To her surprise, two big furry paws grabbed her and pulled her in. The bed shook like an earthquake, and Jimbo was beside himself.
“Are you alright, my dear? What’s going on?!”
“Agh!” screamed Betsy. “It’s a monster!”
Jimbo’s eyes grew, and his heart raced like never before. He felt a slight trickle of urine splash down on his paw as he saw a stream of blood flowing out from underneath the bed.
Suddenly, his wife’s body was thrown against the white wall, leaving a massive crack with crimson ichor oozing down the floral wallpaper. Jimbo watched with terrifying orgasms as the monster revealed itself.
The creature roared like a mighty beast. It was a ferocious feline cat with massive claws and jagged fangs. Blotches of red covered the cat’s white and black fur, which looked like a mangled mess. Jimbo was surprised because the monster wasn’t finished with Betsy…
She was still alive, but only just. The cat roared a like lion—king of the jungle—and pounced on its prey. Much to Big Jimbo’s horror, the monster ripped his wife limb from limb and feasted on her salty flesh. Betsy’s screams were overpowered by the boppin’ beats from the TV that her precious Chippendale’s danced to. When the creature was done devouring his meal, he turned with blood-soaked whiskers and smiled and Jimbo.
“Are you satisfied, my friend?”
“Mr. X!” gasped Jimbo. “I wasn’t expecting you until next week!”
“Oh, shit…” shrugged Mr. X. “I must have gotten my dates mixed up.”
“Ya think!” Big Jimbo moaned. “You could have given me a warning, at least. You scared the shit out of me!”
Mr. X rolled his eyes and yawned. I need to find a better job…
“Yes, but the job is done. Where’s my money, Jimbo?”
Jimbo jumped off the bed and barked, “You’ll have it next week as we agreed. It’s not my fault you did the job sooner!”
“Fine!” Mr. X grumbled. “Well, I better scram. It looks like you have quite the mess to clean up.”
Big Jimbo looked around the blood-stained room and nodded. “Yes, I do, my friend. Yes, I do!”
Mr. X opened the window and jumped out like a coiled spring. His job was complete, and he had no reason to stay. All the years of being a hitcat were starting to take a toll on his ragged body. He would never admit though, because the money was too good!
It took Big Jimbo several hours to clean up the mess and dispose of his wife’s body. He dumped her carcass in the dumpster down the road and was sure no one would notice because he also buried her kitty-porn DVDs on her spoiled skeleton.
On the way home, Big Jimbo noticed Minxy, his Rottweiler neighbor, drinking a beer on her patio. He fantasized about joining her, but not tonight. Not tonight.
The first order of business was to get a good night’s rest. After years of neglect and angst, he needed one good night where he could dream. Dream about a life uninterrupted by a resentful wife who lusted after other men.
Big Jimbo climbed into his bed, pulled the covers up close, and breathed a deep sigh. “Ahh… what will life offer me now that I’m free?”
He closed his eyes and fell asleep, smiling.