Dogs doing lists #23: When We Crashed On Our Tandem and Landed In Dubstep
- Dogs flailing and convulsing under the incomprehensible compulsion of a bass line wobbling on the lower frequencies as the universe begins to pulsate in a double-time rhythm.
- Dogs leading an old-age pensioner into the basement of a dingy underground nightclub to sputter in impotent outrage, “Pear and— pear and apple— in Croydon gardens— bud— and— bud and blossom— and fall—” as the DJ raises an eyebrow and offers archly, “But your Uncle Dick has left his Croydon once for all,” and drops the bass.
- Dogs posing intimately entwined with a bottled chemical agent designed to dissolve brain and facial tissue right to your gleaming skull, and beaming in close-up to an absent camera, “SKRILLEX.”
- Dogs lifting a phone to a throbbing speaker as it pulses out a wobble bass note, shouting, “Chuck! It’s Marvin! Your cousin, Marvin Berry!” and adding, “Where the fuck am I?”
- Dogs writing in a Hello Kitty diary from within a digital sequencer, “I don’t know who you are. Please believe. There is no way I can convince you that this is not one of their tricks, but I don’t care. I am me, and I don’t know who you are but I love you.”
- Dogs holding a telephone up to a dubstep concert and shouting into the receiver to the personification of Death as he presides over a danse macabre at the end of the fifteenth century, “You know that new sound you’ve been looking for?? Well listen to THIS.”
- Dogs appearing on the nightly news to opine on dubstep, urging, “Dubstep, dubstep,” answering the anchor’s inquiry, “Dubstep? Skrillex, dubstep?” before all agree, in unison: “Dubstep.”
- Dogs absently registering a dubstep remix of a Paul McCartney song in a downtown Los Angeles nightclub and marveling at how far the British Invasion has come.
- Dogs lurching in time to the reality distortion waves emanating from a malfunctioning particle accelerator in an abandoned laboratory thirty-five stories below ground at the end of time.
- Dogs prodding the lifeless, small body coiled up in a booming bass speaker cabinet, mouthing silently, “It is time, Frodo.”
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