I Am Legion. But I wish I was Cesar Millan.

So I was busy pretending I was in another world in a stupid video game, and then everybody quit playing. And it was less fun to pretend I was alone in said made-up videogame world, as there's no real books in the in-game library, and my character only wears sunglasses anyway.

Everybody in my legion (group of players) quit, so I was left alone. I am Legion.

But you don't care about that. What you care about (I like to tell myself) is why your beloved protagonist keeps getting so many rabies shots.

It would seem that all five of my followers here are, in fact, stray dogs pretending to be human beings that I know. And them dogs are pissed at what I wrote.

I walked up to this random night club with my laptop about 2.5 weeks ago and was all like, "Hey! I'm from NYC and I'm a DJ and I'm superrrrtrendy and you should give me a gig." And they got all pumped and now I'm friends with a resident DJ, who seems like a pretty cool guy. I went out with him and his friends two Saturdays ago, and it was kinda broish and they listen to a lot of trance (as does everybody it seems, even my dreamfungus) but they also smoke a lot of hash.

God, this is poorly written.

Anyway, I had a pretty good time and actually got drunk with somebody who is not an anime character. They tried to drive me home, but since that would be too great to actually happen, there was a huge fucking iron gate in the way. Apparently at night these gates get shut, and it becomes difficult to drive places.

So, being a 3-minute walk from the flat, I decided to hoof it. I had told my new bros of my previous dog escapades, and as I exited the car and one of them made me promise to call when I get home, I said, "Don't worry about it. The only thing I'm afraid of is the dogs."

Chuckles all around!

Take my eyes, o cruel reality, for a prophet am I! Also, I am Legion.

The dogs. The fucking dogs. First with the barking, then with the growling, and then the surrounding of me.

Yes, that's right. About two blocks from my house, I'm encircled by four or five of the snarling beasts. More heads than Cerberus. This one whitish dog fucking lunges for my leg, but being a complete and utter wuss, I've already taken my first running step and am partially a-sprint.

What I learned in the next minute or so is that a terrified nerd (of the scrawny, rather than fat, variety) moves a LOT faster than some dog whose no-doubt huge testicles were no-doubt getting in the way of him speedily protecting his turf.

He followed me right to my corner and then gave up.

When I got inside I called the bros, who laughed (this wasn't cruel, we were all laughing), and then I checked my leg. Of course, the fucking dog just barely broke the skin, meaning that I just barely needed to get a full battery of rabies injections. Not to mention tetanus and antibiotics. Woo-hoo!

That night I cleaned the wound with antibacterial handsoap.

There was this one episode of the "Dog Whisperer" (TV-series in quotes, no?) where Cesar Millan went to a women's prison. There was a program there where inmates would work with troublesome dogs to try to train them so they could be adopted rather than put down. A meta-metaphor. What I found incredible and ridiculous about this was Millan's logic: "Yeah well, it sucks that I have to go to a prison, but the dogs need me." Not even a thought for his role in potentially improving the lives of the inmates.

So, anyway, Delhi can't be much worse than a prison. CESAR MILLAN, THE DOGS OF DELHI NEED YOU. THERE IS AN EXPAT WHO IS REALLY QUITE ANGRY AND IS GOING TO PUT THEM ALL DOWN (with an elephant mortar!) IF YOU DO NOT COME HERE AND SAVE THEM, RIGHT NOW.

Whew. Hope he heard that.

Let me summarize the situation: I cannot walk home at night because ***DOGS***WILL***FUCKING***EAT***ME.*** I cannot be driven home at night because there are huge fucking iron gates blocking the way. So now that I have friends, I can't go out with them or I'll be starting a new career as a back alley chew-toy.

P.S. I made a pipe out of a tiny little lemon because I don't want to smoke tobacco with my drugs. It's in my fridge now and I am so proud of it because it's so twee and good. Adorbz. This pleasure is necessarily fleeting, however, as the lemon will rot, along with everything else joyous. Such is the legacy of this place. Maybe if it rots into some blue fuzz, though, I can use it to clean my next dog wound.