For those of you not familiar with Duane “Dog” Chapman, the world famous bounty hunter, please allow me the privilege of introducing you:
Isn’t he just the dreamiest?
I do believe that the Dog is masculine beauty personified, both physically and spiritually -- he is macho, beefy goodness in its purest form, male with a capital M who is not only frighteningly aggressive, but is also in touch with his feminine side. He is sweetness and light, dark shadows and creeping vines, a child-man, a teacher, an avenger. He is zen.
I’m insanely envious of his wife, Beth (who I also love, but, you know, not in that way. Well, unless I was really, really drunk...).
I love you, Dog. I want you to be my daddy.
How do I love thee? Well, let me count the ways, bra:
1) Your craggy face, lined with untold experience, hardship and joy, love and brute anger, thrills me.
2) Your saggy eyes, so puppy-like yet so menacing. When you crinkle them in amusement, I melt.
3) Your forearms, thick as uncut slabs of Canadian bacon, and your hands, big as King Kong’s, only not as hairy, cause my womb to quiver.
4) The mace that swings from the side of your hip is but a phallic tease that fuels my fantasies. Swing it, daddy.
5) The handcuffs. I cannot elaborate, for I am incapable of writing good pornography.. But you get my drift.
6) Your voice, deep and commanding, cracked from years of screaming “You’re under arrest, bitch!” leaves me weak.
7) Your integrity.
8) Your patience.
9) Your humanitarianism
10) Your gorgeous son, Leland, whose hand I now humbly ask for marriage -- not to me, of course, but to my eldest daughter the minute she turns eighteen.
Dog, the Bounty Hunter will air its last show of the season next Tuesday, 10 p.m. Eastern time, on A&E.
How will I survive?
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