Kumberbuzzles Over Canterlot

by SirTruffles

Dogbert in the Mall

“You sure you don’t want to say hi to Dad?” Dilbert asked.

The little white dog just stared up at the engineer. He stood on two skinny legs and had a body so rounded that he resembled a fuzzy egg.

“He’s been eating ‘all he can eat’ for the past ten years. I wouldn’t want to throw off his concentration,” Dogbert said. “Are you sure you brought enough towelettes this time?”

“Wally said he got a regular tube last year, and he still hasn’t run out,” Dilbert recalled, hiking up the two jumbo canisters under each arm. “Apparently the generic brand is surprisingly reusable.”

Dogbert cleaned his tiny circular spectacles on his fur and resumed staring.

“What? I’m not stupid,” Dilbert protested. “Given Wally’s observed record of poor hygiene, I applied a corrective factor of eleven and rounded up. The last one is a backup.” The knee-high dog continued staring noncommittally. “Gah! I’ll be out at five, ok? Just try not to get lost.”

Dilbert marched off into the buffet, leaving Dogbert alone in the Mall wagging his little tail. After a moment, he strolled off.

The decrepit structure was haunted by the aged drifting from window to window without buying a thing, solitary mothers with their snotty-nosed gremlins, and pierced teens loitering in the nooks and crannies in their black everything. Dogbert passed hole-in-the-wall venues which took the denotation far too seriously. When he got to the chipped public map, he knew better than to search for “you are here.”

“Ah! It’s a big fuzzy egg!” a male voice shrieked from behind.

Dogbert’s ears and eyebrows flew up. He whirled about to find himself confronted by a slim young man with olive-tinted glasses and a soul patch. He had an electronic cigarette between his lips and a whole red bell pepper in his hand.

“For your information, I am a dog,” Dogbert informed him tersely. “We are not ‘fuzzy eggs.’ It’s a common prejudice.”

“Oh! I didn’t realize. Sorry, dude.” The man’s face fell, and he crouched to scratch Dogbert’s ears. “Didn’t mean to whip out my privilege like that.”

“Ooh, fingers! Right there… yes!” Dogbert purred. “You have stayed my wrath, mortal. Pray you do not stir it again!”

“Aw, your ears are so cute,” the man babbled. “Who’s a good doggie?”

Dogbert’s eye twitched just a bit, but he made a show of growling contentedly and sweeping his tail side to side. Then he wiggled his nose. “Egads! What’s that I smell? Could it be… cancer?”

The man hopped back. “Whoa! Cancer?”

“Of course!” Dogbert’s ears flew up all willy-nilly. “Didn’t you read this month’s National Geographic?”

“Well I don’t exactly-”

“Of course you did!” Dogbert insisted. “Everyone did! And therefore you should be well aware this baby’s a sickness radar. Smells cancer a mile away! And I’m getting something right about...”

He wiggled his nose around until he had himself pointed at the bell pepper in his best impression of a foxhound. “Aha! Red-eleventeen-twelve: just as I suspected!”

The man looked puzzled. “Food dyes? But it’s all natural-”

“Nonsense! That’s just what Big Produce wants you to think!” Dogbert shouted. “That thing is leaking cancer like a nuclear reactor!”

“Oh geez! I had no idea!” The blustered guy gasped, dropping the pepper. Dogbert nabbed it.

“Never fear,” he assured him. “I will make sure it’s properly disposed of: it’s a doggie’s sworn duty to protect the innocent, after all. But wait…” He sniffed again. “I’m picking up something… aha!” He pointed himself at the e-cigarette.

“What, you mean this thing?” The man pulled the device from his mouth. “But the pediatrician on TV said-”

“Bah! Quacks: all of them!” Dogbert dismissed him with a wave of his palm. “Didn’t you see that article in the Times? Our unnatural electronic devices are leaking EMR like kryptonite, and it’s all right next to our brains! Don’t you know the only safe path is the green one?” He produced a fuming cigar from nowhere.

“Oh! Now that I think of it, I did hear something like that,” the man decided. “You’re a really cool little dog.” He took a pull on the cigar, and the electronic one dropped from his fingers. Then suddenly he coughed and got the shivers. “Oh geez, but I’ve been exposed for so long, what if I have-”

“Never fear! Dogbert to the rescue!” He produced a hip-flask as explicably as he had produced the cigar. “Alcohol: first ingredient on hand sanitizer. Kills 99.9% of germs! A nightcap a day keeps the cancer away!”

“That’s deep, little dog,” the man marveled, taking a swig. “Thanks a million. You’ve really turned my life around!”

“More than you think.” Dogbert wagged. “Have a nice day.”

“I will. Take care, little dog,” the man called after him.

Dogbert walked around the corner, twirling the e-cigarette between his fingers and wagging his tail smugly. He happened across a trash can and casually tossed the pepper in. Before it reached the bag, however, a hand shot out and snatched it.

“Whoa there, friend,” the Janitor said, taking a deep whiff. “Yep, there’s some good magenta thirty-four in that pepper. Do you mind?”

“Um, sure, not at all,” Dogbert said.

“Thanks.” She noticed the e-cigarette. “You wouldn’t want to trade up, would you?” She nodded at the device.

“I was thinking about it,” Dogbert mentioned.

The Janitor rummaged around in Her cleaning cart. “Well, it looks like it’s your lucky day.” From beneath a pile of trash bags, She produced a Twinkie so delectably soft and fluffy that both averted their eyes in reverence.

“You mean they’re actually food at some point?” Dogbert marveled.

“The production process has only a 2.71% chance of making an actual Twinkie,” She elaborated, waggling the pristine baked good. “And unless you know a guy, they’re all spoken for. But for you… I’ll have that little dohicky you’ve got there.” She took another look at the hallowed golden cake. “And I think you’ll have to throw in your soul.”

“I’ve only got the dohicky, I’m afraid,” Dogbert admitted.

The Janitor snorted, pocketing the Twinkie, but Her eye lingered on the e-cigarette. She gritted her teeth. “Fine. On three, then?”

“One,” said Dogbert.

“Two,” the Janitor supplied.

“Three,” they both finished, tossing their respective goods to each other.

While Dogbert cradled the Twinkie Above All Other Twinkies in his unworthy paws, the Janitor casually shucked the nicotine cartridge out of the e-cigarette, put the tip to Her forehead, and shut Her eyes. When Dogbert looked back, the end was alight with smoking plastic.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” the Janitor grunted, taking a puff.

“Um… same to you, ma’am,” Dogbert said, backing away with his prize.

Comments

[Dementia Ravenmane]

Capturing Dogbert's character is difficult, but this looks promising so far.