Dammit-Dave
Just received word on 7/25 that Dammit-Dave, which also appears on this site as a Post, will pub with the on-line Fleas on the Dog in their Issue #10, November 2021
Dammit-Dave Doesn’t Dare - Part #1
Dave doesn’t dare discuss his “dozen desiccated desultory dames” didactically. A driven dude, disdainfully Dave does divulge devolved, disingenuous deeds all, by definition, dubious: Donkey Dissipation, Dahlia Defoliation, Dog Defamation, Deliberate Donut Deprivation, Denticular Deviation, Dorsal Denigration. Daily dodging his “desiccated dames” discreetly, Dave deftly diverts dame discussions, by default dwindling donut disbursement dramatically.
“But Dave!” I decry, donut deprived, “A dozen?”
“Discarded a dozen,” Dave delineates demonstratively, “Dehydrated deportment, definitely.”
“Damned delicious detail, Dave! Don’t desist, dude!” I demand. “Diffidence downright detracts.”
“Deformed Degenerates,” declares Dave, distractedly drumming digitally. “Ditched me designedly.”
Drat! Is Dave’s descent diversionary? Has deduced disquisition describing damaged donuts diverted, dissembling down into dreaded didaction demonizing dames?
Dammit-Dave Doesn’t Dare - Part #2
Direly Different Day. I detect Dave doodling. No. Declaring it doodling’s a distortion. Deliberately, doggedly, distractedly, Dave duplicates definite donut-like discs.
Drawing by delirious drawing, I discern Dave’s detailed document developing.
“Dave!” I distress, descrying disturbed destruction. “Don’t! Desist! Defend!”
“Disc, disc, disc,” Dave doodles determinedly, disclosing a devastating discourse on demented donuts or, desiccated dames? I despair of discovery.
But Dammit-Dave doesn’t drive at distant destinations disinheritedly. Duressed, Dave is dare-devilish. Displaying determination, Dave diagrams a digit. A donut. Digit. Donut. Digit. Distinctly, Dave dittos dozens of duos of digits doubled by - donuts.
Donuts? Or the dreaded Device of Domestication?
The Deuce! I’m duped by the dangerous diversion of Dave’s demented duads. Daze and dismay! Are Dave’s divinely decontaminated donut days defunct?
Dave’s dutiful demise dawns, daunts!
“Dude!” I deprecate. “Damn drastic! Don’t do it! Don’t descend to ‘Dearest Darling’! Don’t dissolve to ‘delightful devotion’!”
Dark Down-beat Day!
Dear Dammit-Dave is damed!
Dammit-Dave Doesn’t Dare - Part #3
Dear Dave,
That dare-dame-devilish decade is done, dude! I divine you diurnally, damefoundedly driven to distraction. Don’t deny it.
I dare say I dwell deceptively, dexterously, daily disengaged, dozen-doughnuted, discreet – devoutly decondamenated – indamenified. Dubidameous doughnuts deliver my dispassion dependably despite the drudgery of disentangling my deviant downward dogmatic drift into dedamefinite diffidamenation. Discovering damefoundedness my desideratum dogs me down dishearteningly.
Dave, don’t deduce me doughnut delinquent. Devour dozens, I do, despite declining delectability, despite my domicile’s deepening damefoliation. Day-dreaming, I depict a deliquesced dame daintily, delightfully delaying departure then decocting doughnut dough.
D. David de Facto