Huaraz and the Hungry Dog

This is a picture that a buddy of mine sent me of a cemetery in Huaraz.  He told me what the picture of, but I can’t remember exactly so I’ll just make something up. You can then go and research Huaraz on your own and see how close to accurate my invented story was, it will be a nice way for you to spend like two hours of your time while I’m busy getting drunk.
Anyway, back about twenty-seven years ago there was this noble little village in Huaraz that was perched at the foot of a lovely little mountain.  Life was good there.  The children were strong, they spoke respectfully to their parents, video games only cost a nickel a play, and coke was all made with real sugar instead of corn syrup.
Sadly, as is the case with idyllic villages, disaster struck.  In this village it came in the form of an earthquake that pretty much just cracked open the ground and swallowed up the town.  
The happy little village was gone…but people who remembered that there used to be a village there came back to the village one day and built a cemetery or something.  That’s what you’re seeing in the above image.
The friend of mine who sent me this image…hmmm, I’ll have to make up a name for him to protect his identity…let’s call him Owen…said he wanted to die and be buried there (not necessarily in that order) since it was such a peaceful place.
For some reason, the last time I was chatting with Owen, we were talking about superior self-righteous people who always like to claim that they suffer more than everybody else.  Owen said that their lives are bullshit.  The following is an EXACT quote since I have Eidetic memory.
“They should go on a trip with me to Patagonia on some trip if they want to suffer…go out with me where it’s so cold your balls freeze to your legs as you’re trying to sleep at night.  In the morning I always used to go out and have a morning crap and this dog would follow me around everywhere.  I used to wonder why he was following me, until I realized that he pounced on my morning production with alacrity and started gnawing on it with squeals of pleasure just because it was so damn cold he was happy to have something warm in his mouth.  Now THAT’S roughing it.”
Actually, the instance described here has to be in at least one (and probably more) of the layers of hell.  Chewing on warm shit just because it’s the only hot meal that’s available to you.  Just think of THAT the next time you start feeling sorry for yourself.

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