I'm a nice guy. Maybe I'm too nice. Certainly I've weirded a few people out. Perhaps made a few people think I had less than pure intentions. Perhaps gone over the top. I understand that coming over cooing, clucking, and doing baby talk weirds some people out, but fuck you, and fuck your dog.
If your dog does not so much as return a bit of my attention, you have made a sorry mistake in raising him. Really. A golden retriever who will not so much as turn his head to me and smile after I follow you two with my eyes for a quarter block grinning, beckoning, calling him over with my eyes, to say hello so I can give his haunches a good, solid petting, is fucked. That's like a retard who isn't interested in public masturbation. It's unnatural. It's ungodly.
I get it if your schnauzer has his head too far up his own fucking ass, so high on grass induced rosy turds to give me the time of day, the satisfaction of running my abnormally large hands against his firm yet curly pelage, to give me the RESPECT I DESERVE, but a golden retriever, no sir–– that animal needs to be taken away from you.
And you act like you don't see me laying eagerly in wait for you and yours. I fucking love a Pekingese. I'll love that bitch to death, and for your dog, the Emperor's own! to treat me like I'm some Chinese rice farming peasant who should be averting his eyes as you and Mindy pass by me on the sidewalk after I have been standing there warbling 'Oooooh, I love him! I love hiiiiim! I looooooooove hiiiiiim!' for thirty seconds and to not even get a sidelong glance my direction, let alone the petting time I deserve, leaves me sorely insulted.
I will not abide.
You wanna go Chinese feudal state on me? you reactionary dog rearing fuck, won't give the commoner the time of day to shake Mindy around, loving on her long floppy ears, playing games with her flat face, fawning over her, I feel like I should go straight up, balls to the wall, Mao Zedong doggy cultural reeducation on your ass. Oh yeah. I'm gonna give a fucker so many Milkbones Biscuits it's gonna be shitting Cheesebone Biscuits until I have operationally conditioned glee at the very sight of my ass. I mean, not my ass, but generally. I mean I don't want your dog looking at my ass. I've had tapeworms. I needn't be reminded of what dogs can do to the old system, but,
And don't you pull your lead away from me when I'm playing with your Cocker Spaniel! No stranger has loved your dog like I have for the last 15 seconds. Not one. None. Not ever. Your dog loves me back. I am the fucking Mike Tyson of getting dogs to love me back. I am. I swear it. We're speaking to each other in Wookie. We are conversing. Hulloooo, we're talking here!
Tonight. . . you. . .
Sure I've done some things to pooches I'm not proud of. Yes, I've tried to kidnap two dogs in my day. Understand, the first one, that was a case of ransom and revenge. The second, that was the coolest fucking dog I'd ever seen! So smart! So smart it wouldn't get in the trunk. Little smug smart ass. And there was that accident that one time with the not swerving or braking, but c'mon, my passengers know: I took my foot of the gas. I also made sure it was dead. And it was old! I could tell. If you don't want your dog getting runned over, don't let her out of the house!
And that time my family's Jack Russell fell off my bunk bed. If it hadn't voluntarily gone up there in the first place, it never would have jumped down like that. You can't blame me. Those are animal instincts!
Is Max Spaghetti funnier than Rampage? Call me Spaghetti!
Despite these less then shining moments, never doubt for one second that I did not have a sincere and deep appreciation for little darlings. I love all the time I spend with them. I love animals so much, I don't even eat them! I won't even own them. That's imperialism. Matter a fact, you leave me alone with 'em, I might even free a few of them. You're trying to tell me your pug doesn't want to wander around Brooklyn? Haven't you seen Milo & Otis? Dogs love to adventure. And freedom is the very heart of adventure. Sure is.
So the next time you think you and your gorgeous white German shepherd, looking so much like Alf, can just waltz right on by me after I've told you to stop, slow down mister, blocking your way on the sidewalk, without so much as letting me shake his hand, smell his breath, and rub him down like some big fat Chinese Buddha, both of you are going to the country for some serious reeducating.
Gow raow.
