On why I hate purse dogs

I get it. 

I really do.

I love my dogs too.  Like they are my children. 

But they aren’t. 

They are canines who poo and pee outside because they can and the universe is their toilet.  They don’t talk back but, they’ll never make it to Kindergarten given the pea sized brains and their often lacking attention spans.  They’ll never grow up to drive cars, marry off and provide me grandchildren one day.   

They’re satisfied and nourished with Science Diet, chew sticks, belly rubs, warm baths, cuddle time, long walks on a leash and dog biscuits.  I don’t dress them in couture outfits and they sure as heck don’t qualify to be purse buddies in my Louis Vuitton dog bag.

Via

So to the severely over-weight lady in the AT&T store on Lemmon Avenue,

Please kindly shut your little annoying Chihuahua who’s wearing the pink tutu and comfortably yapping like a fiend out of your purse while I’m trying to upgrade my iPhone next time I run into you at the AT&T store.  If you want to take your dog shopping with you, take it to PetsMart or Petco (where the pets go).  Don’t take the little shit into homosapien-specific stores and allow it to yap the efff away while I’m trying to converse with the nice sales lady over my never-ending 2-year contract. 

P.S. If you can’t endure running errands without your canine companion at least train it to keep it’s ugly little mouth shut.  It’s rude to allow it to bark incessantly at other store customers and not discipline it.  It’d be even ruder if I drop kicked the little turd into next Friday, but my parents taught me how to display common courtesy.

P.S.S.  I bet every time you give that hairless little dog a treat you fork down a cheeseburger from McDonalds.  Your underwear was hanging out of your fat pants the other day.