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.
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.
