Me and my dog have a very special bond. He's been my very best friend for three years, except for that time he slept with my girlfriend but she was a whore and would sleep with anything. I let him eat at the table for dinner, I subscribe to the local paper for him though I hate trees, and he licks away my tears when I contract an STD from that stripper at Total Exposure. Needless to say we hang out on a regular basis and eat Spam which is "crazy tasty" as it says on the box/tin/coffin whatever the hell it is.
He doesn't actually have a name as I drink too much to form coherent sounds, so he goes by "fucking white dog" when I address him. He has a tag that says "Eddie" and some address but I figure that he bought it out of his love for Van Halen. We talk for hours about politics, women, finance, until I realize he has no idea what he's talking about, trying to give me tips like "The secret to eternal life lies in the ruins of Peletonka in Peru" or something. I don't know I was watching paint dry on the walls at the time.
We also party together all the time. He's a total chick magnet and has a certain brevity not found in most people, let alone talking dogs. I usually tend to just drink alchohol, but fucking white dog tends to push the boundaries in the drugs department. He's never had a problem per say, but that all changed over the weekend...
Friday night I was planning on going to a cookout that was being hosted by my good friend Tom. Tom is a major drinker and all around good guy, but he hates dogs due to a traumatic experience involving his ass and a pitbull's teeth. This really cuts down on our hang time due to fucking white dog coming with me just about everywhere I go, so I figured a night away from him would be good for the both of us. Unfortunately he didn't take it as well as I thought he would.
Me: Hey! Fucking white dog! I'm gonna party with Tom at his place tonight.
FWD: Tom the cross-dresser or Tom the guy who hates dogs and peanuts?
Me: The dog hater...
FWD: oh.....well...
Me: I'm sure we could hang out tomorrow? I'll pick you up some snausages on the way home eh? And we'll go the park so you can attack children like you did when I first found you...
FWD: No No it's okay...I'm going to this party in uh...Kentucky....at my brothers...
Me: oh....
FWD: And unfortunately he hates muscular white guys so...
Me: so...
And with that he sprinted out the door into the night.
I had myself too good of a time at Tom's party and basically drank myself sober. Since I will only drive home from a party absolutely shitty I decided to stay at his house for the evening. I drove back to my apartment once I got my buzz crankin' again and even stopped for snausages, even though I forgot I owned a dog that day.
Sunday I noticed something peculiar. Chew toys, dog food, newspaper?!?! I hate trees!!! OH MY GOD FUCKING WHITE DOG! He was still missing from Friday night!
I jumped right into my car and drove around for five minutes in a frantic search. Nothing. No trace of his ugly yet majestic hide. Had he left me for good? Did he eat a chocolate bar and die? That bastard owes me 480 dollars! WHY GOD WHY!?!?
No more than ten minutes after I return, I hear a thump at the door followed by a small series of obscenities I dare not repeat allowed in this crowded daycare center. In he stumbles, his eyes reddened from days of drinking and smoking the reefer. He constantly rubbed his nose, blaming those "damn allergies". He was an absolute mess. I needed pictures.
After I took endless snapshots of his hungover state I proceeded to prod him for the story of what exactly happened. Apparently Saturday he woke up in Colorado with a hooker from Tijuana, 7 kilos of cocaine, 3 lbs. of marijuana, and a peg-legged pirate named Sal with no recollection of the previous night. It took him the remainder of the weekend just to get home.
I told him I was sorry and that I would kill Tom the first chance I get to prevent this from ever happening again. He accepted my apology and swore off pirates for the rest of his life. Nothing but trouble those godamn pirates. Oh and of course, I leave you with a picture of my dog after his night of shenanigans. Enjoy!
He doesn't actually have a name as I drink too much to form coherent sounds, so he goes by "fucking white dog" when I address him. He has a tag that says "Eddie" and some address but I figure that he bought it out of his love for Van Halen. We talk for hours about politics, women, finance, until I realize he has no idea what he's talking about, trying to give me tips like "The secret to eternal life lies in the ruins of Peletonka in Peru" or something. I don't know I was watching paint dry on the walls at the time.
We also party together all the time. He's a total chick magnet and has a certain brevity not found in most people, let alone talking dogs. I usually tend to just drink alchohol, but fucking white dog tends to push the boundaries in the drugs department. He's never had a problem per say, but that all changed over the weekend...
Friday night I was planning on going to a cookout that was being hosted by my good friend Tom. Tom is a major drinker and all around good guy, but he hates dogs due to a traumatic experience involving his ass and a pitbull's teeth. This really cuts down on our hang time due to fucking white dog coming with me just about everywhere I go, so I figured a night away from him would be good for the both of us. Unfortunately he didn't take it as well as I thought he would.
Me: Hey! Fucking white dog! I'm gonna party with Tom at his place tonight.
FWD: Tom the cross-dresser or Tom the guy who hates dogs and peanuts?
Me: The dog hater...
FWD: oh.....well...
Me: I'm sure we could hang out tomorrow? I'll pick you up some snausages on the way home eh? And we'll go the park so you can attack children like you did when I first found you...
FWD: No No it's okay...I'm going to this party in uh...Kentucky....at my brothers...
Me: oh....
FWD: And unfortunately he hates muscular white guys so...
Me: so...
And with that he sprinted out the door into the night.
I had myself too good of a time at Tom's party and basically drank myself sober. Since I will only drive home from a party absolutely shitty I decided to stay at his house for the evening. I drove back to my apartment once I got my buzz crankin' again and even stopped for snausages, even though I forgot I owned a dog that day.
Sunday I noticed something peculiar. Chew toys, dog food, newspaper?!?! I hate trees!!! OH MY GOD FUCKING WHITE DOG! He was still missing from Friday night!
I jumped right into my car and drove around for five minutes in a frantic search. Nothing. No trace of his ugly yet majestic hide. Had he left me for good? Did he eat a chocolate bar and die? That bastard owes me 480 dollars! WHY GOD WHY!?!?
No more than ten minutes after I return, I hear a thump at the door followed by a small series of obscenities I dare not repeat allowed in this crowded daycare center. In he stumbles, his eyes reddened from days of drinking and smoking the reefer. He constantly rubbed his nose, blaming those "damn allergies". He was an absolute mess. I needed pictures.
After I took endless snapshots of his hungover state I proceeded to prod him for the story of what exactly happened. Apparently Saturday he woke up in Colorado with a hooker from Tijuana, 7 kilos of cocaine, 3 lbs. of marijuana, and a peg-legged pirate named Sal with no recollection of the previous night. It took him the remainder of the weekend just to get home.
I told him I was sorry and that I would kill Tom the first chance I get to prevent this from ever happening again. He accepted my apology and swore off pirates for the rest of his life. Nothing but trouble those godamn pirates. Oh and of course, I leave you with a picture of my dog after his night of shenanigans. Enjoy!
