This dog is doing some pretty shady under the table dealings. “Ahh,” he says. “I see you’ve finally decided to descend to my level. So the master becomes the student.” “Nope,” I reply. “I’m still the master here.” “Hey,” he says. “I have to go to the bathroom!” I go to get his leash. Never did find out what he was up to under that table…
This dog is on a walk. “Uh, we have a problem here, Walker. My bathroom bush seems to be blocked by this pile of cold. Clear a path if you please!” “Are you high?” I ask. “You can pee anywhere. Pee anywhere!” I immediately realize my mistake as I quickly back away.
“I made your bed for you!” yells this dog. “Uhhhhh,” I say, looking at the disheveled mess. “I can’t reach it though!” he says. “I’m a little dog!” I shrug. “Thanks bud.”
“Notice anything different?” asks this dog.
“Nope,” I reply. “What’s up?”
“About me, I mean,” says this dog. “Do you notice anything different about me?”
“Did you grow a mustache?” I ask.
“NO” yells this dog. “AAAAAH NO LOOK CLOSELY, COME ON!”
“Sorry, I’m not seeing it.”
“I’M SITTING ON A NEW RUG!!! YOU NEVER NOTICE ANYTHING!!!”
“Are you going to poop in shoes over this?”
“…yes. Yes, I will do that…since I didn’t already…at all.”
“Where have you been this whole time?” I ask this dog. “In this basket,” he replies. “Why have you been in that basket?” “Can you fit in this basket?” asks this dog. “No,” I say. “I can’t.” “Well,” says this dog. “Kind of pointless to explain then.” “Then why do you look so sad?” I ask. “Because,” says this dog. “I have to get out of this basket.”
“What are you doing?” I ask this dog. “I’m learning how to do impressions!” he says. “Oh yeah? What kind of impressions?” “Do you like impressions? I’m gonna do one!” “Maybe,” I say. “What kind of impressions?” “Good ones!” he says. “Watch this.” “…what’s that?” I ask. “I’m James Franco!” “That’s…actually that’s pretty good.”
“Why are you sticking out your tongue at me like that?” I ask this dog. He briefly puts his tongue back in his mouth to answer: “I’m practicing for when I go to the doctor!” “Dog,” I say. “You’re a dog. You don’t go to the doctor. You go to the vet.” “THE VET?!” yells this dog. “I HATE THAT GUY!”
This dog decided to apply for a job with the TSA. “I’m pretty good at looking through luggage and stuff,” he says. “Check this out.”
“Are you serious?” asks this dog. “I’m not getting on that, don’t be ridiculous. I’m comfortable. You weigh things. I’m relaxing.”
“We should check to see how much you weigh, buddy.”
“How about we check to see how much that isn’t going to happen BIG HINT COMING: it’s a lot.”
“I’ll pick you up then.”
“Pick me up and you’ll be picking something else up too!”
“Okay, you weigh a billion pounds.”
“That’s good, right?”
“What are you doing down there?” I ask this dog, noticing him sitting on the floor and staring. “I’m learning hypnotism!” he replies, not blinking. “Who are you trying to hypnotise?” I ask, sitting down in front of him. “Um,” he says. “Anyone who sits in front of me, I guess.” “Are you hypnotising me right now?” I ask, gazing into his eyes. “You tell me,” he responds. I realize I’ve been feeding him dog treats for the past half hour.
“Damn it.”
