I think the dog is probably more concerned with his housekeeping skills. He appears to keep his boombox on the floor amid his dirty clothes. The poo seems kind of dry too, as if he only discovered it several days after it happened when he unearthed his boombox from beaneath piles of accumulated garbage.
I couldn’t stand it anymore. There he was, eating another four Big Macs, large fry and the obligatory diet coke. What do I get? Nothing. Not even a fry. Not even the reject fries that still have some skin on them. Not even the ones that have the tips that are all shriveled and brown.
Ohh some dry kibble again for dinner. Sure. Yum. Ever wonder why I don’t run for this stuff? Becuase I eat by necessity. You feed your fat-ass the equivalent of 16 meals a day.
Then someone at the drive-thru commented on your order. I was there, in the back seat. I heard it. “All this is for you?!” You laughed, but I knew you were cut inside. Cut deep. So you went to the basement when you got home and pulled out that boombox you bought in 1995. Then Big Shiny Tunes 6 came on and you did your little workout. Cool, 20 minutes a day! Except don’t forget the fact that you still haven’t cut down on your Big Macs. So every day now I have to endure Bloodhound Gang’s ‘The Bad Touch’ while watching your rolls bounce up and down on the treadmill. The song isn’t even a good workout song. But don’t worry, eating that dry-ass-kibble isn’t even as vile as watching you run.
Then Christmas came along, and you put in Alvin & The Chimpmunks Sing the Holidays. Yeah. I want a hoola-hoop, and a gun to blow my brains out. Make the pain stop.
I’ll get your boombox. I’ll get it good. Then I’ll watch your reaction as you see it. And watch you clean it up. Sure, hit me with the newspaper–throw me outside. I’ll tuck my tail in between my legs, but my smile will be huge. Clean it up.
Oh, and the next time you try and make me run on the treadmill with you then laugh as I fall off, it’s going on your pillow.
I’ve heard of downloading, dropping the kids of the pool and sewer surfing with Kermit the bog. But now this post of the shitty music has presented me with a new idea for a slang name that means taking a dump. Dropping the DJ’s off at the Turntable!