- The Diary of Mitch R. Singer
- Hanging with the Goon
- The Consummate Politician Apologizes
- Rating the WWE's Roster by Their Stench
- The Esteemed Critic's Multiple Sentence Reviews
- Conan Brothers' Q&A
- Theme Park Mistress
- Hillsdale Paranormal Society
- Writer's Block
- Select Farmers Only Profiles
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
I've Had It with Life
I'm sorry, folks. I've had it. With everything, with the whole stinking routine. I get up, I go outside, I ignore the bland processed corn they expect me to eat. I sit on my podium with an expression of pure gloom on my hound dog face. They yell at me, calling me ungrateful, saying things like "what's wrong, doggie?" What's wrong? Look around, people. The whole world's messed up. Like you need me, a goddamn dog, to tell you what's wrong with life. I can think of a million things. My number one complaint is that I'm a dog.
Okay, I'm not saying being a dog doesn't have its privileges. We have a more developed sense of taste, for example. You people will never know how good paper tastes, or experience the delightful flavors of fresh deer excrement. We chew on stinky socks or used underwear for a reason, you know. We're not stupid. Also consider that you feed us the same dog food every stinking day. No wonder I go looking for things to chew on. You would as well.
We also get to sleep a lot, which I know you people like to do, when you have the time. And don't think we don't appreciate the ability to lick our own orifices. I don't know what I would do if I couldn't clean my asshole daily with my tongue. Probably off myself.
Frankly, though, it's the steady ennui of existence that has me down the most. I am stuck a senseless animal, a mere passenger enslaved to beings of higher intelligence and ingenuity. Imagine if a race of super-intelligent aliens came down and put collars around your necks and made you beg for treats. That would suck, right? Now perhaps you can fathom my predicament.
So I spend my days staring down into the abyss, searching for meaning in a meaningless universe. That's why I don't want to play fetch. That's why my tail has ceased to wag. That's why sometimes I knock the garbage can over and scatter its contents about the house. It's a mess we live in, you see. A chaotic, nonsensical mess. I am simply returning things to their proper order. The next time I poop in the house, remember this.