Dog. My literal dog. I have grown to like you, maybe even love you. Real talk: I only started taking care of you because it scored me major points with Legs, your "owner," but over the years my affection for you has grown -- you, a Shih Tzu, the ugliest of dogs. When you die, I'll probably break down; because, so far in this life, I've only ever experienced mortality as it relates to pets; and you, when you're gone, will be doggie No. 3, pet No. 4. If the tables are -- possibly, probably -- reversed, however, I don't expect you to lament me. For I am but a man, and you are but an idiot dog.
Case in point: you shit on my bathroom slippers again. Again. How many times have I told you? That joke isn't funny anymore.
Dearest Jikko, this is your final warning. I'm serious. You're one sexy bitch, but if you drop another hot load on my slippers I'm finna take drastic measures. I'll leave it up to your imagination what said "drastic measures" will be, but, again, you remain a stupid dog, and I can be very creative in my torture methods, so you won't even see it coming.
Just stop shitting on my bathroom shoes, dig?
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