Wednesdays with Flash

I have a dog; or, should I say, he has had me. Every now and then we chat about love, life, and the pursuit of tennis balls. These are some excerpts from my latest interview with Flash Forbes:

Me: Hey, boy. Who's a good boy?

Flash: Put on some fucking AC/DC!

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Me: Little man, all that jumping isn't good for your spine.

Flash: I may be short, but I'm pretty confident I can bite into your carotid if you would just put your face a little closer.

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Me: What did I do to deserve this on my day off?

Flash: Does the name Gruber mean anything to you?

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Me: You know what, doggie? I've grown very attached to you.

Flash: You know what, dickhead, you took me away from my mother as a baby and forced me into indentured servitude.

Me: No, it wasn't like that. I rescued you.

Flash: Bullshit. You chose me from a pet store window the same way a John selects a hooker in Cheongnyangni. And, similarly, you want me to perform tricks for you.

Me: That's hardly fair. I just want you to sit and play fetch.

Flash: And roll over and play dead.

Me: I'm not saying you don't have a point there.

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Flash: We're out of fucking sugared donuts.

Me: I'll pick up some tomorrow on my way home from work, then.

Flash: If I wanted you to pick them up tomorrow, don't you think I would have mentioned it tomorrow?

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Flash: You want to cross the River Styx, you gotta pay the boatman.

Me: You've been chewing on the wallpaper again, haven't you?

Flash: I'm not saying I haven't.

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Me: Y'know, you look so peaceful when you sleep.

Flash: You'll look more peaceful when you're dead. Tastier, too.