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.
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