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Regular updates of sarcastic and irreverent nonsense.
Master sends me out from his kennel at night so I can sniff at flowers and leaves and do squeezy until Master calls me back in to tell me I am good boy. I remember when I was puppy I did squeezy on furry blue grass in Master’s kennel; Master rubbed my nose in squeezy and told me I am bad boy.
Master give me biscuit from dog box and tell me I am good boy. When Master eats dinner in front of talking box I stand guard and make sure he knows I will help him finish leftovers that aren’t good enough for him. I go and get dog box so we can share biscuits but Master call me bad boy.
Sometimes Master take me into small room where he do squeezy on shiny white thing. If I try to drink out of shiny white thing or rub my nose in Master’s squeezy, Master tells me I am bad boy.
When Master invite friends round I get nervous so I clean myself for comfort. Ever since Master take me to man who put me to sleep my testicles are not as big they used to be; this mean I lick them for longer but have to stop when Master tells me I am bad boy.
Master put me on chain and we go for walkies on grey grass. If Master sees bitch with two legs he stop to say she smell nice. After more walkies I see bitch with four legs but Master call me bad boy when I try to smell if she on heat. If I do squeezy on grey grass Master put in bag and keep in pocket so he can rub on nose later.
If I good boy Master take me to park full of green grass where I fetch him stick that he drop by accident. After a while I decide it safer if I carry stick for him instead but he call me bad boy if I hold on too tight.
When Master come home from work I will dance and sing him beautiful song in celebration. I then show him buffet I made from tasty biscuits I found hiding in dog boxes and hopefully he call me good boy.