"Have Your Pets Spayed or Neutered"

written by the vassar comikaze

As of April 15, 2009, the Obama family’s puppy is more important to the American public than the economic crisis and the war in Iraq. Yesterday on msn.com, default homepage to anyone who still uses internet explorer (me), the lead story was “New First Dog has ‘Star Quality.” I don’t give two shits about “star quality,” and I couldn’t care less about a spoiled mutt that has a bigger house than me.

As you may have guessed, I am not a dog owner. To me, the notion of owning one doesn’t make any sense. It’s the same thing as adopting a retard, the only difference being that retards can be potty trained if shouted at with enough vigor. Dogs smell like ass, get their fur all over the place, shit wherever they please and sniff the asses of other dogs. Remarkably, people actually like when these repulsive things lick their face. “Look, he’s kissing me!” No, he’s not kissing you. Kissing does not involve licking your own shit and then slobbering all over someone’s face. If a dog tries to “kiss” me, I “rest” my hand on its head (push it away with all my might). Dog’s can go fuck themselves.

Of course, there are a lot of people that disagree with me. There are millions of dog owners in this country, and from what I understand, all of them think their dog is the cutest, smartest, most perfect little critter since Gizmo. Dog owners love these little bastards so much that they’ll justify anything they do. When they bite your hand: “It’s a love nip! He likes you!” When they jump on you: “He’s giving you a hug! He likes you!”

Every once in a while, dog owners will acknowledge that their dog is way out of line. When they do, these nut jobs actually try to reason with the damn things: “Baxter, stop growling. Baxter, do not tear out his jugular vein. Baxter, we do not have sex with gaping flesh wounds in this house. Baxter...Baxter.” Hey asshole, your dog doesn’t speak English. Know why? Because a dog is an animal; an animal that belongs outside with other animals.

Now you might be thinking to yourself, “I don’t get it. Why does the Vassar Comikaze, a reasonable, caring man hate dogs so much?” Let me tell you a story:

I was six years old and sleeping over at my friend Alex’s house. We were using his Star Wars action figures to recreate the battle on Endor while eating bowls of Rice Krispee Treats Cereal (green box and everything). After about twenty minutes, Alex called time-out and ran to the bathroom. I was left alone with his dog Willy, a big golden retriever.

I continued playing despite the time-out call, making the storm troopers kick each other in the face. After a minute or so I looked over at Willy and noticed something strange; a big, bright-red carrot-like object sticking up from between his legs. He was panting very loud and very fast and he was staring at me.

I had never seen anything like that before. I was scared. I figured the best thing to do was just sit still until Alex came back. It must have been at least five minutes before he did. During that time I sat there like a frightened lump, star destroyer in hand, ready to jab at old Willy if he tried anything funny. When Alex finally came back into the room, Willy ran away like nothing happened.

The experience hasn’t traumatized me, but it has taught me that you can’t trust an animal; even a big fluffy dog. One minute they’re man’s best friend, the next minute they’re fucking you over…literally.