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February 4, 2009 / lionelbean

This Asshole Has No Idea What He’s Talking About

From the Onion:

“Dog Finds Absolutely Perfect Place To Shit”

Oh ha ha ha, litterfucker. So clever! So unlike every other 100-word news brief the Onion joke robot poops out every four hours! At least when the updates were weekly they were funny. Now they’re just juvenile attacks on an entire species’ way of life.

If a member of dogkind were to write that same blurb for dogkind’s Less Funny Than McSweeney’s, Less Profitable Than College Humour internet publication, it’d be called “Human Takes Miracle Of Plumbing For Granted”.

You jerks don’t have to search for the perfect place to shit, because it’s inside the door next to the closet, in the room with all the tiles. You know what I’m talking about. The miniature white pool with water so sweet and fresh it might just be ambrosia. Yeah, you know the one. You’re on it, like, all the time.

I have a question about that thing: After you use your naked paws to trigger the scary whooshing-and-gurgle noise, do you meet up with other humans and talk about how awesome it is that you know where your next poop is going to go?

I’ll answer for you: No. You don’t. You talk about what’s for dinner, and about that show with all the sexy children, and how it’s badass that Obama is considering capping wall street CEO salaries at $400,000/year until the corporate bailout is repaid.

Well you know what? I don’t care. I don’t. Joke’s on you, punks. Because I also heard you talking about a possible camping trip in Algonquin this summer. That’ll be nice. Really relaxing. I’m looking forward to riding in the canoe, and sleeping amidst that fresh, parkland air.

And when morning comes, and you leave your sleeping bag, and you build a breakfast fire, and you make lumberjack coffee over that breakfast fire, and you drink that coffee…you’re going to be walking in circles in the trees like a 2-day-old puppy, trying to figure out where to go. I’m gonna love it, because you’ll have no clue. And me? I’m going to be walking in circles right behind you, snickering into my paw, pretending to be searching for one of those famous “dog’s perfect spot”.

Thing is, I figured out the perfect spot as soon as you put up the tent:

The tent.

Happy trails.

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