This is how low my life has sunk. I don't need a mirror to realize my suckiness, because now even my dog is cooler than me.
That my parents are obsessed with the wellbeing of the dog should be evidence enough that my life is loony. That they bought him a concubine is evidence I really need to move out of the house.
The story: My dog is some kind of purebred, AKC entitled, genetically superior uberhund. My parents are shrewd, middle-class opportunists. The result, obviously, is a rather unnerving forced breeding and for-profit sale of the progeny. But, hey, they're just dogs. It's not like they care.
My only complaint is that my parents were suckered into accepting this emotionally unstable (I didn't know dogs could be frickin' bipolar) trailer trash whore. Worst, the original owners couldn't handle the pooch, so they wanted us to take her. This means she has to be here, in my house, for their dirty, sinful business.
Go ahead, call me a prude. It's not the point. I'm out there betting my meager reserves of self esteem on girls who won't talk to me, but my dog gets a harem? Like, I don't need a fully-armored, battle-ready attack girlfriend. All I care about is whether or not she has a boyfriend (but we all know how well that works out.)
Why the hell am I jealous of my dog? Sigh. Maybe I'll become a monk. |
