All right, I know that I’m old. I know this. I’m 98 in “dog years,” which we all realize is an arbitrary number assigned by “the man” to keep my people down. How come nobody talks about our civil rights, huh? Got an answer for me, smart-guy?
I didn’t think so. You all are too busy laughing at goddamn cats that are too stupid to spell correctly. Since when is laughing at retarded cats an acceptable form of behavior? Idiots.
Anyway, I have a bone to pick with your kind, and not of the delicious milk variety (Purina FTW!). What the hell is up with your goddamn magic rooms? A door opens. I walk out of the hall into a room. The door closes. A few seconds later, the door opens … into another hall! Black-magic chicanery, that’s what I call it.
So here’s my problem: sometimes I can’t remember which part of the magic room is supposed to open up. Oh, that’s my fault? Listen, asshole, you’re the ones that build this crap, it’s not my fault that I don’t know which side of the magic room is going to magically open into Magic Land. Did I mention I’m 98 in dog years?
And my smart-ass “pal,” Scott. What a douche, taking a picture of me from the open door of the magic room while I stare at a wall. How the hell was I supposed to know it was just a wall??? Huh?!
Humans … someday I will bite you all.