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Believe me, I'm not really here for the table scraps
by a doggy

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that I'm sitting next to you, looking up to you with my little puppy-dog eyes because I'm begging for table scraps. Well frankly, I'm insulted. That sort of behavior is beneath me. I am here because I want to express my love for you.

That's right, I am here because I care about you, my master. I love you, but more than that, I deeply admire and respect you.

Now, there you go again, saying hurtful things like "Go away dog, you're not getting any table scraps tonight," and "Don't make me roll up this newspaper, you mangy mutt!" I'm not deaf, you know. I understand what you're saying, and it hurts me deep inside my tender canine heart.

But you don't understand me. I'm not continuing to sit by your side, panting and drooling, because I'm hoping that eventually you will give me a slice of your luscious roast beef or a hunk of your bread. I'm staying here to make it clear to you that I'm not here for your food, but for your divine aura.

Yes, divine. Your scent is like a thousand bitches' asses, sweet and compelling. I am here in adoration of your goodness and to show you that I am your loyal servant, as well as your best friend.

Now, does it do for man's best friend to be thrown out in the cold while you sit inside your comfortable dining room drinking gravy straight from the pan? What sort of one-sided relationship was this? Fine. Be that way. Screw you. Screw you screw you screw you screw...

Um, I didn't mean all that. I'm fine, really. I'll stop barking now. Put down that machete.

By the way, are you going to eat that?