Analytical Dissections of the Critically Malnourished

This Week's Review: Pupcake

Pupcake is my girlfriend's dog. Pupcake makes me angry.

The meager eight pounds she is comprised of manages to host a vacuum strong enough to swallow all of my tolerance and faith in evolution. Her hobbies include barking, growling, and biting. Every time she does anything I wish she would stop. Sometimes, people ask her owner questions about her while I'm there, and I try to be nice but honestly my heart sinks every time I hear it mentioned that the dog is only a year and a half old. There could easily be 13 more years of Pupcake. Holy shit.

Pupcake can't leave me alone when I want to pork hard, which is devastating. The "dog" is so irritating that leaving it outside of the bedroom provides an intolerable burden to any roommates unfortunate enough to be in it's presence, and if left unattended it still chews things and soils the carpet despite being an "adult." Plus, it has such a small well of Chi that nearly any force ranging from a house cat to a misplaced pair of scissors could rob it of the life that God had to give it when he lost a bet. So anyway, yeah, as to not spoil the moment, I'll try to pretend that I'm not being bitten or having my salad tossed by an overweight rat that some crazed pet shop owner managed to con my girlfriend into thinking was a dog. This actually happens and it tickles really bad. Sometimes, I casually reach around and grab the dog and throw it about halfway across the room. The lady gets pissed and I try to tell her that the dog jumped, which she does not believe. Pupcake is a bigger cock blocker than herpes. A couple nights ago when I crashed at her place, the little blessing decided that pissing on me in my sleep was not enough, it had to eat a cookie on me as well. I woke up covered in urine and crumbs. The cookie had lots of nuts in it too, so many of the crumbs were large and coarse pieces of walnut or almond. I told my girlfriend's mom about this one night over dinner as a stance to defend my anti-pupcake platform, and her face became very distorted in an expression of disbelief.  Turns out I didn't make it clear that it was the dog that performed the act and the middle-aged woman was picturing her daughter giving me a golden shower while eating a cookie.  That was a fun one to clear up.

My only fond memory of the wretched weasel is this one time when my lady was doing her homework, I very casually wadded the dog into a back pack and zipped the zippers up to it's neck on either side. I proceeded to remove the coats from the hook on the back of the door and hang the back pack about 6 feet in the air before sitting down next to the heathen's all too sympathetic feeder. Whenever I touch or sometimes even look at my girlfriend in the dog's presence, it tries to protect her. It barked relentlessly and struggled against weak zippers that provided prison to its impractical body.  I laughed a lot and my girlfriend thought I was a dick.  It was totally worth it.  

Pupcake Final Review: F

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