OK so I grew up with a lot of dogs. A lot of them in what we called Mitch and Pearline’s ‘House of Horrors’ in West Philly. We call it that because this was a home where there was this thing called discipline in the physical way when parents back then made sure their kids grew up straight. When parents made sure their kids got out and got some exercise by playing Fox in the Den, Dodge Ball or Box Ball.
Not like these little fat fuckers today who terrorize neighborhoods in packs of gangs rummaging through the local CVS and taking the phrase “flash mob” and turning it in to a felony.
Nor, as stated, like these fat bastards who sit at home pricking their fingers up and down on cell phones, eating Oreo Cookies and Lay Potato Chips working their way to the cover of Diabetes Weekly or the Obesity Journal.
So things were different and dogs were different.
Our family dogs were really stupid back then. Not like Pudsey seen on Britain’s Got Talent, the UK version of America’s Got Talent. The dogs we had couldn’t even be house trained. A few pissed all over the house, a couple humped every human person that came for a visit to the home and most were so fucking dumb that chewing the electrical cord of a plugged in light was a weekly occurrence.
Some dogs got lit up pretty good on the chew.
None of these dogs could do what Pudsey did with Ashleigh on Britain’s Got Talent. Damn Pudsey, making all of that money and I still have to by lottery tickets.
Watch this dog. Damn dog.