So Jon and I have met several hundred people in the neighborhood simply by walking Chuck an average of 14 times a day, and although I don’t remember any of their names, or more specifically can’t remember, because the only thing I learned in college was how to forget things like people’s names, I remember the name of their dog and exactly what their dog has done or will do to my dog, whether that be sniffing his parts, playfully licking his ears or shooting their hot canine load all over his innocent head.
One of Chuck’s best playmates in the neighborhood is a 2-year-old golden retriever who has no control over her limbs when she comes within ten feet of my dog. She’s like a wriggling explosion of auburn cuddles when she sees Chuck, all hair and falling over and getting up and falling over again. Her owner, one of the 400 aspiring actors on our block, sort of throws up her hands in dramatic exasperation when this happens. It’s a dramatic exasperation so particular to the aspiring actor, like, perhaps someone will drive by and see me being dramatically exasperated and want to cast me in the next Miramax picture about the dramatically exasperated. It could happen.
Last night while the golden retriever was auburnly cuddling my dog, and the aspiring actor was being dramatically exasperated, she thought she’d share a little gossip about another dog owner in the neighborhood. Gossiping about other dog owners is something all dog owners cherish about dog ownership. Usually the gossip is about how that aspiring actor doesn’t ever pick up his dog’s poop, and have you seen the size of that dog’s poop? Or about how this aspiring actor won’t neuter his dog because someone in that household should have a large penis.
But last night the aspiring actor told us about how another dog owner in the neighborhood is a little dramatically exasperated because her dog won’t stop getting into the K-Y Jelly. Apparently, when the dog owner leaves the dog at home alone the dog sniffs out the open tube of Personal Lubricantï¿½ and chews it to pieces.
Now, I know there’s nothing inherently odd about an open tube of K-Y Jelly in someone’s apartment, especially when that someone lives in LA and happens to be in a relationship with a very large Argentinean.
It’s just, well, it happens that we’ve been walking that dog owner’s dog every day this week during lunch, as a favor. I mean, she gave us keys to her apartment so that we could come get her dog and walk it while she’s away at school. So she knew we would be coming over and entering her apartment, and that our eyes would have to be open in order to do this.
And the other day when we entered her apartment, with our eyes open, we saw an open package on her coffee table, just sitting there, not hidden, out in the open, and that open package contained gay porn.
And it’s not that gay porn is necessarily an odd thing, it’s just, it was gay male porn, and there were gay men on the cover holding their very large gay cocks, looking very gay and very shiny.
And so I guess I’m confused. Like, are other women aroused by gay male porn with their gay male cocks and spurting gay come? And what is this gay male porn doing to her dog that the dog is eating gay male lubricant? And should I be worried to leave my dog alone with her dog? And why am I all of a sudden dramatically exasperated?