Dogs 400-405

Look, there is just no way around this: there's a good chance your body may simply never grow the way you wanted it to. In this case, the only thing to do is own it completely and allow yourself to be dressed up in pastels and be led around by a ribbon. Yes, a ribbon. The bloodthirsty war god who presides over your fiery howling dreams will make sure you get a better slot in the gene lottery next time around.


Sometimes it's really just about the waiting, isn't it? Tell this guy his leash actually broke on the way to having a sit-down, and he'll just look at you like: So?


When you receive this expectant look upon your return from wherever it is you went, you had damn sure better have whatever they're hoping for hidden behind your back. If you don't, you should make like you forgot something at the store and just run back there. It's cool, they'll wait, but not for too long. Be quick.


Did somebody spray this secret agent out of a can onto a slice of pumpkin pie, and just miss?


I don't know about you, but I for one would appreciate it if the aliens infiltrating our planet's ecosphere from top to bottom were a little more fucking subtle about it.


Shh. Shut up. Why? Because we're passing right by Cardinal Sighs-a-Lot from Our Lady of Perpetual Dismay, and if he sees us looking at him, we're going to get another one of those god damn sermons.

Dogs 394-399

Hint: there are certain times when you run across someone you can tell has some advice to give you. But there are also certain times when you shouldn't take said advice. And if you stop to ask yourself which kind it is every time, you're doing it wrong.


There's something to be said for going into battle alongside a dude who's dumb but also tough as hell. You can be sure he's not going to pull any surprising bullshit on you, for one thing, like turn out to be a double agent. He just doesn't have the brainpower, and for once you can be glad about it.


If you've got one of those super-strong dogs that can yank a parking meter out of concrete like it ain't no thang, there's only one way to handle the situation: tie his Hulk ass to a tree and hope it had a long time to put down some deep, deep roots.


Your secret's safe with me, Gandalf. I won't tell anyone you transformed yourself into a dog by accident, as long as you hold up your end of the bargain and see to it nobody makes another Rock of Love for as long as the Earth remains spinning.


What is that around his neck? A bottle for capturing magical pixies? I feel like that's the sort of thing I would've noticed when I took the picture, but maybe anti-pixie technology only reveals itself when it wants to.


Don't you love those dogs whose heads you just want to ruffle with both hands and go "wooga wooga wooga" while you do it? Or is that just me? Shit.