Where are you going? OK, wow! The kitchen! Are you hungry, too? What did you get out? Wow! Peanut butter! Bark! I LOVE peanut butter! You want me to eat it off of your hand? Wow! Of course, I will! I trust you! Num, num, num, num! That tastes great!
Hey, you're taking off your pants! That', uh"¦ cool, I guess. We're all friends here! What' that? You want me to lick some from down there? Off of your"¦ uh"¦
OK, look, for the record"¦ I, uh, I see what we're doing here, Greg, and frankly, wow. I'm flattered, but no. I am not cool with this.
Listen, I'm gonna go over to the couch and try to calm down. If you'll just let me get by you, I can-hey, what' that? Peanut butter? Wow! Peanut butter! Bark! I LOVE peanut butter! You want me to eat it off of your hand? Wow! Of course I will! I trust you! Num, num, num,! That tastes great! You want me to eat some from down there off of your-wait a minute"¦
Crap! Bark! Damn this tiny dog brain! I can't believe I forgot about that already!
Greg, no. Bad Greg. Stop pointing at it like it' a Milk Bone, you're embarrassing yourself. For the record, I'm a dog, OK? I can smell the handful of half-eaten pork chops in the garbage can across the street right now, and I don't think I'll need the police department to close the case here-that' your junk, Greg. That' your junk slathered in peanut butter. I've got a snout buried in another dog' crotch for like 97% of my day, so trust me on this. I can spot the damn things in the dark.
Greg, stop pointing at it! You're making this more awkward.
Is it because I lick myself all the time? I've caught you staring, you know. I just"¦ well, I assumed you were jealous. If I gave you the wrong idea, Greg, I am sorry. My tongue' pretty much hard-wired to lick my own balls. They taste like grilled steaks to me. But that' sort of it, you know? It' not an "I love licking balls" thing; it' an "I love licking MY balls" thing. I can smell your balls from here, and Greg, those ain't steaks, man. No offense.
Wow, is this awkward.
OK, OK, look: For the sake of our friendship, I'll"¦ damn it. I'm four years old, I guess I can experiment once. Let', uh"¦ oh, God"¦ let', uh, do this.
But some ground rules: First, fuck peanut butter, Greg. You go back into the kitchen and grab that box of Snausages. I'm not a whore, you can open your wallet a little for this.
Second, you don't neuter me. Ever. If your package goes in my mouth, mine stays out of the vet' dumpster.
Third, I get a leg-humping any time I want, no push-aways. You wait until I finish, and you smile while I'm doing it.
Fourth-and this is the big one-if you ever tell any of the other dogs down at the park about this, Greg, forget "Man' Best Friend," I will drop you like a wounded deer. Do you understand me? I will clamp down on your throat and roll you like a meat log until you stop twitching.
Wait a minute. What was I just saying? Damn. This always happens.
Oh, hey! Snausages! Mmm!