#2. He Can't Drive
For some reason, everyone is very worried about millennials getting fewer driver's licenses and, logically, driving less than previous generations. Because, you know, everyone always complains there aren't enough cars on the road.
Once again, Frobolome is typical here in that he does not have a driver's license and does not drive, which more responsible dog owners will no doubt reprove me for. Heaven knows I've put the time in to get him driver training and take him out on countless practice drives, but we just can't seem to get him to pass the test.
Sure, he's good at acting like a responsible driver -- he makes a big show of checking his rearview mirrors and making sure that he's shifted into the right gear (even though he can only drive automatic, big whoop).
And I guess he can navigate local streets all right, more or less, but what trips him up on the test every single time is the parallel parking:
I've searched the Internet to see if this is a common problem with the breed, but I haven't seen parallel parking come up as an issue on any Corgi forums, so I guess he's just a defective freak.
What? Oh yeah, millennials. They're probably bad at parking, too. I didn't have time to look it up, I was busy taking dog pictures.
#1. He Has Never Had a Job
If you've done any research on Corgis, you probably remember that they're herding dogs, because once you found that fact out you probably laughed at it, because look at those stubby legs.
For those too lazy to have done much Corgi research in their lifetime (MILLENNIALS AM I RIGHT), Corgis were historically bred to drive cattle by nipping at their heels, so ancient Welsh people created a dog that was low to the ground to avoid cow kicks. How this was done, I don't know, but I think it involves hydraulics.
(Consult the following diagram by SIR to further understand Corgi mechanics.)
Well, the first step to getting your dog into herding is to take him to a "herding instinct test," where they check to see if your dog still has the herding instinct bred into his ancestors or whether he is a defective specimen of the breed good for absolutely nothing. You can probably guess which category Frobolome fits into, but let's just keep going with the story.
The test involves putting your dog into a pen with a few sheep and seeing if he exhibits any desire to herd them. The bar for passing is actually extremely low. Some of the dogs made a go of chasing the sheep, but really any interest in the sheep at all, including looking at them, seemed to count as "passing." With standards that low, all of the 25 or so dogs passed except one.
That dog's name begins with an F.
When it was Frobolome's turn, he certainly noticed that there were sheep in the pen, but instead of seeing them as animals to be herded, or living creatures of any kind, he sort of saw them as obstacles to navigate in order to get to what was really interesting -- sheep poop. God damn, that stuff must have been delicious, because he just went to town, eating sheep poop left and right, whenever a sheep would be so kind as to get out of the way.
Note that this is the one job Corgis were bred for (herding, I mean, not eating sheep poop), and it did not even register with him that it was a thing that a dog might do.
So now he does nothing all day. He sits around on the couch, plays some PlayStation, barks at nothing once in a while, posts on Facebook, and then calls it a day.
Ladies and gentlemen: Frobolome, voice of a generation.