Chasing Sharks: Faster Than the Speed of Awesome

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Posts tagged Wilfred Brimley

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This past weekend I had to take my dog Max to the groomer for his annual bath and shave.  Taking Max to the groomers is always a fun experience, and by “fun” I mean I’d rather my gynecologist have hooks for hands than ever have to take Max anywhere.  I know I’ve spoken about Max before here on my blog, but I can’t stress this enough: he is weird as hell.  Don’t get me wrong, I love Max with all my heart and when I die I’ll probably leave all my early possessions to him, but he is so strange.  My mom thinks his mental state is a result of inbreeding.  Now as sexy as the incestuous image of Max’s trailer park aunt humping his cousin may be, I really think his state of mind is the result of inter-species breeding.  Meaning that I think his mother mated with Forrest Gump.  Life really is a box of chocolates, except for Max because if he ate any he’d die.

So, the only way I can get Max to the groomers is by tricking him into thinking we’re going to the dog park because I’m a terrible person who enjoys using trickery and deceit to get what she wants.  I’m like Joan Crawford, except I love wire hangers.  We pull up to the groomers and he immediately starts freaking out.  I tell him its all going to be OK, but we both know I’m lying.  He won’t get out of the car so I decide I need to physically carry him in.  Since I have the upper body strength of Justin Bieber after an intense ping pong tournament, this was very difficult.  Have you ever tried to carry a 50 pound unwilling creature towards it’s doom?  The only previous experience  I have doing such a thing was that one time I tried to carry a midget I met at a carnival towards the kissing both.  Dammit, Stephanie that is so un-PC of you.  By “midget” I mean little person and by “kissing booth” I mean S&M and extreme bondage in my basement.

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