Cuter Than A Box Of Babies
It was no small feat. Seriously.
I had to let Dr. Douchebag and his wife come and look at my apartment to make sure that they felt it is "fit for a dog". Seriously.
I had to sign a ridiculous agreement, stating, among other things, that I would let them know my address no matter where I live for the life of the dog, that I would arrange for playdates with the dog's mother at Dr. and Mrs. Douchebag's request (in Washington Heights!!), and that they could remove the dog from my house if they felt he was being mistreated in any way. Seriously.
It turns out Dr. Douchebag is also a lawyer. Though he studied medical administration at some no-name lawschool in Ohio. I studied promarily contract law and litigation-related topics in New York Fucking City. And they taught me this neat little thing: If you write all sorts of ridiculous promises into a contract, it helps to have consequences for breaking the agreement written in. Or all you have is a piece of paper promising to bring my dog on playdates, but no way to enforce it. Oh, and you never took the Bar, right? I might know a little more about contract enforcement and property rights and basic Fuck-you-up-you-think-you-an-take-my-dog-when-all-you-studied-is-hospital-admin-law-and-I-was-trained-by-a-soulless-fuckwad law. I'm just sayin' is all.
Well played, Douchebag. Well. Played.
And so, after putting up with his condescending bullshit in my own house for an hour, Douchebag and wife finally left. And I spent the rest of the weekend lying on the couch with what we have come to decide is the only puppy in the world made of babies. He's that fucking cute.
Now, now, Bitches. Lest you think I would soften my cold black little heart by bringing a puppy into my home, or, worse, become one of those freakass people who carries their dog around in a bag and refers to it in the first person (Puddles and I hate that restaurant), or, God forbid, as one of their children: Fear not. I guarantee that by the time he hits 6 months, my dog will be watching other dogs go by in the park, mocking them under his breath to his best friend, and peeing on command on people I don't like. And I will remain as evil as always.
And now I have a hound to do my bidding.
Bitches, meet Griffin. Griffin, The Bitches.
You kids play nice now.
I had to let Dr. Douchebag and his wife come and look at my apartment to make sure that they felt it is "fit for a dog". Seriously.
I had to sign a ridiculous agreement, stating, among other things, that I would let them know my address no matter where I live for the life of the dog, that I would arrange for playdates with the dog's mother at Dr. and Mrs. Douchebag's request (in Washington Heights!!), and that they could remove the dog from my house if they felt he was being mistreated in any way. Seriously.
It turns out Dr. Douchebag is also a lawyer. Though he studied medical administration at some no-name lawschool in Ohio. I studied promarily contract law and litigation-related topics in New York Fucking City. And they taught me this neat little thing: If you write all sorts of ridiculous promises into a contract, it helps to have consequences for breaking the agreement written in. Or all you have is a piece of paper promising to bring my dog on playdates, but no way to enforce it. Oh, and you never took the Bar, right? I might know a little more about contract enforcement and property rights and basic Fuck-you-up-you-think-you-an-take-my-dog-when-all-you-studied-is-hospital-admin-law-and-I-was-trained-by-a-soulless-fuckwad law. I'm just sayin' is all.
Well played, Douchebag. Well. Played.
And so, after putting up with his condescending bullshit in my own house for an hour, Douchebag and wife finally left. And I spent the rest of the weekend lying on the couch with what we have come to decide is the only puppy in the world made of babies. He's that fucking cute.
Now, now, Bitches. Lest you think I would soften my cold black little heart by bringing a puppy into my home, or, worse, become one of those freakass people who carries their dog around in a bag and refers to it in the first person (Puddles and I hate that restaurant), or, God forbid, as one of their children: Fear not. I guarantee that by the time he hits 6 months, my dog will be watching other dogs go by in the park, mocking them under his breath to his best friend, and peeing on command on people I don't like. And I will remain as evil as always.
And now I have a hound to do my bidding.
Bitches, meet Griffin. Griffin, The Bitches.
You kids play nice now.
posted by Dxx at 10:39 AM
We have the cutest puppies made of puppies and babies EVAR.
We have a SON Dan. A SON!! :)
That's too adorable to show Honey. He'll want another puppy I get to housebreak.
I just died of cute overload....
Oh my God. I haven't kicked a puppy in months.
Nice job, Dan. You killed Moo.
Hey Dan! I just bought a puggle today. He flies in to Atlanta on Thursday. I can't wait!! These dogs are the most fabulous dogs EVER. I'm glad to hear that you were found 'ready for the commitment of raising a puppy.'
What an asshole.
Anyway...Griffin is adorable!