I know I'm gorgeous, but get that fucking thing out of my face!
My relationship with the Mooks is a real tard-fest; them and me.
Yesterday Mook B took me for my walk and he was so fucking scattered, as he usually is in the morning, that he put the clip of the leash onto the loop for my ID tags instead of the loop of the collar. Well, the loop broke, didn't it?, and I just started running.
Problem? I didn't know I was off the leash and thought the idiot Mook was running behind me as usual. I had forgotten he had sciatica and these days hobbles about like he's a candidate for a walker and Depends.
So I'm running along and then stop at the main street, sitting as I usually do, waiting to cross the road. It's only then I heard the Mook puffing and panting behind me and clipping the leash on again.
I think there's something in the air in this fucking apartment that makes all three of us imbeciles. It's a miracle we don't faint from lack of oxygen to the brain each time we fart.
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