So like, what I’m expressing here is: Dog doesn’t need your corporate fascism, Mister Businessman. Dog has no use for your unhip grey-flannel-suburban-split-level-claims-adjusting-7:53-from-Hartford mental prison, baby.
Dog just needs to be free, y’know? Dog needs to, like, spill his martini once and a while, because that’s real, that’s truth. That… is… what… life… is… maaaaaaan.
Groovy chick Tina D. hits us with: “This is my poodle Emmett, badly in need of a haircut, posing with a new piece of artwork that my fiance and I plan to hang in our living room.”