qualified dog
trainer receives an hour massage and the optional anal . . . and
it looks like we have a winner! Who’s this?”
“Lynnie Ruffington, I got your
dog trainer right here.”
“Lynnie, the contest is for my
listeners.”
“I’m a listener. Heck, sometimes
I’m all you got.”
“You’re an employee of Lifestyle
Revolution. You can’t participate in any on-air contests.”
“Damn it, doc, I want that anal
bleaching.”
“Sorry, Lynnie, guess you’ll have
to sit bare-ass in a bucket of Clorox. Line four, we have Judy from Coral
Springs. Speak to me Judy.”
“Dr. Beach, last month we had a
dog trainer come out to the house and work with our cocker spaniel, Damian.”
“And did the trainer exorcize the
devil from Damian?”
“Sorry, I don’t know what you
mean.”
“Does your cocker spaniel still
crap in the house? Is he housebroken?”
“Oh, absolutely. Plus he sits and
gives you his paw.”
“Sounds perfect. Give us the
trainer’s first name, Judy, Trish will get the rest of the contact information
from you off the air.”
“The trainer’s name is Anita and
she was fantastic.”
LORD
and MASTURBATER
Jacob parked the
van in the driveway and exited the rusting steel beast before its engine choked
itself off. In his hand was a pet store bag; inside—a simple tool that he hoped
would allow him to domesticate his dog and hopefully appease Nancy.
Sam heard him approach. The dog clawed
at the inside of the garage door, thrusting its sizeable bulk at the aluminum
barrier.
“Easy, boy. I’m coming. Just need
to set this up for you, big guy.”
Jacob walked around the side of
the house to the backyard. From the bag he removed a three-foot-long spiral
metal spike attached to a twenty-foot-long dog chain.
Wiley Coyote . . . genius.
For ten minutes he labored to
twist the spike into the hard, dry ground. When he finished, he tugged on the
chain, testing the strength of the device. Satisfied, he walked back around to the
front door of the house and keyed in.
The German Shepherd bellowed a
ferocious bark that put a smile on Jacob’s face. Foofie dog, my ass. No
burglar or rapist in his right mind would break into this house with my dog
guarding it.
He headed for the interior garage
door. Opened it—
—bowled over by Sam! The dog jumped
and spun and ran through the house into the master bedroom. He leaped on top of
the bed, stripping the linen as he leaped off again and bolted past Jacob into
the living room and onto the sofa—wagging its tail, wanting to play.
“No!”
The dog barked at him.
“Hey, don’t bark back at me. I am
your lord and master. God gave me opposable thumbs, not you.”
The dog laid on the floor, contorting
its head and neck between its hind legs to nibble on an itch along its groin.
“Okay, admittedly, a longer neck
also has its advantages.”
Sam jumped up, clawing at the
back door.
“I get it, you need to pee. Got
you all set up.” Jacob unlocked the sliding glass door and closed it before Sam
could escape. Retrieving the end of the chain, he opened the door and clipped
it onto the dog’s collar.
The dog dashed outside, its chain
nearly wrapping around Jacob’s ankles. Sam sniffed an unseen trail along the lawn
before lifting its leg to pee. Its bladder relieved, the German Shepherd took a
leisurely jaunt across the open yard—the chain cutting him off, preventing him
from leaving.
“Technology . . . it’s
a beautiful thing.” Jacob closed the glass door and headed back through the
house to the garage, seeking to relocate Sam’s water bowl out back.
“Ahh! Ahh!” The blood rushed from
his face as he spotted the severed arm of a child lying on the garage floor!
In full panic, Jacob turned and
ran—his forehead smacking into the side of the interior door. Spinning back
around, he eyeballed the detached limb, his woozy brain determining either a
small child or a midget must have seen the partially-open
trainer receives an hour massage and the optional anal . . . and
it looks like we have a winner! Who’s this?”
“Lynnie Ruffington, I got your
dog trainer right here.”
“Lynnie, the contest is for my
listeners.”
“I’m a listener. Heck, sometimes
I’m all you got.”
“You’re an employee of Lifestyle
Revolution. You can’t participate in any on-air contests.”
“Damn it, doc, I want that anal
bleaching.”
“Sorry, Lynnie, guess you’ll have
to sit bare-ass in a bucket of Clorox. Line four, we have Judy from Coral
Springs. Speak to me Judy.”
“Dr. Beach, last month we had a
dog trainer come out to the house and work with our cocker spaniel, Damian.”
“And did the trainer exorcize the
devil from Damian?”
“Sorry, I don’t know what you
mean.”
“Does your cocker spaniel still
crap in the house? Is he housebroken?”
“Oh, absolutely. Plus he sits and
gives you his paw.”
“Sounds perfect. Give us the
trainer’s first name, Judy, Trish will get the rest of the contact information
from you off the air.”
“The trainer’s name is Anita and
she was fantastic.”
LORD
and MASTURBATER
Jacob parked the
van in the driveway and exited the rusting steel beast before its engine choked
itself off. In his hand was a pet store bag; inside—a simple tool that he hoped
would allow him to domesticate his dog and hopefully appease Nancy.
Sam heard him approach. The dog clawed
at the inside of the garage door, thrusting its sizeable bulk at the aluminum
barrier.
“Easy, boy. I’m coming. Just need
to set this up for you, big guy.”
Jacob walked around the side of
the house to the backyard. From the bag he removed a three-foot-long spiral
metal spike attached to a twenty-foot-long dog chain.
Wiley Coyote . . . genius.
For ten minutes he labored to
twist the spike into the hard, dry ground. When he finished, he tugged on the
chain, testing the strength of the device. Satisfied, he walked back around to the
front door of the house and keyed in.
The German Shepherd bellowed a
ferocious bark that put a smile on Jacob’s face. Foofie dog, my ass. No
burglar or rapist in his right mind would break into this house with my dog
guarding it.
He headed for the interior garage
door. Opened it—
—bowled over by Sam! The dog jumped
and spun and ran through the house into the master bedroom. He leaped on top of
the bed, stripping the linen as he leaped off again and bolted past Jacob into
the living room and onto the sofa—wagging its tail, wanting to play.
“No!”
The dog barked at him.
“Hey, don’t bark back at me. I am
your lord and master. God gave me opposable thumbs, not you.”
The dog laid on the floor, contorting
its head and neck between its hind legs to nibble on an itch along its groin.
“Okay, admittedly, a longer neck
also has its advantages.”
Sam jumped up, clawing at the
back door.
“I get it, you need to pee. Got
you all set up.” Jacob unlocked the sliding glass door and closed it before Sam
could escape. Retrieving the end of the chain, he opened the door and clipped
it onto the dog’s collar.
The dog dashed outside, its chain
nearly wrapping around Jacob’s ankles. Sam sniffed an unseen trail along the lawn
before lifting its leg to pee. Its bladder relieved, the German Shepherd took a
leisurely jaunt across the open yard—the chain cutting him off, preventing him
from leaving.
“Technology . . . it’s
a beautiful thing.” Jacob closed the glass door and headed back through the
house to the garage, seeking to relocate Sam’s water bowl out back.
“Ahh! Ahh!” The blood rushed from
his face as he spotted the severed arm of a child lying on the garage floor!
In full panic, Jacob turned and
ran—his forehead smacking into the side of the interior door. Spinning back
around, he eyeballed the detached limb, his woozy brain determining either a
small child or a midget must have seen the partially-open
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