Onion Eater
Well-known member
- Joined
- Jun 28, 2008
- Messages
- 753
- Reaction score
- 139
- Location
- Scottsdale, AZ
- Gender
- Male
- Political Leaning
- Libertarian
“Roo!”
It’s a big black doberman and I am ecstatic. My human is always making me do stuff like run up hills or pull a tire around with a harness. I thought I’d finally found a friend to do these exercises with.
I run up to the dobby wagging my tail. He looks friendly but I sniff his butt just to be sure. Yes, he wants to be friends too. Yay me!
I am just about to tell him my favorite joke. (Have you heard that the world is going to the dogs? Good. Then we’ll all be able to catch up on our naps.) But then my human hits me. He kicks me right in the tush.
“Get him, Hans!”
The dobby’s human is yelling too and has a hold of him by the haunches and is pushing him forward.
“Kill, Duke! Kill!”
Well, we don’t fight. I mean, we’d already sniffed each other’s butts, hadn’t we? Why would we want to fight?
There is a lot of yelling. My human calls the other human a n!gger. I don’t know what that word means – I’m just a dog – but I know that the dark-skinned humans don’t like to hear it.
When we get home, my human beats me. He hits me with a stick and calls me a p*ssy. I finally crawl into my kennel and lie there whimpering. My ribs hurt. Why would he call me a p*ssy? I know what that human word means. It means “cat.” I’m not a cat. I’m a dog – a pit bull.
Let me tell you about my human. He’s a pudgy light-skinned human, middle-aged – about five in doggy years – and he has a tattoo on his arm that looks like a cross, but with little perpendicular lines on the ends of each crossbar. I don’t know what that symbol represents – I did mention that I’m a dog, didn’t I? – but I do know that the other humans get aggressive when they see it. That’s why my human always wears long-sleeved shirts, even in the summer; because he doesn’t want to get beaten up.
My human isn’t very tough. Of course, compared to dogs, no human is. Even the big dark-skinned ones don’t have claws or long teeth or anything. But my human is particularly weak. I saw him fight once. Another light-skinned human was punching him in the face.
“Ne-o-f*ck-ing-Na-zi!” the other human said, hitting my human in the face with a jab as he pronounced each syllable.
My human took a couple of wild, looping swings at the other human, missed completely, and then put his head down and tackled him. They rolled around on the ground and then the other human got on top and pushed my human’s face into the dirt.
That night my human beat me. I still remember it because he fractured one of my ribs. On cold mornings I can feel the ache in my side where that bone was broken.
My human is ill. He came home early in the morning all covered with dirt and leaves. He threw up in the porcelain water bowl in the small tile room and then passed out on the floor. He woke up around noon and was fine. But the following night was the same.
This has been happening every month when the moon is full. Dogs are very in tune to things like the weather and the progression of the moon. We’re nature lovers! I noticed right away that my human’s sickness only seems to affect him when the moon is full.
The moon is full again.
Last night my human didn’t make it to the porcelain water bowl. He got sick in the big room with the cushy beige floor covering. He yakked all over the floor covering. (Wow! If I did that, he’d beat me for sure!) I sniffed at it as he slept. It was chunky green vomit with a couple of small human fingers in it.
So my human is eating other humans; children, judging from the size of the fingers.
Click here to read the rest of this story.
It’s a big black doberman and I am ecstatic. My human is always making me do stuff like run up hills or pull a tire around with a harness. I thought I’d finally found a friend to do these exercises with.
I run up to the dobby wagging my tail. He looks friendly but I sniff his butt just to be sure. Yes, he wants to be friends too. Yay me!
I am just about to tell him my favorite joke. (Have you heard that the world is going to the dogs? Good. Then we’ll all be able to catch up on our naps.) But then my human hits me. He kicks me right in the tush.
“Get him, Hans!”
The dobby’s human is yelling too and has a hold of him by the haunches and is pushing him forward.
“Kill, Duke! Kill!”
Well, we don’t fight. I mean, we’d already sniffed each other’s butts, hadn’t we? Why would we want to fight?
There is a lot of yelling. My human calls the other human a n!gger. I don’t know what that word means – I’m just a dog – but I know that the dark-skinned humans don’t like to hear it.
When we get home, my human beats me. He hits me with a stick and calls me a p*ssy. I finally crawl into my kennel and lie there whimpering. My ribs hurt. Why would he call me a p*ssy? I know what that human word means. It means “cat.” I’m not a cat. I’m a dog – a pit bull.
Let me tell you about my human. He’s a pudgy light-skinned human, middle-aged – about five in doggy years – and he has a tattoo on his arm that looks like a cross, but with little perpendicular lines on the ends of each crossbar. I don’t know what that symbol represents – I did mention that I’m a dog, didn’t I? – but I do know that the other humans get aggressive when they see it. That’s why my human always wears long-sleeved shirts, even in the summer; because he doesn’t want to get beaten up.
My human isn’t very tough. Of course, compared to dogs, no human is. Even the big dark-skinned ones don’t have claws or long teeth or anything. But my human is particularly weak. I saw him fight once. Another light-skinned human was punching him in the face.
“Ne-o-f*ck-ing-Na-zi!” the other human said, hitting my human in the face with a jab as he pronounced each syllable.
My human took a couple of wild, looping swings at the other human, missed completely, and then put his head down and tackled him. They rolled around on the ground and then the other human got on top and pushed my human’s face into the dirt.
That night my human beat me. I still remember it because he fractured one of my ribs. On cold mornings I can feel the ache in my side where that bone was broken.
My human is ill. He came home early in the morning all covered with dirt and leaves. He threw up in the porcelain water bowl in the small tile room and then passed out on the floor. He woke up around noon and was fine. But the following night was the same.
This has been happening every month when the moon is full. Dogs are very in tune to things like the weather and the progression of the moon. We’re nature lovers! I noticed right away that my human’s sickness only seems to affect him when the moon is full.
The moon is full again.
Last night my human didn’t make it to the porcelain water bowl. He got sick in the big room with the cushy beige floor covering. He yakked all over the floor covering. (Wow! If I did that, he’d beat me for sure!) I sniffed at it as he slept. It was chunky green vomit with a couple of small human fingers in it.
So my human is eating other humans; children, judging from the size of the fingers.
Click here to read the rest of this story.