Hey, Conan the US Army dog. Whatcha doing?
“I have no idea.”
You’re a dog.
“Yeah. I’m relatively whip-smart, though. Compared to a dachshund, I’m Einstein. But I’m still a dog, and I got no idea what’s happening. This is a new place. Never been here before.”
It’s called the White House.
“There are odors you wouldn’t believe in here. Little tip from me to you? Someone has been doing black magick in this building.”
You can’t possibly know that.
“Trust my nose. I’m good at two things: smelling shit, and biting dicks off.”
You bite a lot of dicks off?
“Yeah. It’s classified, so don’t tell anyone. But, yeah. I get their balls, too. Usually.”
You okay with that?
“I am okay with being a good boy, and I am told I am a good boy when I bite off dicks. But not, you know, random dicks. Unauthorized dick-biting makes me a VERY BAD BOY, and I cannot do that again.”
You went freelancing?
“We all make mistakes when we’re young.”
Hey, man. No judgments here.
“Who are these people? This guy I am with is not The Guy, but I know him. He’s good people. Generous with the scratches. Got a lot of fetch in him. Good people, but not The Guy.”
Your handler’s identity is classified.
“Love him. This guy’s good, but not The Guy. What’s with Milkbone here?”
That’s Mike Pence. He’s the Vice-President.
“Look how close I am to his bacon and eggs. One shouted German word and breakfast would be over.”
Don’t eat Mike Pence’s dick. Wait.
…
No. Don’t eat his dick. Hey, how does that work with attack dogs? What if, like, I knew the secret German words?
“What about it?”
Could I shout them at you and get you to do stuff?
“No. What are you, an idiot? You’re not The Guy. I only listen to The Guy. The commands are in German to keep people from knowing what he’s telling me, not because I’m some sort of Manchurian Candidate that goes insane and starts murdering at the sound of German.”
I think it’s also in German because German is a scary-sounding language.
“One would assume. What is this thing? It’s shaped like a person, but doesn’t smell like one.”
That’s a person. He’s the President.
“What does that mean?”
Alpha.
“Oh, God, you’re shitting me. You made this your alpha? I can smell him decaying. And he’s petrified of me.”
The man does not like animals.
“I need you to listen to me: I know what humans smell like. He doesn’t smell like that. Call the authorities.”
He is the authorities.
“I could…you know.”
Eat his genitals?
“Yeah.”
…
…
…
No.
“Took you a while.”
I’m still mulling it over.
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