I don't give my dog respect. Sir Poopie commands it.
The specificity avoids the embarrassing moment in the barn when somebody tries to grab them by the nape of the neck. Whoa, whoa, whoa, that's how you're gonna force me to do this? No way, pal. Not into it.
I'm haunted by a recurring vision of a skeleton flipping me off. To avoid seeing this terrifying image in bumper sticker form, I pay someone with a blank bumper to drive in front of me at all times.
Cons: causes bad nightmares. I used to have to eat beef until I passed out to have these kind of terrors, but this machine does it for me every time I fall asleep inside it.
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