You know when your dog dances around you, ears perked up, tail wagging, all excited? It jumps and jumps until you follow it. When you get out to the porch, you see something terrible: a dead squirrel. Yes, a dead fucking squirrel. Gross.
But the dog doesn’t know any better. It’s excited. It brought this for you. It killed this animal (or found it, and wanted you to think it killed the squirrel; it is slightly decomposed).
Instead of taking it and flinging it in the air before devouring it, the dog thought, “Hey, you know that guy that’s always petting me and filling my bowl up with that food? I should take this to him. Oh yeah, he’d love it! Who wouldn’t love it? It’s a dead squirrel! Okay, maybe that food he gives me isn’t that great. It’s all dry and pretty bland. Honestly, sometimes I’d rather eat my own shit…and sometimes that’s just what I do.
“But God love him, that guy tries. I feel so bad for him. He spends all his free time with me. I never see him with a girl. He sits and watches a bunch of stupid shit on the flat window thing in the living room. I have to sit there with him. Sometimes, other dogs try to get in through that window, but they run away after I give them a little bark here and there. Pussies. He just watches that damn window and sometimes he holds a stack of paper, and flips the pages every once in a while. What kind of life is that? I mean, the guy’s a loser, pretty much. But I love him. And what better way to show him than bringing him this dead squirrel! Yay!”
So you see the squirrel, and you’re horrified at first, but you pretend it’s great. You smile and pat the dog on the head. It’s a lot like when your grandma gives you one of those hideous sweaters for Christmas, and you have to try to not look disgusted. Same thing: dead squirrel and ugly sweater. Pat the dog on the head; pat grandma on the head.
That’s what this blog is. This is my dead squirrel to the world. I think it’s great, but everyone else knows it’s shit, and really, I just want a pat on the head.