pugfag
I’m so gay about my pet pug, I should fag-bash myself. Even if I had taken Gay Injections my whole life and subsisted on a strict diet of Organic Gay Vegetables, I still wouldn’t be nearly as gay as I act around my little female pug named Cookie, a.k.a. the Duchess of Cookwich, Princess Chubbybutt, and Queen Pineapple Head: Leader of All The Hawaiians. I embarrass the fags and turn them heterosexual with how faggy I am about her. Her tiny pug heart is a magnet that sucks all the fag straight out of me. Whatever reputation for machismo or malice I may have acquired over the years instantly melts in a nauseatingly syrupy mélange of cooing, stroking, baby voices, and ass-rippingly gay little “songs” I’ve written about her.
Peep out some of the lyrics to these “songs” and deny me my homosexuality:
I am a dog/
who sits on a log/
and looks like a frog/
and sounds like a hog/
but I am a dog.
…and…
You change the “u” for an “i,” and it’s a pig/You put the “u” back where the “i” was, it’s a pug.
…and…
You are the kooky poopy nut/You got goofy things comin’ outta your butt!
She’s my 22-pound fag hag. I love her saggy hairy nipples and the way she’ll lick my skull for an hour when I’m trying to sleep. I love how loudly she snores and how her anus juts out two inches when she barks like it’s a miniature ship’s cannon.
This summer on a cross-country trip, she survived a tick bite, a dog bite, near-drowning, and near-heatstroke. I held her to my thunderously faggy breast the whole way, clutching her ferociously close to my man-teats and cursing the beasts and elements that would dare do her harm.
I realize pugs are an acquired taste and that many people find her unbearably loud and ugly. These people need to shut the fuck up, or I’ll bust out with the sort of wolverine violence that only an insane menopausal mother can manage when one of her offspring is threatened. I harbor an eternal oath of blood vengeance for anyone who has ever said anything bad about her. If someone tried to hurt her, I could kill them instantly.
Cookie’s unbridled enthusiasm for life is, of course, that of a retarded child, but dumb people are closer to God. I don’t agree with Catholics about much, but I concur that humans are all born with original sin and deserve to be punished. But my little baby was born blameless, sin-free, a smushy-faced seraph who snorts and farts and shows me a better way.
