TAMPA (Just Laugh) – Local dog Cleopatra gave owner and seasoned pickle juice enthusiast Scott Sevener the mother of all evil stares at approximately 3:09 AM after Sevener came to bed with a freshly microwaved plate of pizza, refusing to share even the slightest morsel with his loyal, four-legged companion.
Despite consistent insinuations of her desire to share in a late night snack taking the form of long stares, dramatic sighs, and eventually resting her head on his knee in classic puppy-dog manner, Sevener held fast in his decision to horde the delicious Hawaiian BBQ leftovers to himself, although everyone in the room knew that he didn’t really need it, and he certainly didn’t need it at three o’clock in the morning right before going to bed…
When asked for comment, Cleopatra told reporters, “Apparently the title of Man’s Best Friend doesn’t go as far in today’s world as it used to. You retrieve their tennis balls, you mostly poop where you’re supposed to, you jump through every hoop that they hold out for you, but at the end of the day you’re still just a dog. And dog’s don’t eat pizza.”
“You know what,” the angered puppy persisted as her tail wagged with contempt. “Fuck that guy. Three goddamned years I’ve lived with that tyrannical monster and I can count the number of times on one paw that he’s bothered to even throw a few table scraps from Thanksgiving dinner my way! The woman, she’s cool, but the old man … I’m the animal?! He’s the animal!!!”
Sevener himself could not be immediately reached for comment, as he had already passed out in bed with his empty pizza plate carelessly discarded nearby and seven minutes left of the episode of The Simpsons still playing on the DVR.
Clearly overcome with a sense of rage typically reserved for encounters with postal carriers, Cleopatra had this final, spite-filled warning for her owner…
“You’re not the only one who knows how to be a jerk around here, buster!”
“You just wait – those brand new flip flops that you bought? Good luck wearing them when they’re buried in the backyard.”
“Tired of cleaning up my poop in the house? By the time I’m done, you’re going to be finding presents from me until next Easter.”
“And that blanket that you sleep in bed under every single night? Sure would be a shame if someone were to hump the living hell out of it when you’re not around. It doesn’t even matter how many times you wash it – that blanket will always be my bitch, you non-pizza-sharing jerk.”