Gator's Rant - I am the dog and I am pissed

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Gator's Rant - I am the dog and I am pissed
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Lady, just because your boyfriend doesn't want to settle down, doesn't mean you should pretend that I'm a real baby in hopes that he'll play along in your twisted game of "house". I promise you're scaring him off, and it makes you look insane.
While I'm on the record, there are some other things I could do without. I'm not actually a fucking vegetarian. Do you honestly think that I prefer tofu over beef nuggets? Lettuce wraps? Are you fucking serious? I'd rather eat my own shit, and guess what, when you're asleep, I do. Then I lick your face and laugh.
Don't even get me started on my name. Louis Vuitton? You superficial bitch. I already wear the gayest sweater since the "Cosby Show", but you insist on naming me after a European handbag? Fuck you. You make me look like a complete pussy and I hate you for it.
You continue to place me in dangerous situations. Just yesterday at the park, I could feel the cold stare from a Doberman at my rhinestone cowboy getup. Shit, even the French poodle called me a fag, and he was wearing a beret. Do you have any idea what would happen to a dog like me at the pound? I step in there with even a whiff of CK One on me, and it's all over.
It pisses me off that you don't pull this shit on the cat (although it's probably because she's a lesbo). I am really tired of the smug looks I get from that butch-ass feline.
I'm at the end of my rope and I've been doing a lot of thinking (Yes, there's time for that while you watch E!, stopping occasionally to read text messages on your jewel-encrusted Sidekick). I have decided that I'm running away. I'm going to take my chances on the outside. Tomorrow morning, during doggy yoga, I am fucking gone, baby - and there is nothing you can do to stop me. The last thing you'll see is my puckered little asshole as I'm out the door, but not before I leave a hot, soft and juicy turd pile right on my miniature doggy yoga mat.