The Chronicles of Queen Rhodesia: February 2nd, 2012 - The Sock

Why does DogMan think that I want his old socks to chew on?  Okay, I admit, at first I thought they were edible cause they tasted like cheese, but then I got that strange rash-like thing on my tongue and a wicked case of diarrhea.  I think this is DogMan's ultimate payback from my death-by-chemical-warfare-in-his-sleep plan.  Well played, fur-less chap.

At least DogMan could give me the common courtesy of clean socks to chew on.  The reason I don't chew up your shoes is cause your feet smell like you stomp skunks into wine for a living.  And why, DogMan, do you choose to wear the same pair of socks for a whole week without washing them?  Your feet must be made out of iron or they would've disintegrated by now. 

I'm a dog, but I would like clean oral hygiene.

I don't have thumbs, so I can't brush my teeth, so I use the threads and elastic in the socks like dental floss to get that hard ass cardboard kibble you feed me out my teeth.  I watch those David Duchovny narrated Pedigree Dentastix commercials and that 4 out of 5 dogs over the age of three have gum disease.  Since your cheap ass won't buy me those treats, or those bionic thumbs I asked you for Christmas, a clean sock or two would suffice.

You know when you're trying to watch that lit up box when you sit in your giant dog bed and I bring that hot stinking sock and put it on your lap and you think I want to play, DogMan?

I don't want to play, I'm begging you to wash it because it smells like death.  You think the sock smells bad to you, DogMan?  I can smell 1000 times stronger than you.  This thing smells like a rotting possum that's been microwaved in one of my silent but deadly farts.  Wash the damn thing, nuh!