Tag Archives: Grandparents

When Dogs Get Boners

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mouthopendogI like dogs. I like their general genial temperament. Their enthusiasm. I like when dogs let small monkeys in cowboy hats ride on their backs and the monkey is puffing on a cigarette and spinning a six-shooter on his index finger, just waiting to see another monkey riding on a another dog’s back dressed like an Indian, so that he can murder him in cold blood like the feather-headed savage that he is. I also like when dogs watch Animal Planet. Like sometimes it’s a dog watching a show where ANOTHER dog is like besties with a beaver or a snake or something. Shit’s wild. It really makes you wonder….

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I like when dogs look at you and one ear is sticking up and the other one is sticking down so they look like stupid ass pieces of shit. A stupid ass piece of shit that can’t even control their face parts. I’m like “what the!” I’m like “does this dog have multiple sclerosis or some other faggy deformity? What’s going on?!”

I like dogs enough that I can forgive the fact that they hate black people. I don’t want to condone their racism or perpetuate ignorance but I know that deep down in their heart of hearts, they’re just trying to keep us safe. The only way they know how: by attacking black people before they can attack us.

But there is one thing I don’t like about dogs: when dogs get boners. I don’t think I’m overstating anything when I say that their dicks are weird looking. All red and slick like the devil’s dick. Sheath that thing would ya? I don’t want your boner slime all over the passenger seat of my ’92 Honda Accord DX. I’m going to pick up Paw-Paw for lunch tomorrow and it would really chap his hide if he knew that he was getting crusty dog dick on his stain resistant khakis. I don’t think I’d ever hear the end of it. Until he passed away of course. Unless he was still so bitter about the red rocket residue that after he died he decided to haunt me like on Paranormal Activity 2. Then I’d really never hear the end of it. Like one day I’d be sleeping and then all of the sudden the toaster would pop up and the thermostat would be turned down and Paw-Paw’s voice would be like “I didn’t work in the mines for 50 years breaking my back to support this family so that I could sit in doggie dick juice.” And he’d be right.

redrocketLingering visions of dog boners can make everyday activities agonizing. Everyday activities like eating a hot dog or watching a pretty lady put on red lipstick or watching a pretty lady have sex with a doberman pinscher. I’m like “what the!” Get your devil’s dick out of there! That was made for people’s dicks ONLY! Says so in the Good Book. Yes sir, pretty sure it says it right there in the opening paragraphs. Not sure of the exact passage but I know it’s in there. No doggie devil dicks is human vaginas….PERIOD. For ever and ever, Amen.

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I can remember being a young whippersnapper and seeing this mangy sex-crazed mutt in the parking lot of my school. There I was, me and all the other Latino kids, waiting on our madres to come pick us up from escuela. And there he was, foaming at the mouth with his slimy devil’s dick humping thin air. I’m talking, fucking the ever loving shit out of thin air. Pounding the fuck out of nothing. Almost as if he was getting a hurkie-jerkie from a ghost or something. Like someone’s bitter Grandpap ghost was seeking revenge for getting crusty dog dick on his khakis (did I just think of my next screenplay? Paranormal Activity 5?). Anyways, he was like a thrusting red-dicked robot. Every step a hump. And he was moving closer towards us. His dick was possessed. Humping and humping. Red, slippery, glistening in the sun. So me and my Latino friends threw rocks at him until he died.

Grandparents Are Racists

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I don’t think I’m alone when I say grandparents are intolerant bigots. They don’t care for the blacks. They don’t care for the jews. They don’t care for Mexicans. And I know they’re not technically a race, but they don’t care for homosessssssuals either.

If our grandparents had their way, shuffleboard would be the national sport, all the black folks would be shipped back to Africa, gays would be forced to live in subterraneal caves, Elian Gonzalez would have had his dick cut off, and rollerblades would have never been invented. Can you imagine how horrible that would be? I mean, instead of catching mad air off some big ass jumps on our blades, we would have to use those old 4 wheel skates that make you look like a crusty old pussy-fart. Shit’s fucked. My blades are like an extension of myself. Give me blades or give me death. Either you’re bladin’ hard or you’re hardly bladin’.

Not to be calloused (even though I am, severely, on my inner thighs from so much blading), but the world is going to be such a better place once all the grandparents are dead. We will be finally able to get down to all that stuff Martin King dreamed about. Like, the kids holding hands on a mountaintop thing and kissing or whatever. We will finally be able to have a Christmas Eve that doesn’t involve shouting the word “coons!” at the neighbors (who aren’t even black, they are from Pakistan.)

Now, I’m not saying that you should kill your grandparents. At all. Especially not by, like, smothering them with tempurpedic pillows during one of the 18 hours a day that they are asleep. Or by cutting the brake lines on their electric wheelchairs. Or by giving them a heart attack by telling them that you are moving to California to drop marijuanas and gay-marry your black boyfriend and have interracial babes galore. Mulattoes all over the place.

Or you could cover a pit full of sharpened sticks with palm leaves and dangle a photograph of Bob Newhart over it. They fall for the Newhart trap 9 out of 10 times. Then all you have to do is fill in the hole with quick dry cement and cash your inheritance check.

Or if you’re really crafty, you can rig their Jitterbugs to shoot a sharp metal rod through their ear and into their brains. Kind of like that guy in No Country for Old Men. It’s almost like, when you consider the title of the movie and all the killing and all, it’s like the Coen Brothers want us to kill our grandparents. It’s like their sending us secret messages through the guy who played opposite Big Willie Style in Men In Black. Agent K.

Again, we are in no way endorsing any of these things. All we are saying is that the world will be a better place if you did kill your grandparents. Because they’re racists.