Fuck you. And your little dog, too.

I don't mean to sound like a stand up in 2004, but God dammit if people haven't let this tiny dog shit go.

Seriously, what the fuck do you think you're doing? When your cutest accessory is a canine, you need to rethink your life. I'm tired of you coming into the store, holding your little yappy piece of shit chihuahua-doodle. And I shouldn't hate on the dog that much, cause it's staring at me like Jeff at the end of The Fly. It's all your doing. You've ruined two, no three lives every day that you do that. Mine, the dog's and your own.

You claim that it's a helper dog, that it assists you in living. But we know that your pathetic dog can hardly bare to get out of the sad little bed in the corner of your room, let alone do any worthwhile task that helps you. When your dog needs a baby bjorn, it's not even laughable. Your dog caught your celiacs? How's that even possible.

They say that dogs start to look like their owners.

Your dog's not gonna be a good attention whore, like a sad old woman that slops into her fuck-me pumps and hits the club like no one notices she's not twenty-two anymore.

You can't bring it in here, we sell people food. How's that not clear to you?