I'm Not a Football Fan

Sarah (the asshole) is a HUGE football fan. Unfortunately, this means that she thinks I am a football fan, too. Newsflash, asshole: I'm a dog. Why the hell would I want to watch a bunch of grown men hitting each other?

Despite my lack of desire to watch football, Sarah dragged me to Colts training camp this weekend, because Colts training camp happens to be in Terre Haute. Now, Sarah is not even a Colts fan (if she's watching football, it's Notre Dame or the Bears), but she said "in August, football is football," and so I found myself dragged off to training camp Saturday morning, when I could have been lying around at home taking a nap.


See me? I'm watching anything but that stupid football. Sarah could have at least bought me a hot dog or something, but why would she do something nice for me?

You know who else I blame for this? Peyton fucking Manning. I hate his stupid commercials. Of course, Sarah thinks he's the second funniest thing in the world (second after torturing me, which she obviously finds to be the most fucking hilarious thing in the world). Like we would go watch the stupid Colts if his ass wasn't there. God, my life sucks.

The Dangers of Sarah's Cooking

Once again, the stupidity of Sarah (the asshole) has caused me to have a horrible weekend.

This all started Friday night. Sarah decided to make herself supper. Now, Sarah may suck at 99% of life, but she does manage to cook halfway decently. Normally, this causes me to complain, because she hardly ever gives me anything that she makes. The skinny bitch eats everything herself. She must have worms or something, because I have no fucking clue how she manages to stay skinny. Meanwhile, I am forced to eat this hard-as-rocks shit dog food (if “food” is the proper term for what I have to eat).

However, something Sarah made Friday night gave her food poisoning. While normally this would make me super happy, and give me wonderful dreams about what I would do if I got to go live with some other people, this was pretty much the worst fucking timing ever. You see, on Saturday, we were supposed to go to Bark in the Park, which, from the advertisements on television, looked like a fucking awesome event, where you get to take a nice walk outside, get treats, and see lots of other dogs. But instead of getting to go to Bark in the Park, I had to sit around the house while Sarah barfed. So I can only assume that Bark in the Park was as awesome as advertised, because I didn’t get to go.

Of course, it was the first time ever I was happy that Sarah didn’t give me any of her fucking food. I hate barfing.