On a day in the distant past, two boring people met in a park. They stared at each other, and an uncomfortable silence ensued. “Wouldn’t I be less boring,” each thought to themselves, “if I could engage this other gentleman in a cheery conversation about a canine’s crotch-sniffing habits?” And so, after an extremely long silence, they parted ways and went to pet stores, in order to buy something to talk about. But they met with less success than an Ethiopian in a tanning bed. The plan did not make them more interesting. It only made them more noisy.
Ever since, buying pets has become a cornerstone of boring peoples’ plans to be more intrusively uninteresting. Annoying dogs assault us at the doors of boring peoples’ homes, non-venomous snakes lurk in cages waiting for the inevitable conversations where it is explained that they are non-venomous, and hamsters have the courtesy to sleep all day to avoid becoming conversation pieces. Parrots, in their obnoxious loudness and monotonous repetition, are the natural companion to a person who does the same. With parrots and dogs, through conversation and through the animals’ own vocalizations, boring people have found pets that generate plenty of pointless noise.
And it is undeniable that boring people gravitate toward dogs, who, as the retarded codependent stepchildren of the animal world, need the most attention. Attention is exactly what these criminally-dull people crave. So the rest of us have to sit through endless reiterations of how “he can tell when we’re talking about him” when all we really want is a blowjob. I would rather spend every Monday morning licking postage stamps than deal with another dull dog owner with overrated tits named Kate.
There’s no sugar-coating it. If, when a pet crosses the room, you are compelled to comment on the nature of its frankly not-that-momentous crossing, you, too, are uninteresting. If all you talk about is your cat’s sleeping habits it is because you are less noteworthy than a sleeping cat. If you hold a conversation with another dog-walker while on a dog walk, it is because you were both stupid enough to pay money to own a noisy, crotch-sniffing poop factory. You deserve each other.
If I walk into your home and my crotch is non-consentually prodded by an overgrown creature’s muzzle, I do not want to spend the next twenty minutes discussing how “friendly” this nose-rapist is. Yeah, he’s “friendly” in the same way that retards are “special”. To say he likes to “greet people at the door” is both stating the obvious and does not reduce its offensiveness. It doesn’t tell me anything I can’t plainly see for myself, and it doesn’t make me any less pissed off about my violated crotch.
Using similar lines of reasoning, I could kill a Norwegian and nail him to the wall above my mantle. Then when houseguests gawk, I can say, “Oh, that’s my dead Norwegian. He hangs on my wall because I nailed him there. He sometimes has a tendency to be nailed to my wall. I’ve wanted a Scandinavian of some kind ever since college, but my landlords would never allow me to nail them to my wall. Now that I have my own place, I’m so glad to have him hanging there, off of nails, which in turn hang off my wall. Every day when I get home from work, he’ll be there waiting for me, nailed to my wall. He’s adorable, isn’t he? Boy, he sure is nailed to my wall!” I could talk for hours and hours about his heritage, his beard, or even, you know, how I have him nailed to my wall, and not say anything interesting or non-obvious. But I don’t do that, you see, in no small part because Norway’s birth rate is too low.
Bottom line: boring people will always be boring. When you give them a pet to talk about, they’re boring, and loud. So please, don’t buy a pet. If you’re boring, have the common courtesy to only bore yourself.
My cheek stings from the “retards” line. But in my defense, I don’t mean that, it just came out that way. I was holding the joke for someone else. I didn’t inhale. The recording industry makes so much money anyway.