No Country for Old Yeller

Lane learns a lesson about morality when his boss asks him for a small favor.

Dearest Diary,

Today, I earned My Boss’ trust. He said to me: “My dog is fucking sick. Get him euthanized.”

Yes sir!

I can't believe he trusts me with his address. Driving slow, I knew the house had to be his: the looming, forbidden, Kingdom of Success. Were his brilliant ideas conjured in this very driveway? Ideas like Are You Sluttier Than A 13 Year-Old Slut?

His “fucking sick” dog was cute, in an “I lick my balls too much” way. Didn’t look sick. Just vacantly odd; like a happy, shaggy, demented grandpa. How nice does this fucking dog have it? Simply drop him off at the EZ dog-killing center? And he has no idea? Just smiles and wags his tail, licks your chin and pees on the car seat?

The Vet said he couldn’t kill the dog, since the dog “wasn’t sick.”

I texted My Boss: “Vet can’t kill the dog, since it’s ‘healthy.'”

He texted back: “Vet?”

Suddenly, I understood.

Could I kill a dog with my bare hands? Do I have the courage? What’s important in life? Jobs? Miley Cryus? Joining “If 20,000 People Join This Group I’ll Legally Change My Name To Voldemort” Facebook Groups?

Should I do everything for My Boss? Even butcher dogs?

I texted my good friend, Michael Vick, and asked what I should do. He texted back, “I don’t know how to read.”

Read “the situation,” I’m sure he meant. And Vick’s right. Killing never solves much. Sure, it feels great, but what about the consequences? Hauntings, karma and shit? While splitting this dog’s head open is a good career move, I am different than My Boss.

I drove the dog back to his house, got out of the car and was greeted with a fist in the eye. “What the fuck you doing with my dog?”

The dog jumped out of my hands and into the arms of this huge sweaty dude in a track suit.

"I thought that was my bosses dog. I was supposed to take him to the vet. I must have the wrong address."

"WHAT? You gotta be, without a doubt, the shittiest PA in town."

Two addresses down, I opened a door, shot a poodle, and became so LA.