Walking The Dog

I love walking dogs. I've told you this before, haven't I? Every day of my life involves walking dogs from Slyvester Avenue to Voldemort Boulevard. They called me "Mr. Scooper" because I was always cleaning up after those two mongrels. It never would have occured to any of those fools that I was walking those dogs involuntarily. But sadly I never had the option of not being a dog walker. Back when I was a mere lad of seven, my father looked me straight in the eyes and told me, "Son, I know that I'm a corporate tycoon and we've got millions for your education, but I want you to grow up and be a professional dog walker."

And ever since that day I've thought of nothing but walking dogs. Oh, how I love dogs! Terriers, spaniels, beagals. Bagels! Hot bagels with cream cheese on them! Sure they're not dogs, but they taste delicious. I should know; back in high school, I was captain of the Taste Testing Team. The TTT as it was known was founded back in the days before formal atire became the norm in acedemia. I distinctly remember receiving an inquiry into my taste testing abilities before they would let me anywhere near their reactor. Never before have I felt so insulted.

The captain of the TTT was none other than Edmonde (of course), and it was all his fault that I was rejected as an applicant. How I loathe you, Edmonde! Even back in high school, the fool was thwarting my plans. Just look at your own record, Edmonde. Back in 9^th grade, Edmonde poured a bowl of shaving cream onto our teacher's desk and blamed me. Then he ran over the principal's dog and also blamed me; dispair. I was forced to walk the flattened dog for many a year, which is where I got my acquired taste for walking dogs. And I distinctly remember velvet.