In The Name Of All That's Holy....

Because we're lazy, forgetful bastards, my brother and I forgot to get dog biscuits from the store today. As we were nearly home, and I needed to stop for gas, we went into the Hess in Center Moriches, where my brother picked something up for the dig. They had no biscuits, so instead we went to the Beef Jerky isle and picked something that looked like the dog might like it.

Pickled Sausage? Pickled Sausage? Who the fuck eats this crap? My brother opened it up and immediately quoted a line from Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgandy... "It smells like Big Foot's Dick!"

The stink was so bad that I cupped my gasoline soaked hand over my face to get away from it (which reminds me of my next lesson; don't try to pump 11 gallons of gas into a 10 gallon tank.)

I feel bad for the dog, who will doubtless be outside at 1 a.m. yelping as his ass is seared by the remains of this devil snack.

Poor, poor dog.