His dogs are named “Pussy-whipped” and “You’ve-Been-An-Asshole-Lately-So-Take-These-Cute-Dogs-For-A-Walk-And-Make-Sure-You’re-Photographed.”
I now understand his fits of rage…
I would have guessed Alec to be more of a cat person, specifically the maine COON.
Better not ask him for directions. The rage monster within just looking for a chance to break free.
Getting the duct tape off those dogs has got to be a bitch.
“Gallon of milk, toothpaste, eggs, hair dye. Gallon of milk, toothpaste, eggs, hair dye. Gallon of milk, toothpaste, eggs, hair dye. Gallon of milk, toothpaste, eggs, hair dye. Gallon of milk, toothpaste, eggs, hair dye. Gallon of eggs, toothdye–DAMMIT! Why didn’t I just write it down?!?”
All he has to do is make a mental image of himself… he looks like a giant gallon of milk, spitting toothpaste from his mouth, with egg on his face, and a smelly, old gray beard…it really shouldn’t be too hard for him.
He should name those dogs “Schweti” and “Ballz”
What’s in my wallet? A picture of Kim Bassinger bent over my sofa, you rude little pig!
Third prize is you take the dogs for a walk.
Moments later he throws both dogs in front of a speeding car.
I take it his PR people are on holiday?
Nothing says ‘I’m the man of this house!’ quite like walking the wife’s rat-dogs.
“The brown one’s mine. He’s okay, but I can’t teach him much. The white one does tricks and begs and other funny stuff. She’s Hilaria’s.”
“Hilaria, honey, fire up the grill!”
There is a point in every man’s marriage where he throws on rubber boots, forgets to do his make-up, runs out of hair dye, is forced to take his wife’s dogs for a walk and thinks to himself, “I may have chosen poorly”.
The only manly thing in this picture is his t-shirt.
Meanwhile, Hilaria is back at the penthouse soaking in a tub eating bonbons.
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