Dogs. Man’s best friend but realistically not a great responsibility to have when you’re 24/25 and can barely take care of yourself. I struggle enough with laundry, health insurance, and keeping pubes out of my bathroom, so I should not be in charge of anyone else’s life. Pluses of dogs, they attract females (although women are CANCELED), are cute as fuck, and are a great vibe. Minuses, they shit a ton and are expensive. So, when I went away for the weekend and heard my roommate had adopted a dog (and assumed full responsibility) without me knowing, I was STOKED.

The Evidence

The evidence above, corroborated with multiple snapchats, instagram stories, and phone calls convinced me that my roommate had drunkenly adopted a dog named Mila (girl). The setup was elaborate and I applaud the craft of the bit. They went the extra mile. I was even ready to keep this dog if I was allergic to it. I would’ve injected as many epi pens as needed in my pasty-white-thin-thighs for this woofer.

This news sat with me for roughly 24 hours. I can only compare the levels of happiness I was feeling to when I walk back to my apartment on a Friday morning with a Venti Cold Brew with Light Ice. Nothing gets me going more than a VCBLI. IMAGINE me taking Mila to Starbucks to grab a VCBLI. The Friday morning tweets would’ve been epic.

SO, when I found out roughly 3 hours ago that they did NOT in fact adopt a dog, and it was just a friend’s, and it was just a bit, I felt like I lost a loved one. I had already imagined life with a dog for the past 24 hours. I am sad. Not only sad that I got my hopes up, sad for the people and/or entities I hyped up.

I owe the following an explanation or apology:

  • The 47 girls I snap-chatted and/or (most definitely “and”) texted that my apartment adopted a dog.
  • The 47 girls above that I told could dog sit.
  • The 453 people that viewed my Instagram story thinking we copped a dog.
  • My Mom’s Amazon account that I bought dog stuff on.
  • The bro at the bar last night that I drunkenly spewed to about dogs.

I will be doing the following:

  • Telling every female I’ve ever met that my dog Mila died.

Moral of the story: Women are canceled (including Mila)

Mookie Bets
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