I’m not sure if you’ve heard but Jennifer’s dog recently lost it’s leg in a tragic accident or something? I don’t really know. I didn’t read the whole article or whatever, but her dog looks really cute. Like really, really cute. It is a friggen Cockadoodle that her dad bought her for Christmas. I remember because in the picture she posted on Instagram that year, the dog had a big bow and got over 250 likes. When my grandma died, I got maybe 85 likes and that’s being generous.
As if that’s not enough, every Halloween they wear matching costumes. Some of us have much less popular boyfriends to try to force to dress up with us. The whole thing is so unbelievably selfish and unfair, I can’t.
Even if I got our stupid overweight golden retriever to pose for a photo, she has anal leakage from one of these huge, hideous tumors hanging off her belly. Oh, let me just put some temporary metallic tattoos on one of her many tumors, that’ll fix it. See? Unfair. The playing field is completely leveled in her and her little one-legged minion’s favor.
I’m not necessarily expecting enough to get my dog’s cancer removed. I mean come on, she’s nine. Let the thing die so I can get a Snapchat worthy puppy. I am asking you to help me take a stand against unrealistic beauty standards. I cannot chop off a dog’s leg. I have tried. Bones are tough.
At least help me prove that I’m cuter. I can’t let her have this single personal win when we all know I’m the reason the cheerleading team made state last year. Let’s show her where our loyalty lies—with whoever can get them an invite to Tom’s party Friday. No, that’s not a hint. It’s a threat.