Bandit here! Guess where I'm going today? To be tortured. Daddy likes to call it "the hairstylist" but I call it torture. I hate it. While Kim, my favorite stylist is very sweet and nice, the things she does to me is sort of like what you would all call an alien abduction. I've seen the documentaries with Dad on Discovery so I know. As mentioned in a previous post, to keep me clean, Dad likes it "short around the anus". For me, this isn't always pleasant.
In about an hour Dad will be conning me into a ride in the car where we'll head to the PetStore. I usually get duped into excitement for sometimes when we go to the PetStore it's for a prize. This time though, I'm onto him. I saw his BlackBerry: 1/18 Bandit Grooming - PetStore. Ugh! Once there, in a bit of protest, I like to try and pee in the aisles but Dad doesn't usually let me. I can tell that every other mutt and their cousin has done so. So why can't I? I ask. He doesn't listen.
Like a hot potato, Dad drops me off at the grooming station and heads to work. I'm then placed in a jail cell until they're ready to begin with the instrumentation. After a half-hour or so of being locked up, the alien abduction stuff begins to happen. Part of this is giving me this expensive milk bath which takes away all my beautiful scents and turns me into a protein shake fused with lilacs. It's disgusting. I want to smell like a dog not a SlimFast. Then there's my Frito paws. They wind up being clipped and rubbed and manicured. I like how they smell similar to a bag of corn chips not like Dad after he lathers himself up with the lubricant he keeps by the bed. (Don't tell him I told you that.)
After about four or five hours of hanging out in this spaceship, Dad comes to get me. "Finally, relief! I need to pee like there's no tomorrow. Hurry up and pay that damn bill and get me out of here!" I yelp. Yet Dad takes his time. The stylists usually flirt with him and Dad's little ego allows it yet his desire for the mighty shaft obviously circumvents the process. I can't bare the thought of letting the girls know my Dad's a big ol' queen. It would crush them. Even though they torture me, I like them. I blame my father. After all, he's paying them to do it.
Well, must get ready. I should go outside and do my stuff. Get it out of me now. Lord knows there's no relief in the UFO.