Wednesday, May 12, 2004
Ok, enough with the "You're gay if you get a Yorkie" emails and phone calls.
I get it. It's not the most masculine dog in the world. In my defense, my grandmother's dog, which is a Yorkie, does not look like a Yorkie, and I am trying to see if anyone in my family has a digital picture of the dog to prove this to you all.
Until that happens (if it happens), I will not be getting a Yorkie. I promise. I will get a much more masculine dog, or even a wolf, a wolf that I will capture in the wild with my bare hands while shirtless, and I will name him Thunder, and I will tame Thunder in my small apartment, and in this process we will grow to love each other, and we will discover that we can communicate telepathically, and by day we will be your average guy who masturbates way too much and is always hanging out in the pizza place with his pet wolf, but by night we will be the greatest crime-fighting duo the Upper East Side has ever seen: Thunder and Tso, he the canine badder than Cujo and more courageous than Lassie, and I the well-intentioned but overweight and not very agile ninja, who derives his strength from the most ancient chicken recipe of General Tso, handed down from 4th century China, whose spirit I can contact and consult for guidance, but only in the shower, and only when completely nude except for a special magic t-shirt.
So you get the point: no Yorkie. But thank you for the emails.