BAG O' SHITE

Dog shite.

No way I’d own a dog. Dirty stinking annoying things. What’s the point? You buy some playful little puppy that looks cute, bring it home and it craps all over your house, every day, for weeks, until finally, after enough beatings, it figures out that crapping on the carpet leads to violence from the human.

They drool over everything. Leave the meat on the kitchen worktop while you reach into the cupboard for the veg and the fucker will have snaffled your fillet steak. They moult, leaving hair and fur all over your furniture. They have bad breath, and they try to lick your face with disgusting drool and then try to fuck your leg. They bark all the time, drive your neighbours nuts as well as yourselves. They chew up sofas (a friend is on his third sofa thanks to the mutt that was forced on him by the rest of the family).

They can’t exercise themselves – you have to go with the dog, early morning and late at night. And you have to take a bag with you so you can pick up all those fresh steaming foul smelling turds that stink worse than anything imaginable. You then get dragged arou nd the estate, carrying a bag of shite, while the hound looks for something to piss on, like a nice alloy wheel, or better still, a bag of rubbish on the floor, next to a full wheelie bin. So when the binmen come along, they can get dog piss all over their hands. Lovely.

Cats, on the other, while being selfish, violent and evil little creatures, at least don’t need to be walked, and they bury their shit. That is about the only positive thing I can say about them. The stinking little sods still lie around on the furniture leaving their fleas and hair all over it. They have to be fed, otherwise they kill things and bring the bodies in the house, or worse still, bring living things like rodents in, and then let them go so they can chase them to the death around the front room. Then, when the mouse is dead, the cat just fucks off and leaves the corpse for you to deal with. The cat then saunters off outside, backs up to the herb patch and sprays your parsley and chives with the most disgusting catpiss. Bastards, all of them.

Bringing dog shit into the house has to be one of the most rage-inducing events known to man. I nearly stepped in some while loading the car last night. I’d seen it during daylight, just a feet away from the back of my car – small dog type shit, like a couple of cocktail sausages and a chipolota. Another bastard dog owner who takes his animal out so it can crap outside someone else’s home, and not bother to clean up. They are the lowest, the most selfish, the most inconsiderate bastards. I very nearly forgot it was there in the dark, and could have smudged it all across my shoes and brought it into the house. I was lucky this time.

Many years ago I had a situation where a dog owner was regularly letting his hound crap right on the path to my front door – a few feet from the house and where I had to walk every time I entered or left the building. After bawling him out when I caught him with the dog in mid crap, and receiving a ‘don’t give a fuck’ type of response, I made sure I followed him discreetly to see where he lived on the estate. Much later that night, I scooped up the turds into an envelope and put it through his letterbox. Never saw his dog crapping on my doorstep again.

So my advice to all of you is, whenever someone lets their dog take a dump on your doorstep without picking it up afterwards, make sure you find out where they live and send them a package. Even better if you can actually post it to them, as they’ll be less guarded when they open something that has come via Royal Mail, and who knows, with a bit of luck they might be having breakfast and inadvertently empty all that stinking shit into their cornflakes. Wonderful.

We live next to a primary school, and one day I had reason to go in there to speak to the head. Walking through the corridor as all the kids were arriving for the day, I saw shit-smears all along the floor. Some poor kid had brought in a heap on his shoes and smudged it all around the school and his classroom. The staff then had to get the mop and bucket out, warn all the other kids, close off the corridor, clean up the kid covered in crap, get it out of the carpet in the classroom, and hose down the corridor. All because some fucking inconsiderate lousy fuckwit dog owner could not be arsed to pick up the disgusting mushy plops his animal had dropped, right outside the school. It doesn’t even take common sense to consider what is going o happen when your dog turns out on a footpath in front of the school gates. What c*nts these people are.

They should have their faces rubbed into their own dog’s ass.

At college, in 1975 (shit, that’s a while ago now), there was a student from Nigeria, or Cameroon or some place like that in Africa, who went by the name Jet. In his culture, a dog was something you ate from time to time, and he could not understand the British obsession with keeping animals as pets, rather than for food.

He was a complete twat, but I will always remember his wonderful rant about dog owners, mainly because I happened to tape it on my cassette recorder and still have it to this day. However, you have to hear it, complete with African accent, to find it amusing. I don’t suppose anyone other than myself will chuckle at the following, which brings back memories of a drunken evening surrounded by other twats.

“People who buy dogs, I think they are dogs themselves. I think they are dogs. I believe it, you know. They are dogs themselves. They can’t stop feeding the fucking dog, you know? They buy dog chow, chow chow and all that, and they spend, what, five quid….a day…on this dog. And they say, ‘it’s like one of the family’. What the fucking hell is a dog gonna do for you, man? People who buy dogs……they are dogs themselves.”

I’m with my Jet black friend on that one.

And then there is the dangerous breeds that our criminal element like to walk around the town with, intimidating people. These vicious little canine bastards that turn on children and tear them to shreds, or even kill them, should be rounded up and slaughtered. We don’t need them.

Fucking dogs. They’re all bastards.

Bill Turnip.