Reece's Peanut Butter Crotch

A couple months ago I got a puppy. A few observations:

1. Why is “don’t shit inside” such a difficult concept to grasp? He seems to understand, “fridge = food,” “sitting = treats” and “Spray bottle means stop chewing on Ehren’s face.” He can’t pick this one up? I’d trade the rest of his knowledge for learning that the carpet is not his own private shitter. 
2. The dog may be possessed by Satan. I say this because he sleeps with eyes open and rolled back in his head. Combine this with a fondness for dozing off in the weirdest positions and the demonic barking and growling he does and it would be truly frightening if he were any larger than a ham.
3. The amount of ass that would be available to me if I were single is truly astounding.

Now, I’m aware that I’m a little late on that last subject. I knew that this was a technique that had been used for time out of mind by the men who brought you such famous hits as “crabs” “anal” and the donkey punch, but seriously…after walking around with my puppy for a week, I suddenly realized what he was: no-game-necessary card.

EVERYONE had a reaction to me. Virtually every person on the street suddenly made eye-contact and stopped to chat with me. I’m not sure why it is that people automatically assume that because you retrieved a dog carcass from the nearest dumpster, you never lured children into a van or sport-fucked the mentally ill.

Seriously, Jack Saddle is going to get a ridiculous amount of ass simply by borrowing my dog. AND he doesn’t have to scrub shit stains out of a rug at 11:30 on a Wednesday. I hate you, Jack.

I was watching my new puppy, Capone, eat peanut butter the other day from a hollowed out toy called a Kong. What I noticed was that in between slurps of Jiffy, he’d take time off to wash his genitals. Naturally, this got me to thinking: what if Reece’s got it all wrong?

Those would have been some disturbing commercials:

• “Nothing goes with smooth, rich peanut butter like the tangy, nutty taste of crotch.”
• “Hey, your cock fell in my peanut butter!” “No, your peanut butter fell onto my cock!”

Or, my favorite:

• A peanut butter truck veers out of control and crashes into…a truck full of dildos on the way to an all girl porno shoot.

Good times. And you know, I might have been more open to sampling this novel appetizer if I saw an ad for it. Unfortunately, I never had the chance to consent.

Capone has the unnerving habit of sitting on the couch next to people, watching them carefully until they are otherwise occupied, then launching himself at their face, to lick them vigorously. If you’re unlucky enough to be talking, eating, or have any open orifices, then you’re treated to a generous helping of puppy tongue.

This is regrettable because his favorite past time (when not eating shoes, shitting in weird places, or attacking your face) is going down on himself with an enthusiasm that frankly puts most women to shame. So when I happened to be tongue-raped while eating a peanut butter sandwich, I got to sample the questionable “peanut butter and dog crotch” flavor that had been sweeping my living room to rave reviews. It was under-whelming at best. Let’s just say that as much as I’d love to watch commercial actors biting Peter Pan smeared dog wang on national television, I wouldn’t be waiting for this to appear at a candy stand near you in the foreseeable future.