How was your weekend? Good, good. Hey, do me a favor and shut up for a second. Listen about my weekend.
In a house with no paper towels, no laundry detergent, and no gloves, I descended the stairs Saturday morning to find that the smart dog had explosive diarrhea. The smart designation is important, because the dumb dog was free to roam and frolic in this paradise for hours. It was on walls. It was on furniture and pillows and wiring. It was ground into the woodwork and into every canine orifice. Some was even somehow, miraculously, in the toilet bowl. Apparently Fredo worked up a powerful thirst.
Do you take the rancid dogs with you to the store, or do you go alone and let them party on? It's a no-win scenario, my personal Kobayashit Maru.