1. I just watched your precious Charlie fellate himself and now his nasty tongue is draped all over the Bing cherries in the Fred Meyer produce section while you are zoned out listening to an Ira Glass podcast. The entire fruit aisle is now a biohazard thanks to you.

2. You don’t care much for rules so I should not be surprised when you jay walk against the traffic light and stroll in front of my swiftly moving vehicle with your reluctant mongrel bobbing behind you like a bundle of cans tied to the back of a “just married” limo.

3. I’m not forcing you to admire my newborn child who looks like an inflated prune so don’t ask me to coo over your scruffy, slobbery mange monster either. At least my “baby” shares my DNA.

4. Thanks to the Mt. Rainer-sized pile of dog shit right outside my front gate that I didn’t see because it’s always dark and rainy in Seattle, my brand new Dansko clogs are trashed. I will leave an invoice for $150 on your front porch. Coco can pay from her trust fund.

5. It’s a restaurant, not a street fair. Don’t. Do. It.

6. It’s a street fair, not a dog park. Your unpredictable canine is not having fun and neither am I. You can’t be apart for one hour? Seek therapy.

7. Read the goddamned signs if you choose to go leashless in Seattle. We still segregate our parks when it comes to dogs and people.

8. An actual post from a millennial dog-boomer on a Seattle neighborhood FB page:

I need friends.
I have a cute dog.
Inquire within.

Unless “I have a cute dog” is a euphemism for reproductive organs, this might be the most tragic marketing attempt for a friend since “I have weed.”

9. Even the most notorious cat person doesn’t force their felines on society. They let them roam the neighborhood until they get picked off one by one by cars or coyotes and then go get more.
Cat people are clearly superior pet owners.

10. I don’t really hate your dog—I hate you. Thanks to your well-developed sense of privilege and your ability to organize with likeminded hipsters, your crappy crapping canines are taking over this city. Instead of laughing children on bikes, our streets are dotted with dog pools and water bowls and yoga-pant-wearing, poop-bag-carrying pet parents talking about their favorite vape flavors. Make sure to leave the house to your fur baby in your will because you won’t have any actual children to take you in when you start shitting where you shouldn’t.

Join upcoming November classes in Satire Writing, Sketch Writing, and Stand-Up Joke Writing.