Seals come up on the estuary beaches at night and leave behind giant presents you'll never forget. I have witnesses first-hand how seal shit can draw *any and every* dog walking through the estuary park like iron filings to a magnet, and no matter how vigorously the owner tries to intervene, the dog *will* roll in it as thoroughly as it can before being violently hauled away by their hurling owners.
We cannot turn seal shit into "dognip" however... Why?
Do you remember how your mom would tell you not to make *that* face because it might freeze into that expression forever? Sniffing seal shit *will* do that...It's weapons grade stench will bitch slap you straight into the laps of your ancestors five generations removed and incapacitate you with a purging retch that'll leave you farting fresh air. If you didn't curb your dog in time and he or she rolled in the vile pile, and, if you are over an hours' walk from your home, you get to experience Satan's radioactive flatulence radiating from your ecstatically happy pooch, and watch other pedestrians react like you are channeling Cthulhu. Then you get to wash the greasy stuff off of your deeply offended dog, as you seriously consider tracking down that skunk you pulled your dog away from earlier and scaring it into spraying you with it's far less insufferable scent. Lap number sixty-seven through the bowels of Hell completed...Where is my 'effing T-shirt? I'll call a plastic surgeon in the morning and see if my face will actually freeze in this expression forever or not. Love to all of you. Have a wonderful weekend. (Hug!)"
We cannot turn seal shit into "dognip" however... Why?
Do you remember how your mom would tell you not to make *that* face because it might freeze into that expression forever? Sniffing seal shit *will* do that...It's weapons grade stench will bitch slap you straight into the laps of your ancestors five generations removed and incapacitate you with a purging retch that'll leave you farting fresh air. If you didn't curb your dog in time and he or she rolled in the vile pile, and, if you are over an hours' walk from your home, you get to experience Satan's radioactive flatulence radiating from your ecstatically happy pooch, and watch other pedestrians react like you are channeling Cthulhu. Then you get to wash the greasy stuff off of your deeply offended dog, as you seriously consider tracking down that skunk you pulled your dog away from earlier and scaring it into spraying you with it's far less insufferable scent. Lap number sixty-seven through the bowels of Hell completed...Where is my 'effing T-shirt? I'll call a plastic surgeon in the morning and see if my face will actually freeze in this expression forever or not. Love to all of you. Have a wonderful weekend. (Hug!)"
Yo no huele mierda foca... ¿y tú?
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