Today is Dorothy Barker’s birthday and she is three. That means in dog years she is 21 today and is now technically able to drink. And that makes me jealous because I’m still not allowed to drink because of tuberculosis so now my dog has more freedoms than I do. And then Victor was like, “First of all, how did you even manage to make this all about you?” and then he told me I wasn’t allowed to give Dorothy Barker a celebration drink and I was like, “I’m not giving the dog booze, Victor. She can’t day drink alone. That’s how alcoholism starts.” And Victor didn’t agree with my reasoning but the end result was the same so he gave up and instead I just gave her a surprise party, which consisted of me yelling “SURPRISE, BITCH! IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY!” and Dorothy Barker was like:
Just kidding. Actually she looked a little confused because she doesn’t speak English, but I think she genuinely appreciated my excitement and/or the bull penis in my hand.
Happy birthday, Dorothy Barker.
PS. This is Dorothy Parker back when I thought her name was “Knives.” It was a phase we both grew out of.
PPS. The bull penis wasn’t for me. It’s for my dog. It’s weird that I need to clarify that. I realize pet stores call them “bully sticks” or “pizzle sticks” but they’re totally dried bull penises and I believe in calling a rose a rose and you need to know that your dog is chewing on bull penises. After they’ve been chopped up and turned into jerky, I mean. Not, like in the wild. That would be crazy and probably very dangerous for both dogs and bulls. This has been your unrequested educational announcement of the day.
