Because I'm pretty sure it was actually "*Don't* let sleeping dogs lie, that's boring."

I'm not going to call you, M.M., a dogfucker. I'm just going to think you are, and tell you I'm thinking you are, and tell everyone else that I'm thinking you are. But I'm totally not calling you one, and I'm totally not going to be calling you one again when I repost the sentence to my livejournal.

In other news, no, M. "My belief in your lackeyism, let me tell you about it" M. is not particularly quick on the uptake. Or, possibly, particularly anything on the uptake. I admit he never struck me as bright over on Serebii, but this is a new low, and more importantly, is not even amusing in its inanity. Good odds that the newest iteration reproduced above meets about as much comprehension as the previous few, but at least this one amused me.

Perhaps we can start a betting pool on how many weeks it takes him to grasp the concepts involved here. My money's on "never".

Pets

Petsitting again.

Here's what we have:

There's the hermit crabs, always good for crushing guilt and fear. They've been dying each time they molt. Mom brings them home and they promptly dig holes and prepare to molt. We find out that the diet we've been giving them is kind of like feeding a kid nothing but jello. We switch foods. They ignore it because they don't move when they're getting ready for molting. They're still alive, possibly, at the moment. One completed its molt but hasn't come out yet and we're still waiting to find out if it'll die or if the other one will kill it.

Hermit crabs suck.

Also, we need a third one or they'll be sad.

The hamster-gerbil-things are fine, except they've got bite marks on their ears. I don't know if they're trapped together in misery, or if they'd be lonely if I separate them. And this is one of those things you can't undo - if I separate them, they can't go back together. I'm thinking of setting up a second cage and connecting it, but Mom's pretty sure they'll just divide up the territory and fight more.

Also, they hate me.

We're taking care of dogs. Dogs suck. You have to walk them and you can't just leave food out for them and they shit on the floor if you don't let them out. The big dog we're taking care of for our neighbor is too high maintenance. And he wants to run when we walk and I feel bad if I don't but I can't keep up at him going at full speed even when I sprint and it's uphill everywhere here and it's exhausting just doing the walking. And the little dogs our friend gave us have the cats cowering in the basement (which is an improvement over not coming home at all because everytime they came near the little fuckers started barking their heads off and charging the door). They're also fat and needy. One isn't eating, and the other we don't want to feed because he's so fat. He doesn't want to go for a walk. He just wants to sit down on your lap and never ever move except to eat his food, the other dog's food, and the cats' food. He's a chihuahua. I tried to look up what the original purpose of chihuahuas is and after hitting a dozen pages that don't even mention it I found their purpose was to be sacrificed or eaten. Or both. They are like furry pigs if pigs had separation anxiety. And we have no idea if we should be feeding him or not since he's so incredibly obese. AND WHEN YOU EAT FOOD THEY JUST SIT AND STARE AT YOU. AND STARE. AND STARE.

And there's a betta, who isn't causing any problems.