Hey, remember when we had sex a while back? That was sweet, right? We never called each other again and it was awkward whenever we happened to bump into each other somewhere.
The bitch in question.Anyways, um, I don't know how to say this, but recently I was diagnosed with a rare strain of herpes. Specifically a canine strand of the herpes virus. "Dog herpes."
It's a long story, basically my buddy's dog would not leave me alone. This bitch was all over me. She would jump on me whenever I walked in the door, bring her ball over to me to play fetch, just basically flirting with me 24/7. So one day, it was a full moon, we're drinking some brewskis at my bro's house, I have to go to the bathroom, I pass by my friend's dog, and next thing I know I'm fucking my buddy's dog in her doghouse. I didn't wear a condom, because…well, what's the worst that could happen? She has a half-dog, half-human baby? That shit would be funny as fuck!
But what's not funny is an unquenchable persistent yearning for treats, sensitive paws, peeing on mailboxes and pooping on lawns, AKA the symptoms of dog herpes.
Turns out my friend's dog got around quite a bit. And the bitch never got tested until one day she went to the doctor for excessive panting and pissing up blood. Also, she had lost her appetite and wouldn't eat ANYTHING, not even those fucking delicious Snausages.
I didn't want to freak you out until I was sure that I had the puppy herp. So she called all her past sexual partners, including Rover, Fido, Rex, Sir Woofsalot, and me; and broke the news.
Unfortunately that's where you come in. You see, when we were having sex and my "Who Let the Dog's Out" ringtone started playing, that was Lassie texting me that she had contracted herpes and that I might have it too. Well what the fuck was I gonna do? Not finish having sex with you? Stop immediately and inform you and all my past sexual partners because herpes virus is very contagious and easily transmitted? Of course not. I'm not an idiot. If you were gonna get herpes during our love-making, you would've had it by then. I mean we'd been having sex for at least 70 minutes by then, for Christ's fuckin' sake. At least 10 of it doggy style, too.
So I did what anyone in their right mind would do: I frowned, put away my phone, and continued banging you. I didn't want to freak you out until I was sure that I had the puppy herp. So when I got fleas, I just figured, hey, maybe I needed to vacuum my living room. No use calling up 40+ people and telling them they should go to the doctor because one time they gave me a beej in a confession booth, right?
But sooner or later, the symptoms and my conscience got to be too much. Whenever anybody called me "dawg," I would flip out. People started getting suspicious. So I went to the doctor and he referred me to a veterinarian and they did the ol' herpes test on me. Now I think you know what the result of that test was, but here's a hint: I passed. Or I failed. Which one is it if you DO have herpes? It's like, you have herpes, so you pass the test, but in a way, you kind of fail. Because you shit undigested bones and hump random people on the subway.