Carlos got adopted, y'all. And not by me. Some other (probably) douchebag family adopted him right out from under me. And now he probably has some lame ass name like Droopy or Shorty or Bob. And because the lady at the shelter refused to write Carlos Spicy Weiner on his cage like I asked when I called up there the first time (bitch), this family will never know how awesome his name could have been. Because there is no way that (most likely) dumb family could come up with a name that awesome. Poor Carlos.
And poor me. Okay so I probably wasn't gonna adopt Carlos in the first place because we're broke and already have two asshole cats living here that are doing a fine job ripping the shit out of my house. But now that he's gone, I can't even dream. Or sell merchandise legitimately.
So everyone can take down their Save Carlos buttons. I guess technically he did get saved, but it wasn't by me and now this awesome storyline has a super lame ending. I probably should have lied and said we adopted him and then wrote all kinds of humorous and heartwarming stories about our silly Carlos Spicy Weiner and made millions on doggy t-shirts and thong underwear sales. But I just couldn't lie to you guys. You complete me. Or whatever.
Damn it, Captain Carl!
On Becoming My Grandmother
3 months ago