Pets are cool. There's nothing wrong with inviting a creature of the wild into your home and allowing them to defecate on your belongings. Hell, through the years of constant spending of your money in exchange for the attention they provide, it's easy to grow attached to these little creatures. Insanity eventually sets in and the empty thoughtless looks in their black eyes leads to the madness of the soul. Soon, the pet has the voice of Jim Morrison and the stack of dead hookers rotting in your attic leads you to ponder where your life went astray.
As I said before, pets are cool. I have two of them myself and the nights of constant awakening to the sound of their clawing led me to ponder the question of where pets go when they die. Thanks to our levitating neighbors across the Atlantic and a healthy dose of Norse mythology, I now know the answer and it profoundly terrifies me.
The rainbow bridge -- fans of Thor will know where this is going -- provides a link from this life to the next. Think of it as the New Jersey Turnpike of the afterlife. I should let them explain it.
Doesn't that just touch you? I mean there's something comforting in the idea that your pet would rather frolic in a field then be with you. Makes you wonder how much your pet really misses you. I mean, if there was a green field waiting for me when I died, no offense, but the rest of you can go to Hell. I have a green field, damn it.
Furthermore, those of you lined up to go to Hell may be shocked to learn that pets, unlike humans, don't go anywhere but up in the celestial ladder. It turns out that all dogs really do go to Heaven. Children, you'd better be good in life, or God will take away your dog.
Hope is not lost though, for those animals abused or neglected in life, all they must do is wait for someone with a kind heart to escort them across the bridge and into Heaven.
Neglected animals become Emos in the afterlife. At times like this, we need a superhero, someone who will come along and undo this horrid injustice. If only Superman were here to save us.
Here I was wasting my time on Earth trying to help people.
Okay, this is depressing; it's time to change the subject just a tad. What would you pay for your very own moment of grief remembrance? Twenty dollars? Maybe you would trade your eternal soul? Well, I have a deal for you. If you act now and murder your pet--I'm kidding about the murder part--you will receive your block of mourning for free. That's right, free. Now take your rubber sled and get out of here.
That's sweet. They're not charging anything for these memorials. It almost makes you wonder why this site found its way into this column. Well, rest assured the biggest flaming ball of crap is upon us. If you have small children in the room, you might want them to turn away from the screen for a moment. Now don't say I didn't warn you.
Christ, they went there.
See any you were worried that your loved ones taken by terrorist attacks would suffer in the afterlife. On the contrary, they got puppies. That's not comforting I know, but, well, that's what you get when you ask for comfort from someone who's completely insane. The best however is yet to come.
For the first time in my life, I have nothing witty to say. I am just as terrified as you are. This is awkward. Maybe this would be a good time to close this little column up and line up my next project.
Your Moment of Insanity:
The poor lady lost her boner. Sometimes this column just writes itself. Boner, I am a genius.
"For 13 years now, I've had this little dog named Boner."
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