The Lost Episode of Paw Patrol
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I had just fucked a bitch I grabbed off the street. She had a lot of sex before in a variety of positions, missionary, doggystyle, apeshit—no, that last one is not real, but it could be real if you really wanted it to be—whatever. I had gotten tired of her so I tossed her out of bed the morning following our exchanging of chemicals and told her to get the fuck out before I called the cops. She cried and begged me not to let her go so she made me some pancakes in mickey mouse face shapes. I allowed her to eat one of herself while I helped myself to a baker's dozen. She sat there crying, sobbing, cannibalizing mickey mouse because as far as I was concerned she was a rat. After she was done I picked up the ol' cordless house phone and she skedaddled, but not before emptying out her purse in some sort of demonstration of anger and me taking away her womanhood from her without the prospect of a long-term relationship. Oh great, it was a VHS tape, like winning a Nintendo for throwing a ball in the bucket on the Bozo the Clown shoe. What a fucking display, it was about as impressive as watching a seal dangle a basketball on its nose for five and a half seconds before it fell into the ocean and sank straight into the ground not unlike my dignity and humanhood. I picked up the VHS tape and stuck it in the toaster as a fuck you but she unplugged the toaster and stole it and ran out the door with it. Bitch. I hate her rotten fucking guts. Whatever her name even was. Chrysanthemum? Yeah, let's go with that.
I bit into the VHS tape and a tiny bit of plastic splintered out and flittered down my esophagus. Oh, no wait, there was just a chipped off piece of tooth. I read the label on the tape, because I still had my stylish Buddy Holly glasses on because I needed to wear them during sex to find her vuhjayjay. "The Lost Episode of Paw Patrol: Canada Burns to the Ground". Sounds good. Serves those liberal douches right, buttfucking meese and rubbing maple syrup on their chests in celebration of losing their virginity at the ripe old age of 69. Wait a minute: what even was a paw patrol? I stuck my tape in the VCR and got maple syrup all over it from the mickey mouse pancakes. I rubbed the syrup all over the tape in disgust of myself, my body, and my complete and total disregard for anybody else who wasn't me. I popped her cherry, and I'd do it again. I popped a cherry into the VCR and picked up the VHS remote and shoved it up my butthole. I tried washing the VCR remote but it short-circuited and now I had no way of watching the tape so I prayed to Zeus really hard and wouldn't you know it a lightning bolt struck my house and set my house on fire. The electricity somehow let the tape work so I didn't give a shit, I was watching Paw Patrol bitch.
The theme song went like this: "Paw patrol, paw patrol, paw paw paw paw paw patrol/We're not unlike grandma's tuna casserole/Because she made it from dogs/paw patrol, paw patrol/We never made the honor roll/Paw patrol paw patrol/Teach critical race theory to your dogs". I popped the VHS tape out of my VCR and took a shit on it. I smeared the shit all over the front of the tape and took a great big whiff and then popped it back in and hit play using telekinesis of my mind. The episode continued as normal, I guess, I don't know, I don't watch this show.
"Hi, my name is Ryder!", some wannabe eleven year old who was clearly actually twenty-one years old and sporting a lot of hair gel exclaimed. He was riding an electric scooter and I gasped in horror as he rode it into two tall buildings and he exploded into bacon bits and miniature m&ms. Smoke came out from the top of the two towers while I stuck my maple syrup hands down my pants and mistook it for a certain other fluid. Maple syrup and hot dog stuffing. I continued watching the tape. For no reason whatsoever the scene switched over to what I assumed was the hangout of the main characters. There were six dogs, including a Dalmation, a bulldog, a German Shepherd, a mixed-breed (much like myself, I'm part white part Mexican), a chocolate Labrador retriever, and I don't know but if Steve Urkel was a dog that would be the other one. I scratched my balls and wondered what I was doing with my life. I have very sharp fingernails so I shrieked in horror from the pain. I struck a nerve in my teste. Oh well it happens. The dogs were having some sort of meeting, which makes no sense because dogs can't hold meetings other than to bite each other's ears and steal food and fart.
"That's it, I had it, I'm quitting the force.", shouted the police dog in a loud German accent. "If I can't put my paws on the throat of some (unspeakable word here) then Adventure Bay is Adventure Gay as far as I'm concerned." Why were they addressing sexuality in a young person's cartoon when it was not airing on Cartoon Network? "Yeah man, I have AIDS.", asserted the firefighter. What the fuck? Dogs can't have AIDS. Trust me, I have some friends who are dogs.
Suddenly the aviator dog jumped out the window. You could see them get covered in glass shards and blood sput all over the entire room. The construction dog fixed the hole in the window though so it was all OK. It was a dog-shaped hole in the window because the aviator dog was a dog. I scratched my balls some more. "Well I guess no one needs more anymore.", said the handyman dog who apparently was upset that they didn't need his handy work to fix the window so he jumped out of the window and he died too. What the fuck kind of children's programming was this?
I got up and picked up the phone. I wanted to apologize to my girlfriend who I just met and had sex with last night for what had happened. In other words I was still horny and my hand wasn't doing the trick. I accidentally called the wrong number and was greeted by an unfamiliar voice. The guy on the other end introduced himself as Freddie Freaker and offered me the opportunity to learn what was happening and what wasn't. He sang me a rap song about pissing off of overpasses so that your weiner water falls on the heads of old ladies driving convertibles. I hung up the phone and tried again. The operator asked me who I wanted to call and I said ghostbusters because references are always funny and she told me to go fall off a cliff. I informed her that Wile E. Coyote was just a cartoon character and unlike him I always come back all healed up in the next panel and she hung up the phone.
I scratched my balls again and this time I plucked out a pubic hair. I was bored so I decided to turn the tape back on. This time we were greeted into a scene of shoreside Adventure Bay, the town these characters were from I guess. Oh no, there was a beached whale! "Oh no, it's a beached whale!", cried the firefighter dog who shot the beached whale in the face with a giant hose. I shrieked in horror when I realized that was no water hose at all, but a hose all full of blistering burning acid! The whale burnt down to a crisp and even its skeleton was half eviscerated. I let out a scream but I live alone because I'm dead. I realized I forgot to bring the snacks, which I always do when I watched TV, but my balls were already chocolate from chocolate maple syrup and if I ate salty pretzels I might end up with chocolate salty balls and this is not South Park, no. This is real life, and there is no South Park in real life, no matter how hard you try. No matter how hard you try.
The final scene played out and it bothered me. All of the Paw Patrol characters, including the ones who logically should have been dead from jumping out of the window, were in jail. The young adult pretending to be a prepubescent teenager (that's a thing now I guess these days with hormone replacement surgeries) asks the police dog about the placement of the buttons on his police uniform while the aquatic rescue pup which for some reason did not do anything to help the beached whale from earlier asks if they had the conversation before. This was a very short episode, kind of like how when I see cartoon characters in my mind who try to kill me when girls reject me. Maybe it was actually a two-parter, though? I waited and waited but something really strange and disturbing happened instead. The scene changed for 12 ½ minutes to a video loop of the aviator dog flying a Wright brothers style craft into the Pentagon, while explodes while a high-ranking military official is clearly seen smacking his gums and laughing and chewing on industrial-strength gorilla glue, the strongest glue known to man. Actually, upon pausing the tape I realized that was not actually gorilla glue, but chewing tobacco. But that wasn't even the worst part. The gorilla glue mascot was replaced with a picture of the Washington Football Team Redskins logo, except the sweet-hearted headdress guy was crying. It was at that moment that I realized the true lesson of this tape. As a community we cannot thrive together without sustainability, and sometimes this means we have to let each other act like assholes so that we don't get up and leave each other forever oh shit I forgot about my girlfriend.
I got up and ran out of my seat and sprinted for the train station. Oh sweet Betsy, don't leave me now! Not now, not ever, not forever ever? Forever ever! Unfortunately I didn't realize it but when I had almost made it to the train station something horrifying and sad had occurred against my better judgment. I had done the unthinkable, the unhonorable, and well just the straight up dumbest stupidest unbearable why why why OK I'll just finish the thought: I had unknowingly attached a giant rubber band yoyo like device to my waist and it ran out of distance and I was now spiraling my way back to my house. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Betsy crying with the seed I shot on her face just a bit below her cheek (again remember I had my glasses on so I could see very well). My last word was pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, a word that refers to a lung disease contracted from the inhalation of very fine silica particles, specifically from a volcano; medically, it is the same as silicosis... as I went flying through the air and eventually crash landed through the front wall of my house, leaving a dog-shaped hole that likely paid tribute to my character flaw and addiction of fucking everything that moved and had a woman's genitalia (basically, all women, unless they were more than 20 pounds overweight). I was dead.
The next day, a firefighter, a construction worker, a police officer, a handyman, an aquatic rescuer, and an aviator stopped by my house to collect my body and patch up the hole in the front wall so that they could sell my haunted property to my next victim. This didn't bother me so much because as a sexaholic I was more bothered that, as a ghost, I no longer had a penis or a sex drive. I guess the moral of the story is, why bother it's gonna hurt me it's gonna kill when you desert me. This happened to me twice before. It won't happen to me anymore.
Also, you probably shouldn't hire dogs to do men's work.
The End.
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Credited to DaveTheUseless
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