That Unhinged Pet Store Owner

Fri, 04/15/2022 - 10:30pm

Good Day,

No doubt you swarms of smug bottom feeders know me as "that unhinged pet store owner simmering away in Boothbay Harbor you are paying attention to until something really bad happens." But have you ever wondered WHY I'm such a danger to myself and others? Like most other sociopaths, it was my childhood that turned me from gurgling, cuddly, toddler into the barely coherent fountain of expletives you enjoy (FOR FREE) today.
Stupid Photo
GRADE SCHOOL: Forced to wear highly-flammable clothing and glasses thick enough to start a fire on Saturn (Side note: Glasses had an impact rating of 14 megatons).

Forced to attend Glee Club, violin lessons, Motherboy Galas, Junior Anti-Sex League demonstrations, and moderate the SALT II nuclear disarmament talks.

Endured water fluoridation, multiple lies regarding the moon landing, and stinging slaps to the face whilst trying to discover "What's under that dress?"

Secret Shame: Lost the ascot to that outfit only days after purchase.

 


Another Stupid PhotoMIDDLE SCHOOL:    

I hate my bangs in that photo.

This was taken shortly after listening to .38 Special's "Hold on Loosely" for the first time. I was only months away from eating my first taco.

Despite making head waterboy on the football team and spending a fortune on the latest fashions and hairstyles, I still couldn't find out what the hell was under that dress. The only clues were from the Sears Catalogue of Women's Underwear. It was a very primitive time.

Secret Shame: Wanted to change my name to Jethro. Not because of Mr. Tull, but because of the Beverly Hillbillies.

 


HIGH SCHOOL:  

Yet Another Stupid Photo
Ahh.. those sunglasses. And that chicken.

If it wasn't for my pet chicken "Quetzalcoatl" (Pronounced "Eddie"), my life might have taken a VERY different path indeed.

Quetzalcoatl introduced me to a life of drugs, alcohol, sports betting, currency speculation, eggs over easy, and gun running. And let's face it; chicks LOVE a chicken. Without her, I might never have found out what was under that dress.

High school was the time I formulated my wildly successful manifesto regarding dual-spearhead tank warfare in Eastern Europe. I also perfected the perfect martini (gin, stirred, not shaken, and very dirty), and completed my dissertation of Hal Linden's "Shining Path" sympathies.

Secret Shame: Arrested for hitting on the wrong kind of chicks.


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