Puppy Bowl

I SO am not allowed to watch Puppy Bowl.

I. Want. A. Dog.

It’s pathetic, I’m aware. On the other hand, I do not care. (And hey, look! I’m a poet! I should SO be allowed to raise a dog.)

I’ve decided that I’m going to attempt to broker a deal with my landlord. It goes a little something like this: “Dear Hector. If you allow there to be mice in our house, then you must allow there to be dogs.”

Valid argument, no?

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