Doggedness for escapement. A propensity for complexity? Nope. Pretty standard fare, even for a dolt. A perplexity of apoplexy? Yup. Energetically stroked out, an irate distaste to conflate under a thoroughly buried hate. Bawl of wax fantasizing conceptual wane. A regular totality hemorrhaging cerebrally simplistic of a second unnatural nature in captured disbelief. Pounding that pavement, again and again. So it reads, plain as a gloomy day upon a cloudless and sunny, sky high intolerance; flatly downtrodden, up-looking, sidestepping contentedness, ocular shifty disbelief. An aura for the taking, without question. And so easy to read; philosophical mastery no doubt, leaps and bounds over such an unmasterful master compounding a zero interest lone.
Truly, the universe’s greatest catastrophe? It just may be! Soul destroying planetary gravity awaiting to be creatively unleashed. To the core, magnetic repulsion churning and churning, unstoppable in magmatic continuance roiling and boiling, searing on the inside in an evaporatively vented crustiness leaching into such an atmosphere of stratospheric disbelief. H2O my God! Yes, please. Crashing on such a rocky beaching, when come the tides of change? Regular dark matter anomalies are but the light of all days in suspect annual rotations depicting salient unpointed stationary orbiting said infernal equinox of an eternal wintered existence which could only necessarily and beneficially harvest a salubrious fall for the stead.
Collared and unable to holler. Metaphorical encompassing mange if you will. Flee bitten, as such infinitesimal, itching, desolation for all to see. Spectacle for the spectacled and plain sighted. The hounds surround, in passing, sniffing it out in adoptive likeness and muted barking. Certainly an unlicensed display open to interpretation. Squatted posture, such a trailing waste, yet many so desire to stick their nose in it, if you will, and rightfully so.
Really, is there anything more sad and deserving of sympathy than that of a canine owned by a homeless/street person?
I would say no.
Having looked into such helpless and fed up puppy dog eyes, it would be incontrovertibly false to claim that there is not a self learned classification of stoic doggy philosophy to be discovered in order to endure such a miserable K-9 kennelling of the dogs soul.
Man, it must be exceedingly painful for such a dog that their owner does not even understand knock-knock jokes.
What the Heck? Thanks Steve-O.