A Pathetic Cruicible

We two warriors face each other. The dog stares at me pensively, but will I relent? Will I give him the wet food? No one knows these things about themselves until they are tested. He is a Yorkshire Terrier named Billy and I am a man of twenty four named Phil. Our crucible is at hand and no one can know the outcome for there is no fate. There is only what we decide.

Heady stuff, I know but if one is to be decisive individual one must have identity. I stand strong and the bowl fills with autumnal colored victory: dry food. To Billy’s credit he accepts defeat graciously as all should do when confronted with a man so strong as I. Yet, still our eternal struggle continues.

I need to get laid, desperately.

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