Fact or Fiction?

Today at work, a woman brought her dog. This was no ordinary dog, it was a wiener dog. You know, the long, long, stout dogs that used to lick my Grandpa's toes.

Yes, that dog.

Anyway, the woman had a special Louis Vuitton bag from what she called the "Wienerlicious" line designed for high class folks with special needs dogs. See, this wiener dog had cataracts so it fell into the special needs area. Anyway, the pink and white stitching on the new Wienerlicious purse looked really familar. It reminded me of some stitching my cousin had done when she spent some time in a Vietnamese sweat shop. She had decided to take a trip to Asia, fell in love with Vietnam and decided to try and film an expose on the exploitation of young Asian workers in sweatshops. She didnt get very far because she ended up loving the sewing and stitching, long hours and cramped work conditions. She came back to the States after several months with a large laundry bag filled with Coach purses that she intended to sell for half price. Recently, she went to China to investigate human rights violations.

Back at work, the woman asked me to hold her bag for her. She had a quick meeting and since my boss is allergic to Louis Vuitton, the bag and the dog would stay with me. I asked if I take Teeny-Weeny (the dog's name btw) out for walk around the office. She said fine but warned me that TW suffered from spasmodic bowel movements and I was responsible for whatever fell out. I didnt mind. I had had an unfortunate run-in with a co-worker that morning (he spilled coffee all over my new blouse) and I wanted test TW's condition on his new carpet. So we set off, an unlikely pair, me in my coffee stained blouse and TW in his extra long, extra wide Louis Vuitton suite.

At first no one paid attention to us. I rapped TW on the nose with my fist so he would make a noise but no noise came. I slapped him on the ass several times, still no sound. If I couldnt make him bark, how the hell would I make him piss all over my co-workers carpet? I decided to turn to more extreme measures. I took TW out of his bag and tossed him as I high as I could in the air. Halfway through his freefall, he let out out a whine followed by three short barks. I caught him with one hand and he rewarded me by shitting directly on my shoe. Was this the beginning of the end? I ran with the wiener dog in one hand and the Louis Vuitton in the other to my co-workers cubicle. TW proceeded to leave a trail of excrement all the way down the hall. I burst into my co-workers cubicle but noticed immediately that the bastard had had his carpet removed early that morning. Something about a spill and he liked the wood floor better. So there I stood with one unhappy wiener dog named Teeny-Weeny and a Louis Vuitton bag covered in shit.

It was looking like a great effin day.