The Inner Monologue Of A Dog At A Bar

The Inner Monologue Of A Dog At A Bar

These days, it’s tough to get noticed when you’re out trolling the bar scene. But the one surefire way to get noticed by every red-blooded American man and woman enjoying overpriced custom bourbon cocktails is to be the guy who shows up with his dog. Not only will you get noticed, but you’ll have every babe on the patio wanting to pet that dog, and if they have any manners, they’ll start up a conversation with you.

It’s time, however, to enter the mind of that well-trained, recently-groomed golden retriever that is just dominating the patio brunch scene.

I’m not doing shiiiiit today.

Mike, from across the room, yells: “You ready, Trigger!?”

Trigger is always ready, Mike. I’m a fucking dog.

Wait, is he grabbing the leash? I could be talked into a quick power walk through Uptown.

Annnd we’re getting in the 4Runner. If this is a vet trip I will literally shit. Literally.

Oh yeah, Mike. Turn up that Drake. You’re sooo street.

Oh, okay. We’re doing the brunch thing again. Good luck finding a spot to park downtown.

20 minutes later

Does this dude not realize the concrete is hot AF? Carry me, douche.

The Grove? This place is ass central.

Oh, God. Is that Clayton? Talk about a guy with no self-awareness. If you’re pale and can’t bench press your bodyweight, you probably shouldn’t wear a tank top.

Hmm, no girls at the table. Big shocker.

I’ll just post up here and put out the vibe.

I’m all horned up right now

I feel like a cheese dick wearing this red banana around my neck, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t put out the outdoorsy, Austin vibe.

What are they talking about up there?

Oh, Clayton is finally going to acknowledge me. Great to see you too, prick.

Nah, I don’t feel like giving you a high five, Clayton. Maybe when you move out of your parents’ house, or do anything besides mooch off my owner.

Look at this fucking hipster.

Yeah, it’s only supposed to reach 102 today. Good call with the jeans.

And who is this tall drink of water? Incoming.

A tall, leggy blonde approaches. She is way out of Mike’s league.

Blonde: “May I pet him?”

Request for flyby granted, Ghost Rider.

Yeah, you can pet me. I’m the most chill dude on this patio.

I should get a finder’s fee.

Okay, Mike. I broke the ice. Now you just have to not blow this.

Did he just ask what she did for a living? OMFG.

Annnnnd she’s gone. Saw that coming.

The waitress approaches with a bowl of water for Trigger. She has some tattoos, but she’s still in her twenties so it’s hot.

Waitress: “What’s your name, stud?”

Mike: “That’s Trigger. I’m Mike, by the way.”

She didn’t ask what your name was, Mike.

She’s not really flirting with you. She’s your waitress and she has no choice but to be nice.

LOL at the tiny mutt that just walked in. Nice genetics.

Oh, God. Mike’s talking about work again.

Come on, Mike. You know it’s rude to talk about how well you’re doing in front of Clayton. He’s still drafting cover letters with glaring typographical errors.

It’s hot.

A tan, muscular gentleman and a clearly spray tanned blonde approach Trigger. They appear to have either just left the gym, or the Lulu outlet. Possibly both.

If she pets me, it’s over, bro.

Oh, yeah. I’m about to walk away with your girl. Maybe you should go lift some more.

Look at Mike up there striking up conversation with the Crossfit couple.

She’s clearly with that dude, Mike. Just because she’s wearing a sports bra doesn’t mean you can shamelessly stare.

So much ass at this bar, and Mike will leave with none of the ass.

Here comes that waitress again. Love that dangerous vibe she puts out.

Thank God. He’s closing out.

Only time he’ll close today. Heh.

He really is a good owner, though.

A borderline cheeseball, but a good dude.

Can’t wait to flip on a ballgame when we get back. Chill Town, population me and Mike.

Mike: “See you at the pool in 20.”


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Lawyer. Writer. Dude doing business. I'm the meatloaf guy from tv.

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