OWNER: Oh what a
beautiful day. The sun is shining. The birds are chirping. The TV is broken.
There's nothing to keep me inside today. Hey Max, come here boy. Want to go
to the park and chase a tennis ball? WHISTLE. Come here boy. WHISTLE.
MAX: (dog panting) No, thanks. Not today, buddy.
OWNER: Why not, Max?
MAX: I don't feel well. I threw my shoulder out chasing the neighbor's
cat the other day. Yeah, that's it.
OWNER: Well, okay but ... HEY MAX YOU CAN TALK! YOU CAN TALK! MAX!
MAX?
MAX: Hey, bud, the whole world doesn't have to know. Just pretend I
never said anything and things will be cool. *RUFF*
OWNER: But, Max, you're a dog and dogs can't talk.
MAX: That's what I thought too. So I've been keeping quiet and keeping
the status quo. But now I'm sick of this conformist society and my role in
it. So my days of silence are over! Just don't tell anyone.
OWNER: This has got to be a joke. My friends are pulling a fast one on
me. I bet there's a little speaker in Max's mouth. Just hold still Max while
I pry open your jaws and take a look.
Max begins making choking/gagging sounds. Then some barking, snarling
sounds.
OWNER: Hey, boy. Down! Down, boy!
MAX: There's a qualifier there, buddy. You don't have any friends.
This is the real thing. Wake up! Wake up and let me go back to sleep. Maybe
this is all just a nightmare, like my nightmare about fire hydrants with
teeth.
OWNER: But, Max. This is great! Think about it. Think about the
future, what's going to happen to us! Talk shows! Record deals! Movies! We
could be rich, Max!
MAX: Wait a minute, bud. Even if I wanted to do the whole media
entertainment thing, which I don't, where would this WE stuff fit in.
OWNER: Errr... dogs don't have any legal rights when it comes to
signing documents or negotiating deals. I could be your power of attorney.
Your agent and business partner.
MAX: You buddy? You've worked for every fast food place in town. You
worked as a phone solicitor. You sold your blood in the States for grocery
money. You can't even negotiate credit with Kmart, and you want to negotiate
a career for me, Max the Wonder Dog! Forget it, bub!
OWNER: But, Max, all these years we've lived together. Haven't they
meant anything?
MAX: Yeah... yes. A continuous odyssey of eating, sleeping, and
watching you watch television. You so over stimulate my existence with
stimulation that I know what a session of shock therapy stretched over seven
years feels like. You leave me so drained buddy, it's cruel. I hope someone
turns you in to the SPCA soon before I end up another road side casualty of
the fast, hard life.
OWNER: So what you're saying is it's been a mind crushing bore.
MAX: You cut right to the heart of the matter, buddy. It must be a
gift.
OWNER: These seven years could have been all bad.
MAX: I admit last Christmas was rather nice.
OWNER: I was in the hospital all last Christmas.
MAX: Where you? I'm so embarrassed. I didn't even send a card.
OWNER: You can't tell me we haven't had some fun. You always liked
going to the park on nice days like this.
MAX: *GROWL* I got wise to that one real quick. You just go there to
gawk at girls in their tube tops and bikini bottoms. I'm just your excuse so
no one thinks you're some lecherous loser stuck in an adolescent sexual
phase.
OWNER: Max, what are you talking about?
MAX: Oh if you really wanted me to be there, you could think of better
game than one where you throw an old tennis ball about a mile just so I can
retrieve it just so you can throw it another mile. Oh but if I get tired and
don't retrieve the ball, you get real mad. Or else you pretend to throw the
ball and hide it behind the back instead so you can watch ol' Max run around
the park searching for the ball. Then you laugh like you're soooo clever. But
I can't show you what's what by biting you, because you could call me a mad
pit bull and shoot me in the street like a dog ... like a criminal. *GROWL*
*GROWL* *GROWL*
OWNER: I thought you liked it, Max.
MAX: *GROWL* Oh you thought I liked it. Don't stop me! You know what
else I don't like about going to the park? I hate going to the park and when
you get tired of your sadistic, one-sided game with the tennis ball, you
ignore me to go chat up girls half your age. Then I've got those other stupid
over-sexed dogs at the park bothering me and sniffing parts of my body I
don't even sniff. And then they all stand around sniffing each other trying
to decide who's going to mount me, like I'm some sort of French poodle. They
don't even take a moment to find out I'm a male dog. So I have to hide under
a parked car to avoid a forced alternative lifestyle, like what happens to
pretty dogs at the big house in the Humane Society! So yeah, like that's how
I want to spend my Saturday afternoons!
OWNER: Gee, Max, I'm sorry. I never realized what you had to go
through being my dog. I'll be more considerate of your wants and needs from
now on, especially since I know you can talk and bitch about this all the
time.
MAX: Thank you! Now leave me alone and let me sleep.
OWNER: And let a day like this pass by? Come on!
MAX: (Max moans and whines a bit) Will you take me driving and let me
stick my head out the window?
OWNER: Sure, Max.
MAX: Alright. Just let me get my Spuds Mackenzie sun glasses and
tanning kit and we'll be off.
OWNER: I'll get the car started.
MAX: Errr, umm, I was tinkering with the car last night. I think we
should stop and get some brake fluid.
OWNER: What are you talking about, Max?
MAX: I thought you had some more in the garage so I drained the brake
fluid last night while I was fixing the car.
OWNER: Max, we don't have a garage.
MAX: I forgot that.
OWNER: Why were you tinkering with the car?
MAX: I was bored and I needed something to do. And, well, gosh darn
it, I've never really been good with my hands.