This Week in F–k You: Labradoodle Owners

06.18.09 8 years ago 113 Comments

We’re in the slowest stretch of the offseason now: the dreaded post-draft period. There’s no football on, and there won’t be football on for quite some time. You’re angry. You’re hateful. We understand. At KSK, we’re hateful too. Of all things, at all times. Hating is what we do best. So, in that spirit, we present you with the weekly off-topic/offseason feature…


Every week or so, we’ll be taking our lack-of-football-related depression out on any number of deserving targets: people, things, abstract ideas, group dinners, etc. It’s just the kind of cathartic invective we excel at. This week, PEOPLE WHO OWN LABRADOODLES.

I’m a dog lover.  You know those people who will break their stride while walking through the city or suddenly disappear from a conversation to bend down and pet a dog?  And immediately start a one-way conversation with the dog, even if they don’t know the owner?  That’s me.  “Hey pups!  Hey buddy!  What’s going on?  What’s your name?  Oh, you’re a sweetheart!  YES YOU ARE.  We’re best friends now!  Yeah we are.  Yeah, give me some kisses!”  That shit makes my week.  I have never in my life been as excited to meet another human being as I was with that hypothetical dog just now.

That’s one of the things I love about living in the Park Slope neighborhood of Brooklyn: there are dogs freakin’ everywhere.  Hell, in the mornings you’re even allowed to let dogs run off-leash around Prospect Park.  No fences or anything, just a whole bunch of dogs running free.  It fuckin’ OWNS.

Alas, the first rule of city life is this: if there’s something cool or convenient about living in an urban neighborhood, yuppie cocknozzles will try to ruin it.  Specifically, in this case, labradoodle owners.  What’s a labradoodle, you ask?  It’s the en vogue dog breed at the moment, much like puggles were two or three years ago.  You get a labradoodle when you cross a Labrador retriever and poodle, then take the stupidest possible combination of those breeds’ names.  Yuppies like them because they’re hypoallergenic, they don’t shed, and they cost  a thousand dollars when you can easily rescue a dog for free at any shelter.

Now, labradoodles aren’t bad dogs; it’s the owners who are fuckfaces.  There’s a car in my neighborhood with a bumper sticker that reads — I swear to Christ this is real — “My labradoodle is smarter than your honor student.”  Contemplate for a moment the layers of fucktardery it takes for someone to be such a dipshit.  They feel the need to make  a point with a bumper sticker, check.  They want to brag publicly about what kind of dog they own, check.  They think a dog-related riff on the “My kid can beat up your honor student” bumper sticker is funny, check.  They are unaware of how badly I want to crush their face with a crowbar, check.

There is no car wreck fiery enough for the person who drives that vehicle.

This gut full of hatred I have didn’t overflow, however, until I realized the extent of “doodle” owners’ highfalutin shitfuckery.  For a couple weeks I’d noticed that all the labradoodles — about seven or eight of them — would play together while their owners hung out in a circle and talked about whatever labradoodle owners talk about.  Molesting children and underpaying immigrant workers, I assume.  They fostered an air of elitism — AT A FUCKING DOG PARK — that discouraged others from joining their precious hybrid dogs.  But who cares, because fuck them, right?  I was cool with them doing what they do, right up until the point where they got all the labradoodles together FOR A GROUP PICTURE.

I don’t know if you’ve ever owned a dog, but a typical thing that EVERYONE ON THE PLANET KNOWS is that dogs don’t understand the concept of standing still for photography.  And they sure as shit don’t understand group photos.  And so you’ve got the yuppie dipshit wives trying to line up their dogs, handing out treats to try to get the dogs to stay, but then they have to get in the picture to hand the dogs the treats, and the handing out of treats has led the racially inferior dogs like my own to come and sit near their precious fucking designer dogs and ruin their Aryan canine master race group picture.  Some bitch pushes my dog (this sweet-natured rebel) out of the way.  “Sorry, we’re trying to get a group picture.”

“Yeah, that seems like a terrific idea” is what I say, leashing my dog.  But what I mean is  FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING DOG-RACIST CUNT.

You fucking labradoodle owners have ZERO idea of what matters in the world.  They’re just DOGS.  You take them outside, you play with them, and they give you unconditional love that makes your short time on this planet a little richer.  Your dog is not a fucking status symbol, it’s not a ticket into some gay little club, and it sure as fuck doesn’t excuse a low-level brand of Jim Crow laws in a public park.  GET FUCKED AND DIE FUCKED.

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