I love my beagle-terrier mixed breed dog named 'Scraps'. We play 'Fetch' every evening, usually during the Getbig lull from 5-6pm EST. Anyway, it was a Friday afternoon and I'd finished my work, err I mean posts early and I'd already downed a few Jack and Cokes and I'm throwing an old Hackey-Sack down the road for Scraps to retrieve. As Scraps comes running back towards me, I feel a rather pleasant vibration in my Semen for all Mankind jeans. I remove my AfroAmericanBerry just as Scraps runs up my porch steps and drops the hackeysack. In my inebriated stupor, I pick up the hackeysack and hold it to my ear while throwing my Blackberry across the street.
Scraps, excited to fetch something that smells like balls, sprints across the street and picks up the phone, while I drunkenly stare at the HackeySack for any sign that Mark Dugdale has abandoned his morals and signed with Muscular Development. The hackey-sack stares back at me blankly.
Just then, I see my neighbor's juiced-up teenage son squealing his Dodge Charger's tires around the corner as the intimidating and hardcore beats of 'Fallout Boy' rattle the windows. I can see that rather than watching the street, he's oblivious to Scraps and appears to be holding up his queer orange NV phone. Holy shit, I think, he's checking the same Musclephone message I was about to check!! As Scraps darts into the path of the car, the phone buzzes again, and startled, Scraps drops my musclephone. He continues crossing the street and is absolutely obliterated by the Roid Charger that steamrolls him, double crushing his bloody head and popping out one of Scraps's eyeballs.
I just stand there in total shock, understanding momentarily why my father's last words to me on his deathbed while dying of cirrhosis of the liver were, "Lay off da booze."
I run across the street, accidentally stepping on Scraps's motionless body to find my Musclphone, perfectly intact, lying on the curb. I check the text message and it reads, "Jay Cutler selling his dog's puppies on eBay!"
Wow!! What luck! First Musclephone nearly saves my dog's life, then it saves my Blackberry, and then it alerts me to a way to replace my beloved Scraps with something even more valuable: A puppy formerly owned by Mr. Olympia!!
I buried Scraps last week and even bought a doggy tombstone for him for this fitting epitaph:
Here lies Scraps
Who loved to fetch a bone
He's gone but not forgotten
Thanks to you Musclephone!