Fatty Flashback: EatBeast Roommate Meets World's Best Dog Hello shitlords and shitladies! I'm on a retreat for my major this weekend, so I don't have stories of the EatBeast for you all. I'll probably come back and find it dead on the kitchen floor, a tub of frosting lazily rolled out of its flabby fist, roaches congregated around it, so I'll keep you all updated. Instead, here is a Fatty Flashback, featuring the hambeast, my charming childhood home, and the world's best dog.  Some background information about me and my family, first! My parents divorced when I was too little to really remember, but they're still friends and have both since remarried. I have great relationships with both my stepmother and stepfather. I was a very lucky child to have four parental figures who all happen to be shitlords/ladies! I lived with my dad and stepmother mostly, because their house was in a better school district with good athletic programs and academics. When I was around ten, my stepmother and I were taking a walk when we stopped in front of a pet store doing on-the-spot adoptions. That's where we found Shep.  Shep is, without a doubt, one of the best dogs in the whole world. He's pretty big, and really athletic, so he always keeps us on our toes. Because of his size, however, Shep wasn't expected to live as long, so by the time it was time for me to return to college (and meet the hambeast) Shep was pretty elderly and mellow.  I'd communicated with Tee Hee Tessie a few times before we were planning on getting our place. We're both out-of-stater's, but she's further out than I am. She needed to stop by my place on her way to town to pick up some furniture she ordered to take to campus. While I wasn't thrilled about giving up one of my last days of summer to be in the beast's presence, I begrudginly agreed to hang out with it for a little while, hopefully to start things off on a good note. It decides to park its beetus-mobile at my place, and I'll drive us both to coffee. Its poor car probably needed a break, I assume.  TeeHee gets to my house and knocks on my door. Shep's ears perk up, and he trots over to greet whoever it is. Shep likes literally everyone. We thought, because he's fucking enormous, he'd make a great guard dog, though I'm pretty sure he'd just beg for belly rubs if anyone ever broke into the house. My mom and stepfather both love Shep, their extended family do, too. You could take Shep, and put him in a room with ISIS members and the ISIS members would just chill and Shep would just chill and the ISIS members would probably be like, "You know what, maybe we should stop being dicks after all."  The beast enters.  Shep fucking lost it.  I have NEVER seen him act like this, in the ten years I've had him. My dad had to grab all 110 lbs of him and stuff him into his crate. He was snarling rabidly, and I honestly thought he was going to bite the beast. I apologized profusely, and was sure Shep was just getting old and senile.  We went out of coffee. I had a small cup of black coffee. Reeee-Reeee Rhonda had a large iced-venti-frappe-cuppa-beetus-caramel-teehee-cocoa- mint-cunt-whatever and a chocolate muffin. But who's really surprised? I've never seen someone drink a seven dollar coffee before, so that was a pretty horrifying sight.  We get back to my house and she comes inside to get something she left, I don't remember what it was. Shep is still in his cage, but the moment she entered the house, I heard him snarl from the other room. She said, "It's ok, I'm used to it. Dogs don't like me, for some reason."  Some reason? Man's best friend hates you because he recognizes your subhuman status.  I love Shep. I love my fuzzy shitlord dog.