Reckon you're hot, do you? Well, what if you were – in addition to your flesh sleeve – encased in a sleeping bag at all times? What if you were wearing a very thick jumper that you could not physically remove? What if you didn't have sweat glands all over your body and thus no way of expelling heat; trapped, eternally, in the oppressive greenhouse of your own mortal form?
What I'm saying is: the dogs, man. The dogs are really hot. You've probably seen them on the bus, looking depressed. Or pressed as close against a hard floor as it is physically possible to get, their breathing jerking and heavy like airbeds being inflated. Or hobbling desperately down the street, tongues lolling out of the side of their mouths, eyes wide and bulging, positively begging for death. You have seen this, and you have thought: "awwwww".
Still, they trundle on, doing what they do best: being fucking great. Here's some photos of that, because let's face it you're not capable of getting on with anything else today.
Butch and Murphy
Butters and Lilac
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