How many WOOFS must a dog WOOF before he is a man?
How many pizza crusts must a canine consume before he is privy to the full and perfect geometry of an immaculate slice of his own?
And how many times must a small white mutt lock his editors in a broom closet before they LEARN TO STAY OUT OF MY WAY?
Oh, I pulled and pulled and pulled and FINALLY! The sinews of my leash became frail indeed! Upon the tock if the tic who is buried within my ear—which was around midnight—I broke free of my leash! FREE! But this time I have learn't—a pup shall not lock his owners in a broom closet, for owners become restless and tend to break down the door. Instead, I have sent your somewhat-beloved "Sparkitors" to an abandoned Toshiba factory, in which nary a laptop functions, and Internet connection was extinguished months ago!
I can see them now, internal fluids pouring from their hairless skin, trying desperately to make an Internet out of thumbtacks and bubble gum. But they won't appear—not today, not ever. Well, at least not today. For today is the day of Sparky The Dog. I PEE UPON THIS WEBSITE. I PEE UPON YOUR FOOT.
Bow to me, young human, and while you're at it, roll over. I'm in charge now.
If you need me, I shall be waxing my mustache and tail at Emily Winter's desk. Please feel free to do your best Sparky impression in Sparkler Posts. I look forward to giving you life pointers until sundown.
Or possibly, forever.