Puppy Dogs And Aliens

Hello. My name is Bobby, and I'm an alchaholic. I know what you must be thinking- "A puppy dog is an alchaholic?!"- and the answer to that is, yes, I AM an alchaholic. I enjoy the taste of alchahol so much that I have become addicted. My owner, Jesse, is also an alchaholic. Somtimes he falls asleep on the couch. He almost always has an opened bottle of bear with him. That's when I strike.

My plan is always simple, strike when he isn't looking. But it's easier said than done. Sometimes, he has the bottle held tightly in his hand and I'm left with no choice but to break into the fridge and open up a can of beer instead. Canned bear is never as good as bottled. The strangest thing about my owner, Jesse, is that he's only 12. That's right, 12. I know that it's very young and all but still, He does have an uncanny taste for his beverages. Sometimes his dad walks in also holding a bottle of bear. The only difference between his and Jesse's is that his says Toohey's New on the Label. Jesse's says Root Beer. I guess I'll never understand why a father and son have the same object but from different brands.

You see, I've never met my parents. I was seperated as a puppy and given to this mesterious place called a "pet shop". That's where I met Jesse. I love Jesse. He's like, the fuel to my happiness, the source of my love and devotion. He even taught me how to sit. Anyway, this is the story of my strange encounter with an alien named Bruce.