HELP! - Office dog has just shot its load!

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The dog prolly has Balinitis (sp) an infection of the penile sheath and your mate should take it to the vets. If your (hillarious) description of the dog and its affect on your office are even half accurate, a one way trip might be best.


Book Reviewer
if you stop him from shooting his load in the office, you realise you'll be infringing his canine rights dont you?
and again
I was the military colleague who alerted Captain Willard of the fact that the Dog was getting rather excited! :eek:

Captain Willard should not of been touching the dogs genitals! What did he expect? :D
CaptainWillard said:
eodmatt said:
The dog prolly has Balinitis (sp) an infection of the penile sheath and your mate should take it to the vets. If your (hillarious) description of the dog and its affect on your office are even half accurate, a one way trip might be best.
Would that explain the oft-seen yellowish, cheesey discharge protruding from his chap that he removes with his tongue shortly before licking his owners face? (At least there is some natural justice)...


Quis Separabit
Vestigia Nulla Rertrorsum
Yep, spot on. Look out for the owner sporting a rash around his mouth sometime soon then. :lol:
Dogs and spunk - what a combo.

Was covering a particulary brain numbing week in Middletown police station and the multiple had reached day 5.

Day 5, it used to strike fear in my heart. By this stage the internet porn had lost its shine and all the grot mags had been abused until they resembled flood damaged religious pamphlets. But still the urge to abuse was strong! The guys were now 'on edge', if you opened ANY door in the station without knocking first you had to take the physcologial damage that would result. Most wouldn't even slow their stoke down never mind stop! Even a chef was caught in the kitchen (thats another story).

So i took over in the Ops room from a section commander. Hand over went smoothly- cameras: check, radio log (mil and police): check, tripod the 3 legged piss soaked doggy mascot: check.

I settled down to a 4 hr beard with a cup of coffee and one of the few magazines that didn't look like it had been used to stir wallpaper paste. Then from beneath the table i heard a low whine. Awwwww i thought, wee tripod is having a dream, bless her. So in the spirt of army comradeship i reached under the table to pat this Op BANNER brother-in-arms and calm her nightmares (probably from the time a para atempted to bum her- again another story).

Imagine my horror to discover that as she lay sleeping in her bed 'someone' had spunked all over her back. After i finshed having a mental fit and cleaning my hand i looked at tripod to see if the old girl needed cleaned up, i discovered in petting her semen soaked back i had given her a mohican down the length of her back fixed with the strongest hair gel known to man. I left it.

When later i questioned said full screw he stated that ' oops i forgot the the wee f*cker was there'. To this day i have the sneeking suspicion that i was a victim of a VOIED. I am never allowed to forget about it- even his wife has said to me- 'i hate having to touch his muck too'.
Into the ether
It sounds as though the poor mutt is suffering from something horrible surrounding the pink lipstick. Although it has to be said, if I was going to contract some weird illness downstairs, given the amount of squaddie-viruses that exist on the ‘market’ out there, I wouldn’t mind catching the human equivalent of the one that makes you spill your seed.

But how to deal with someone so oblivious… who is obviously unaware of his dog’s affliction among other things – like that guy you used to share a room with in basics who grew raw onions and garlic under his arms but was so used to the smell he seemed oblivious to his room mates’ subtle hints of retching each time he took his boots or top off. This guy it seems, would benefit from a more ‘in your face’ approach – for example, the minger in question once came in from an orienteering competition dripping in sweat and collapsed onto his green foam mattress, and despite several attempts at trying to wake him up with a broom shank (nobody wanted to touch the festering fuck) he remained lifeless (if only) in his sweaty tracksuit throughout the remainder of the day and night. On top of that, he had a complexion like a pizza too, which made hating him and humiliating him so much easier. On the floor next to his bed lay a pile of unwashed clothes, including one shirt, green, KF, with collar facing upwards. On closer inspection, it seemed he’d not washed his shirt for weeks judging by the amount of separate necklines it had ‘grown’. As each brown neckline developed he’d just rolled his collar up a little more to hide the previous one.

So we decided while he was asleep to put on our NI gloves (for our own protection) and take his shirt downstairs, pinning it collar face-out to the Company notice board with an accompanying note in 72 pt sized letters by magic-marker, obviously. The next day he never said anything to us in the room, but all that evening he was in and out of the utility room with bags of washing. Later on he announced rather loudly that he was ‘going for a shower’, in case anyone ‘needed him’. Whatever, but it seemed to do the trick.

So Capt W – I am not suggesting you should grab his mutt and pin him to your company notice board by his ears, with an accompanying sign saying something along the lines of: “Oi, Hippy – Take your stinking mutt to the vets and sort out his drippy cock”

But maybe you could change his screen saver next time he’s out the office to a rolling marquee display with words to that effect? On top of that, buy an excessive amount of air fresheners, carefully arranged around his desk and wherever the dog cohabits. Or you could maybe try the reverse psychology effect and get a bigger, smellier dog and feed it geet-big fuck-off bones that splinter everywhere.

Either way, I wish you luck.

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