Alright, now a lot of you guys know
that I lived next door to a kid named Michael.
And a lot of you guys know
that I really didn't like going over to his house that much.
And that was for a couple of reasons.
For one, his stepdad was a dick.
And he would never let us eat or drink anything in the house.
"What do you think, I'm feeding the whole neighborhood?!"
"I don't work 23 hours a week at a goddamn Home Depot...
so you can sit around and drink all our Mountain Cooler Capri Suns!"
And for two, they had this big-ass Rottweiler, named Nathan.
Now, who the hell names a Rottweiler Nathan to begin with?
That's a people's name.
You could confuse the shit out of somebody, if you're not careful.
You'd be ordering a pizza on the phone and shit...
"Yeah, I need a large stuffed crust with pepperoni on it...
No, God damn it, Nathan, stop licking your asshole!"
"That's a bad Nathan, you lick your asshole on your own time!"
"Oh, sick, dude, I think this guy's son is licking his own asshole!"
"Really? Wow, what a dirty little bastard!"
Now, this dog was big as hell, he was massive!
If he was on a Pokemon card, you'd bet your ass he'd have 120 HP at least!
He'd be strolling around the house, looking for something to bench press.
Looking like a goddamn bodybuilder.
"Hey, you guys wanna rub baby oil on me and watch me flex in the mirror?"
He was a big dog, but he was a nice dog.
And he was super-friendly to everybody,
everybody except for me, that is.
I don't know what it was,
but as soon as I walked in the Michael's house, Nathan would be like,
"Who the hell is this punky Brewster-looking bastard?!"
"Uh, Michael, I don't think your dog likes me too much."
"Well, what makes you say that?"
*RRARARAWRRR!*
(Nathan's barking) Uh, I don't know,
(Nathan's barking) no reason in particular, I guess.
So needless to say, Nathan wasn't my biggest fan.
And frankly, I wasn't the biggest fan of Nathan either.
I mean, the dog's got eyebrows, for Christ's Sake!
Are you gonna trust a dog that has eyebrows?
So I did my best to keep my distance from Michael's house.
As well as Nathan the Rottweiler.
But on one particular day I had to go over to Michael's house.
And that was because he rented the movie Rush Hour on VHS.
And if you are nine years old in the late 90s like I was,
your ass loved Rush Hour on VHS.
So we're sitting on the living room floor, we're all excited and shit.
Even the dog's over there pumped up like,
"Oh yeah, Rush Hour! That's what I'm talking about!"
So we start watching this movie
and we got this big-ass bowl of popcorn in front of us.
"Oh, is that my Orville Redenbacher that you're eating?!"
"God damn it, there you go, feeding the whole goddamn neighborhood again!"
And everything's going great, until Michael spills some popcorn on the floor.
That's when Nathan comes over, and he's like,
"Oh, is that floor popcorn? Floor popcorn is my favorite!"
And he starts eating the popcorn off the floor.
So Michael tries to stop the dog from eating the popcorn
by slapping him on the ass.
"Stop eating that Popcorn, Nathan!"
(SLAP!)
And right when that happens, Nathan looks up at me,
like I was the one that slapped him on the ass.
"Did this punky Brewster bastard just slapped me on my ass in my own house?!"
This dog comes flying at me like a goddamn Ninja Turtle,
I turn around and try to run, but the dog chomps down on my left ass cheek.
I start screaming and shit,
"Bad Nathan, bad Nathan!"
"Nathan, don't you bite me in my ass, take your teeth out of my ass cheek!"
"Wow, he really is a dirty little bastard, isn't he?!"
So I'm scuttling over to the front door,
Nathan's still teeth-deep in left ass cheek.
Meanwhile Michael and his stepdad are still watching Rush Hour,
without a goddamn care in the world.
"Hey, do you think you can beat up Jackie Chan?"
Hell yeah, I can beat up Jackie Chan, I work at Home Depot, I can do anything!"
I'm trying to open the door over here,
and that's when Nathan decides to bite me in the back of the head.
So at this point I'm like, "Oh, okay, this is it,
this is how I'm gonna die, via fucking Rottweiler, how fantastic!"
Somehow I get free.
And I run out of Michael's house, like the goddamn building's on fire.
The back of my head's bleeding, as well as my ass cheek.
I walk into my house, looking like I just stormed the beaches of Normandy and shit.
"What the hell happened to you, did somebody kick your ass?"
"Uh, kinda looks that way, doesn't it?"
"I got mauled in the back of my head, and then Nathan bit me in the ass cheek."
"Nathan bit you in the ass cheek?"
"What kind of fucking friends are you hanging out with?!"
Like two hours go by and Michael comes over to my house.
"Dude, what the hell happened?"
"Uh, well, your dog attacked me,
because he thought I was trying to sexually assault him!"
"That's what the hell happened, Michael!"
You didn't even get to see the end of Rush Hour.
Yes I know that, Michael, and that's the worst goddamn part.
I'm never coming over to your house again!
Not as long as you got that goddamn dinosaur dog!
And that's the story of how I became a cat person.
Now, you'd think that to this day I'd be super paranoid of Rottweilers...
Since, you know, one of them did try to kill me in my friend's living room.
And you would be correct in that assumption!
But the thing is, is my wife is a big dog person,
and she pretty much told me,
"Oh, to hell with your traumatic childhood experience, we're gonna get a dog!"
"And it's gonna be a big-ass Rottweiler!"
So there he is, look at him, looking all ferocious!
Ready to rip my face off!
Look at those eyebrows, you can't trust those eyebrows!
Now, of course we had to name this dog when we got him.
I could only think of one name, that would be appropriate.
And that name, of course...
Is not
Is not fucking
Is not fucking Nathan!
Are you serious?!
You really think I'd name a dog that? No!
His name is Otis, something more appropriate.
Because who the fuck would name a dog Nathan?!
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