When the Canine Pandemic subsided in May, over 100 million Bowsers, Spots, Rovers and Poochies no longer barked at someone in their territory or wagged their tail when their owner showed. Removing 1/9 of the world’s canine population in less than 2 months became a somber time in history. With dog carcasses being the number 1 material thrown in the landfills, the garbage dumps grew like cinder cone volcanoes overnight. When it was determined that a common virus found in humans leaped their lineages and mutated into a dog killer version, the grieving canine crowd sought to alleviate this misjustice. The responsible parties will pay with their lives. As the plan was hatched to take out those treacherous, biped bastards, a timed attack was planned so human retaliation was impossible. At precisely 11PM, UTC, all dogs attacked their owners. Inborn killers, the goal was to quickly latch onto their master’s throat and wiggle with their entire body weight until both the carotid arteries were torn free. With blood spurting everywhere, panic ran rampant and with consciousness failing, the victims fell to the ground. Death took over at the helm. A few violent jerks, a fearful gaze and it was all over for those infectious pricks. After the turmoil, the dog now has enough to eat for weeks, thanks to their ability to eat spoiled meat with little ill effects. Free from their human enslavers, the surviving canine population quickly returned to their inborn wolf pack ways and survived just fine without the demanding morons barking out stupid commands. Stay, Sit, Roll Over, NO, Come Here, Catch, Fetch and the one command that the members of the New Dog Order like to laugh at hysterically: PLAY DEAD! “NO! you play dead, you tyrannical, lifeless oaf.” Once the planet was cleared of the human problem by hunting down isolated packs of remote survivors, the pandemic was purged. The ice cream cone muzzle guards came off and the joy of sniffing a fresh asshole was restored.