Hey Anthony, the jerk store called...

Anthony Blow, step right up- you're the next contestant on Wheel of Dirtbags. The grand prize is a first-class meeting with my fist. For those of you that don't know, thanks to a little accident in college, my fist is about 5 cubic inches of steel-reinforced punishment. Seriously, I've never had such an unwavering desire to pummel anyone this badly before.

I'm a dog enthusiast... I like dags. Walking down the streets of New York every day, I fall in love about 25 times a day. Not with people, but with dogs. I have a soft-spot for the furry critters and I'm absolutely not shy about it. Maybe it's because I grew up in a family that always had a dog (or two)? Maybe I was pulled out of a ditch by a heroic dog in my pre-memory-forming hours of life and now unconsciously feel the need to repay the Canine species with unadulterated respect? Maybe I had a hex put on me by a mischievous fairy? I don't know. All I know is I've never met a dog I didn't like. Anthony Blow's behavior is just WAY beyond unacceptable to me. To make matter's worse, he showed no remorse whatsoever and stated that the little pooch was his property and he could do whatever he wanted with it- including throw it down a seven story chute.

It's times like these when I really pray for some poetic justice. I fantasize about this guy getting devoured by a pack of wild dogs. I yearn for him to get tossed down a seven story trash chute by a 7-foot dog. I would love for Lucky-boy to grow up to be a famous dog-actor slash rapper that makes millions of dollars and rubs it in Phillip's face.

Maybe Spider-Dog will swoop in and give his canine-abusing ass a taste of web...