I feel like the man is keeping his eyes on me. The day I mention getting my girlfriend a dog for her birthday I find a series of targeted adverts on my Facebook page. Fancy some pet insurance? Why not take a trip to Crufts to make yourself feel insecure about your athletically redundant pet? Admittedly I’d much rather a Great Dane or a Labrador over a Pug or a toy dog. The idea of those animals living, eating and shitting inside handbags is disgusting. I suppose there is a back up purse just in case they make a mess or even a colostomy bag attached to the mutt’s arse.
Maybe I’m thinking a little too much about the logistics of owning an animal. It won’t be my handbag after all.
The government is definitely spying on me though. My ownership will affect the economy. I know I’m nothing more than a Tesco club-card statistic, but who the fuck cares, it’s my own business if I want to own a pet; not a tight-lipped businessman who probably came to fame through media gauntlets such as the apprentice.
I’ve decided to start messing with the system, so I can see what attention I can get with the media’s critical eye. Cat resurrections here I come.
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