After reading of Anne and Sergei's recent comic mishaps, I just had to add my own link to this flying dingleberry chain of events.

It happened the other week, while I was working out. I know, that's what I get for even thinking about becoming physically fit.

My girlfriend and I were with this cyborg/trainer type behind her apartment building. We put all our girly goop down on this pic-i-nic table for the duration of our torture session.

Just as I opened my mouth to bitch that the guy on a lower balcony was smoking in my airspace, it started to rain, warm droplets sprinkling innocently down on our upturned faces. Or so we thought. And time, for the next half-minute or so, slowed way the fuck down, to match my molasses-like thought process:

First, I noticed that the rain cloud seemed rather confined to the area directly above the pic-i-nic table, and more specifically, on my girlfriend's satchel.

Then, I noticed that the rain "cloud" only seemed interested in the third floor balcony.

Then, I noticed that the "cloud" had a penis.

Then, I noticed that the body attached to the penis looked rather like a dog's.

Then, I noticed that the dog-schlong cloud's leg was lifted.

Then, I noticed that said rain was not purple, but yellow, as the late afternoon sunlight was captured in the glow of the sudden unsolicited golden doggie shower. It was cinematic, baby.

At which point someone had the wherewithal to say, "IT'S A DOG-!" and we chuckled helplessly, watching his horse-like bladder finish doing its duty on our stuff for the next three minutes and 30 seconds. It was clear that this überdog of sorts had not been outside all day.

Then, my friend debated trying to salvage her bag, and the smoking guy tossed us a roll of paper towels while admitting he'd always wondered why his balcony ledge was sticky...

So remember, kids. If you're a bored, resentful indoor dog, learning to lift your leg off the 3rd floor balcony = fun for the whole family.

But not so much for the guy who lives below you.

Also, it would be nice if every grey satchel had a silver rubber lining.

The End.