Oogy Probably Can’t Even Dunk A Basketball

(3.3/10)

by Peartree

(book assigned by Beau Dashington)

Editor’s note: Not sure if you knew this, but hypothetically, it would be okay to have sex with a robot dog. Because, you know, it’s not a real dog.



This is the third book I’ve reviewed for the PSBC focusing on some gifted “one-in-a-million” “most-special-ever” dog (fourth if you count the shapeshifting beagle erotica novel). Beau assigned it to me as it seemed to him that I really hated reading about dogs. After finishing this piece of dog Shit™, he’s been proven correct. Fuck your fucking special snowflake dogs and your fucking oversentimental mawkish books. If I wanted to feel a warm feeling in my chest I’d slam the rest of this bottle of scotch down my throat. You want to get teary-eyed, just think about how I had to drink half a bottle of Laphroaig An Cuan Mor to finish this Shit™.

So Oogy is some pitbull like dog that we find out is not a pitbull half way through the book, he’s a dogo. Some perfect breed that explains all of the inexplicable traits of Oogy. He was used as a bait dog for fighting dogs, which is super sad, I agree, people that make animals fight are shit-stains™ on the world. But in some raid he was brought to an emergency vet clinic and the owners performed surgury and saved him. He lost half his face but he was a’ight. The vets kept him for quite a while, eveyone said he was super friendly and happy. Then this guy Larry comes into the vet to put his cat down and sees the dog and is all like “I’ll take that dog” and the vet is all “Cool”. So he takes the dog home and his kids love it and his wife is hesitant but of course she ends up loving Oogy, that was foreshadowed by everyone loving it at the vets office! And then they all live together and things are happy. So that’s good.

Now, if like me, you’re wondering how a story that long can be expanded to a full book don’t worry, Mr. Levin whom I assume to be the same screenwriter of that name knows that the devil is in the details. The first 20 pages are about his morning routine. Here are the first lines of the first paragraphs in the book

When the alarm goes of at 5:30 a.m, it is still dark outside… The alarm seems to go off again in about fifteen seconds… I walk out of the bedroom, leaving the door halfway open behind me… In the kitchen I put cold water into the coffeemaker, measure out coffee into the filter, and press the ‘on’ button… I return to the family room and turn on both the front and rear sets of lights halfway… The pulsing of the water in the coffeemaker is accompanied by a sighing sound from inside it, as though, resignedly, it is finishing its assigned task… On the way out of the room, I push the light switch toggles all the way on in hopes that it will help the boys to wake up… The coffeemaker emits an electronic death rattle to signify its task is complete… The microwave beeps….

A good fifth of the book is then about him adopting his twin sons. It’s like some infomercial for the Golden Crib adoption agency or something thrown right in there. You want a kid, look em up! I know I will be! Although he does have an accurate description of a baby having “a tiny, wrinkled red face that was so pushed in it looked as if it had been hit by a shovel. His hands appeared shriveled, like little monkey hands.” Which I appreciated.

Then the book focuses a lot on Oogy’s medical expenses and procedures, again going into way more detail than needed and makes everyone feeling sad because somewhere out there is a dog in pain that they can’t do anything about. And now the only way to make us feel better is to go out and buy a dog from the SPCA and realise it’s not as awesome as Oogy and wasn’t worth it and now what the fuck do we do? Huh Larry?!? What the hell am I gonna do with this stoned out fucking ankle bitter!?

Anyway, Oogy is the best. Everyone knew it, but Larry makes it all seem like Oogy was only ever awesome when he took him in. Which is bullshit™! Oogy ain’t special because he plays with your kids, sleeps by them at night, and protects them from danger. All dogs do that, just like they all go to heaven. Except Hitler’s dog. He’s definitely in hell. Sure Oogy looks like he had a stroke but he’s fine bud. Larry likes to focus on how miraculous it is that Oogy is a good dog despite his “life of pain and suffering”, but Oogy was saved when he was less that two months old. Even in dog years that’s like, what, 8 months? 14 months? I don’t know how dog years works and the whole idea is stupid, but even so, Oogy don’t remember that biz! And Oogy sure as shit™ don’t feel sorry for himself, so quit pitying that ugly flea bag, enjoy your damn life with him, and quit writing these piece of shit™ books. Get back to writing “I Love You, Man 2” and “Dr. Doolittle 3“.

But all in all this book isn’t that bad, but I’ve now read about the same length as Les Miserable about these goddamned dogs, so I’m a little mean. I like dogs, I grew up with some. But would anyone want to read about it, hell no. None of these books were Homeward Bound, they were fucking Air Bud. The authors just overhyped their own dogs to the point of absurdity. They went from telephathic talking dogs to dunking basketball dogs. Dial it back and recognise your dog is cool, but not that cool.

And with that I perform my death rattle to signify my task is complete.