All Dogs Go to Heaven, But These Owners Will Burn

Just because your dog has a key to the pearly gates doesn’t mean you’re safe.

Benjamin Davis
Mar 26 · 3 min read
Photo by Andrew Pons on Unsplash

Don’t fret, Shanon, your Chihuahua that keeps my kids up all night barking won’t be going anywhere unpleasant. He will be crapping hotdogs to eat later in the great beyond. But you, Shanon, who see your dog more as an accessory than a living being you’ve got to take care of, you will always be hungry and it will forever feel like your parents just abandoned you.

Your dog, Wilson, who bit my son on the arm when he went over to pet him, is in for a treat. I hear dog heaven has fields made entirely of scratching hands and meat steaks that dance naked in the moonlight. He’ll be there. But you, Jonathan, who called my son an idiot for trying to pet your dog, you’ll spend eons surrounded by demon children who bite your face just because they can.

Frito, cowering over there in the corner, is going to be just fine. In dog heaven, there are no parties full of feet to crush his little paws. But you, Becca, who had 100 of your friends over for Frito’s one-year birthday party (even though they keep calling him Lays) just so you’d have an audience to listen to you play the ukulele, will spend eternity scavenging for meager scraps in a vast dark forest of moving trees playing Wonderwall. Be careful, they kick.

Shane, it’s all going to work out for your Golden Retriever, Pippin, who you keep in your studio apartment and always forget to walk. Even though he whines all day, begging to leave, driving me crazy, it’s okay. He’ll be humping his brains out in the canine sex clubs of the Heavenly Dog Father. It’s just a bunch of Angel’s legs and your dog. He’ll be so freaking happy. But you, Shane, you’re going into Hell’s sandbox. No, not that kind of sandbox. A box: in it, just you and sand. And fire.

Don’t worry, Janet. Mimi, who you just yelled at for pooping on the rug, is going to spend eternity in a land of mindless angel servants who will promptly scoop her poop and present it to her on silver platters. But you, Janet, who decided to go straight to the bar after work instead of running home to let her out, you will, forever and ever, have to poop AND have to clean it up.

Mary, who just, like, couldn’t take the whining, and “getting old thing” anymore…your German Shepherd, Ignacious (RIP), will spend eternity chasing cats made of pork-flavored biscuits in a carpeted beyond that he’ll actually be able to dig a hole in. Mary, sad to say, you will spend eternity trapped in the backseat of a car, never knowing where you’re going, or when you’ll get there. NO! Not the front seat.

Lucius, your dog Phoebe, who gets diarrhea from the cheap dry food you keep feeding her, is going to have the most satisfying, back-arching, mouth-watering wet food every day. Lucius, you will be force-fed that dry food. And no, you won’t enjoy it.

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Jane Austen’s Wastebasket

Humor inspired by the literature, history, and other…

Benjamin Davis

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Columnist and author. My writing is like a bunch of people at a party trying to tell different jokes at the same time.

Jane Austen’s Wastebasket

Humor inspired by the literature, history, and other non-lucrative college courses

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