The Ocean is on Fire

"The War," Angels and Airwaves

Saturday, 2:30 PM

I'm sleeping. What do you want?

Oh, you want to go to the beach! Of course I want to go to the beach! I can practice my ferocious bark at all of the the other dogs-- you know, the ones about 5 times my size!

Yes, yes, this is what I remember. I love the sand. Love it.

Hmmm....nope. Don't like this stuff. Looks like a bath. Feels like a bath, too, only colder. Plus there's plants and little animals that dart around in here. Let's stick to the sand.

I'm sorry. Perhaps you didn't hear me. I said, let's go back to the sand. Right now. Excuse me. Look down here, please.
 

This is AWFUL. I HATE it. I was SLEEPING, remember?
 

You bastard.

 

Please help me. That awful man is making me swim. In the ocean. And it's cold. Why do you people not realize I'm a freakin' Bichon?! Most people who own this breed make us wear goddamn bows in our hair!

You've got to be kidding me. You are just as bad as said awful man.

Yeah, this thing is dead. You know why it's dead? Because somebody stuck it in this goddamn water!

Jump? As is, move from this dry rock back into that liquid hell? How stupid do you think I am? Stop pulling the leash. Seriously, I said STOP PULL-

 

Oh hell no.

 Take me home immediately. I hate the beach. I hate the ocean. I hate the sand. You people are going to hell.