I had this dog, Smokey, a black cocker spaniel growing up. He was a christmas present when I was 2. We basically grew up together and he was probably the best friend in the whole world. He died when I was 18, so we had many years of camaraderie. Smokey was the shit, (and I am sure everyone with a dog thinks that their dog is the best, but I know for a fact that Smokey was the best dog ever. Period. This is not a probably situation. He was. The best. Ever. I’m not biased like those mothers who love their babies even though they are ugly. I am not that person. So you can take me for serious when I tell you things like “Smokey was the most awesomest doggie and ever dogged.”  He was cooler than both Snoop and Bow-wow rolled up in a joint together, yeahhh).

Smokey came with all of the great qualities that most dogs come with. He was cute, he loved me unconditionally, he liked to sleep next to the fireplace in the winter and when he would lay there on his side with all four legs stretched out in front of him and you would look at him from the back, he resembled a black pickle. You know, the regular great things about dogs, only Smokey was always straight with me. He was more honest than any family member or friend I have ever had. He cut the crap and would always get straight to the point. No dilly-dallying or side-stepping.

People have this weird habit of lying for various reasons, like to protect feelings or because they are cowards or probably just because sometimes lying is easier than telling someone that “no, the dress doesn’t make you look fat, you make you look fat because you got fat.”  or “yes I ate the leftovers that were in the fridge with your name on them because I was too lazy to cook something, they smelled delicious and you literally NEVER eat leftovers, so instead of letting them sit in the fridge until they no longer smell delicious, I ATE THEM.” See, Smokey would have said those things to me if he could have used human words. But it didn’t even matter. He didn’t need them. I suppose at this point you would like an example, so let me set this up for you.

When I was in elementary school, I was into music. I took piano lessons and trumpet lessons (yeah laugh it up, trumpet. ok thats enough, now you’re just being ignorant. It was a very important instrument to the ska band I was convinced I would one day start, so the jokes on you because ska is probably almost as cool as Smokey was). I would practice both instruments every day after school in my living room. When it was time for piano, Smokey would curl up underneath the belly of the piano and stay there quietly for duration of my practice. Every time I played that thing, there he was, underneath it in his spot listening. When it was time for trumpet, however, he would not shut up. I practiced, and it literally sounded like stomach-eating-parasite cries of pain were coming out of that animal. I don’t think Smokey was cultured enough to have a preference of instrument at that point, but he did know that I sucked really badly at the trumpet, and he would protest every time I practiced to remind me of it. Eventually he won and I quit the trumpet, but he was right. I was just wasting my time at something at which I would only ever be mediocre at best. (He also protested in this same fashion when I would watch the TV show Dumbo’s Circus on the Disney Channel. He especially hated the theme song. He would make the most disgustingly awful noises while it was playing until I would turn it off or change the channel. But good old Smokey was right again, that show was probably just making me dumber and he saved some important brain cells by making me stop watching that mindless crap.)

People tend to want to be kind, but what I think is kind is what Smokey did, blatantly scream-moaned in my face every time I tried to play the trumpet. Someone should do that to George Bush every time he thinks about making a painting, or the 50 Shades of Grey lady if she decides she wants to write another piece of crap book, or Johnny Depp every time he dates a woman that is not me. Everyone needs a true friend to make vomit noises directly to their face when they are wasting time or going down the wrong path. It would save us all a lot of headache and would probably eliminate a lot of the crap “art” we are constantly forced to wade through as a society.

So the next time someone asks you for an honest opinion on anything, don’t be afraid to channel Smokey and spontaneously sound like you are trying to hack up something disgusting and mucousy from deep inside the pit of you as a form of protest. It will make an impression and they will thank you for it in the long run…probably.