Laugh Attack #2 - President Canine

How to Dress Presidential

Right, furface. You want to be the President of the United States, yeah? Think you got what it takes, you woofing piece of shit? I think you don't, but feel free to prove me wrong.

*exhales deeply*

I guess I should support you. After all, I voted for you, as did millions of other Americans. The fuckin' thing is, you're a dog. But that's okay. Lord knows after the last guy we could use something to change it up. Put you in a suit and get some shiny alligator-skin shoes on you and no one will know the difference. 

You gotta work on your upright walking, though. A spine correction should do the trick nicely. I know a guy who knows a guy who can do it on the cheap. How cheap? In exchange, you might need to do one of those peanut-butter ball-licking things, though... You into that shit? Of course you are. You're a dog.

As for the suit... Well, some shoulder pads oughtta add bulk to your frame. Goldens aren't necessarily known for their broad shoulders, are they? By any chance could you identify as a St. Bernard? I hear that's a thing now.

You really need to do something about that hair. Bald ain't a good look. We'll get a blond wig on you. Hair from a six-year-old blond boy. I'll personally find the kid, vet him so I know he's not a Russian spy, trim his hair and wigitize it. That's a real word. I would know. I've been making wigs since I was nine. My mother was bald.

What else?

Oh yeah. The voice. You gotta change that shit up. All barks won't cut it. Throw some whinnies in there. Maybe a laugh. Can you laugh? Laughs show you don't have a stick up your ass, despite the fact you've got one in your mouth whenever you can get it.

Right. I hope that helps. It will be an honour serving you, Mr. President.