Presenting
AMNESIA DOG
The cuddliest cure for ambition.
Who needs conquest when you have a wriggling-brindled-pitbull-shaped bundle of joy in your lap?
Even as you scratch its crown, knead its flank, and endure its tongue upon your cheek your armies and flags and speeches and flags and propaganda and bootlicking ministers fade from your consciousness.
A pitbull nuzzles your ear, telepathically whispering, It’s my empire, now, asshole!
Soon enough, you’re hammering swords into liver treats processing plants.
All tanks are to be converted into mobile food and water bowls.
All bombers and fighters shall be retasked to conduct air drops of canine ice cream supplies.
You issue a decree that requires all citizens to give pets and scratchies to all doggos at all times.
In the fullness of time, you retask your Imperial Guard to conduct elite dog walker missions.
You crown yourself Sovereign of Driving Doggos to Be On Time For Veterinary Checkups, Shots, and Luxury Grooming Appointments.
In the back of your mind a tiny shrill voice cries out for slaughter, fire, and fury . . . but it gets harder to make out what exactly it’s saying day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, second by second . . .
AMNESIA DOG
The cuddliest cure for ambition.
