Right after that pitch meeting yesterday, I was pretty dejected. I was walking to the car, thinking all sorts of dark, grumbling things about how it wasn’t fair that the world was so unfair, and that last time I checked smart was a good thing, so what exactly the fuck is wrong with too smart, and on and on, the sorts of things everyone thinks as a defense mechanism against rejection.

Then I saw this dog:

It’s the gayest dog in the world, possibly the gayest dog EVER. Here’s a shot of the dog, held by his owner:

And man, I cheered right up. I mean, if there’s a place in the world for a little white dog with a pink heart dyed on its ass, there’s a place in the world for me. That fluffy little drag queen was a bolt from god, a reminder that the world is weird and nothing makes sense, EVER … and it’s best that way.

I said it before and I’ll say it again: when you’re a moody motherfucker like I am, a dizzying high is right around the corner, and the tiniest stuff cheers you right up.