Mister Waffles on Education

School is a very strange idea, I think. It is like a job you pay to attend. I hear my lady people talking all the time about how expensive their school was and how they will be paying for their school until they are very, very old. They went to a very special school called The Boston Conservatory of Ass. I believe a conservatory is a special school for Thieves because The Boston Conservatory of Ass stole all of my lady people's money. I think I would like to attend this school because then I could wear a thief costume. I would wear a bandana tied around my neck and a black mask and then I would sneak into the school vault and steal back all of my people's money. And I would eat a lot before and would leave in place of the money paper bags filled with my own poop. And then, using matches hidden in my poofy fur, I would light the bags on fire and the whole school would burn to the ground and the ashes would smell like the ass the school conserved.

Mister Waffles on Employment, Part 2

It is my job to be cute. That is all. I do not have to work very hard at it. It comes very naturally to me, in fact. I do not have to be smart or good with numbers, I just have to exist and bring people joy. I do not think that this is what my people do at their jobs. I imagine that my yellow haired lady person goes to work at a rainbow factory. In this rainbow factory, they make rainbows from painted coffee cups and a taffy pulling machine. My brown haired lady person sits in an office all day making up nonsense words by which to address me, i.e. Schmunkins, Waffleybumpers, Mistercuteypiepants. I believe she works very hard at it as she is never without a new name. Someday, I would like for my brown haired lady person to think up a name that my yellow haired lady person would make into a rainbow that would arch across the sky. And everyone would look up and think, "Ah, yes, Waffle-o-tron... he is a wise and poofy dog."

Mister Waffles on Employment

I don't have a job because I am dog. And I think my life is all the better for it. I am very confused by my people who have jobs and leave me alone all day. Not because they leave me alone, but because they leave the house all day and then they come home and they are very unhappy. My yellow haired lady person sometimes cries so I lick her hand and let her rub my tummy. I am very poofy. I find that people are happier the poofier I am. Perhaps I have magic fur. I wish to share my magic fur with the world. I wish my yellow haired lady person and my brown haired lady person would take me to Africa where my magic, poofy fur would cure AIDS.