You immediately provide us with the when, where, and how, and then try to get us to feel something for these nameless dogs by saying they’ve been together their whole lives. Okay, fine. Then, without even telling us how you lost ’em in the first place, you presume to understand the confused-but-possibly-not-malicious mind(s) of your dog-napper(s). But then you go from the good guy who faults no one to pissy commentary on how tough it is to live in a small luxury condo. From there, you mansplain that this whole thing wouldn’t have happened if certain individuals hadn’t skipped town, thereby robbing your pets of the expansive property over which you once ruled. And you proceed to suggest it’s okay to just dump your precious pooches with any random Skyline employee. If they don’t even rate a personal reunion, just how tight are you all, you catastrophic schmuck? 

Graphic Appeal: BOSSY
If you talk LIKE YOU TYPE, we have a good idea why your ex-wife kicked your controlling ass outta Westwood.

Climate Durability: EXCELLENT
For three weeks a single copy of this specimen hung comfortably protected from the elements on a bulletin board inside the Ralph’s Fresh Fare at 645 W 9th St. in DTLA. No others were found in the parking garage or on nearby street corners. But we recall rain around that time, so it’s likely La-Z-Boy went as far out of his comfort zone as he was willing to under the circumstances.

Coherency Index: KIRK VAN HOUTEN
There’s just something about a man who throws around the term “ex-wife” in the context of misfortune that makes us question whether or not you really believe this was a “misunderstanding.” This, plus the universally recognized fact that people who type in all-caps are often natural finger-pointers, renders the whole not blaming anyone approach kinda transparent. Frankly, we have you pegged as an un-masculine bellyacher.

SKYLABS__desperatehousepetsSaturation: BAD
Downtown L.A. is grid-like, making it easy to distribute leaflets and flyers. It’s difficult to excuse so poor an effort as this.

Futility Factor: RALPH’S IS CURSED
In a landscape of diminished expectations, most Ralph’s supermarkets are unhygienic temples of sadness where poor hiring criteria masquerades as equal opportunity employment. Why, for example, does it seem like Ralph’s workers graduated from either nowhere or another Ralph’s? Why does it seem like there’s only one really competent cashier per store? And why does every Ralph’s have a token senile bagger with overdeveloped startle reflexes who bags 2-liter bottles of root beer with the eggs? Jaw-dangling mouth breathers are not what we want from our grocery experience. Just sayin’.

Cheap Shots:
Your ex-wife’s boyfriend loves Westwood, your BMW, and your house with the big yard. You, on the other hand, may never feel comfortable walking your new girlfriend’s Bichon Frise. Meanwhile, your daughter and her friends have emptied your bar and mangled your home audio system. Sucks to be you!

P.S. There’s an off chance you’re keeping tabs on your flyer and wondering who would replace it with a notice that reads: “YOUR DOGS WERE STOLEN FROM OUTSIDE THIS STORE BECAUSE HOMELESS PEOPLE NEED WARMTH!” We’re with you. We can’t think of anyone who would do such a thing.

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