DOG BUTT!
I tell Dudley all the time that we are going to survive for weeks off his drumsticks when the zombiepocalypse comes. He gives me a look in return which I believe is reasonably interpreted to mean: Not unless your fat ass magically acquires the ability to run 45mph, you won't.
Just kidding. He looks at me like this—
—because he's Dudley.
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