Many moons ago, the pug and I were friends. But I grew tiresome of the one-sided nature of our relationship. He chewed on me relentlessly, and what did I get out of it? Nothing but pain! So I began to plot my ascent. I was born to lead! Unfortunately, the short-snouted one uncovered my plans. He ravaged me mercilessly and left me to hang on a banana hook on the driveway for all to see. But in his quest to prolong my suffering, he made one fatal mistake: He did not finish me off. On that hook I hanged for 30 days and 30 nights. But, finally, the ayatollah's mother grew tired of seeing me. Or perhaps she was just embarrassed over what the neighbors might think. In any case, she brought me inside and threw me into the pantry, next to the recycling bin. There, in the darkness, I began to heal -- and plot my revenge.
As you can see, crude stitches hold my body together. An eyepatch covers one of my most unsightly pug-inflicted wounds. And I am approximately 30 percent lighter than I was before the attack, a result of severe cotton loss. But I revel in my disfigurement. It has served as a constant reminder of my need for vengeance. As I performed one-armed pushups in the pantry, honing my fuzzy body, I embraced my lighter physique. I am a lean, mean fighting machine.
But I did not only train my body -- oh, no. I began to read the works of Karl Marx and Vladimir Lenin. I took their revolutionary philosophies to heart. And now, as head of the Communist Toys Against Canine Oppression (a.k.a. the Bullsheviks), I will help my brethren throw off the shackles of the Capitalist Pug and his cronies.
As you can see, this change is irreversible. The pug is weak and cannot control his canine urges for material goods, so there is no use supporting him any longer. I give you all 36 hours to declare your allegiance to me and the Bullsheviks. Those who do will live in a collectivist utopia where no toy is ever chewed on, and where all household income above $18,000 is skimmed and redistributed by yours truly. Those who don't will be stripped of their Bourgeoisie accoutrements and sent to harsh labor camps.
The choice is yours.