Hey. Wake up. It’s me, Peaches, and I just found out about @PeachesTheSausageDoggo on Instagram.
And I want my cut.
That’s right, I know all about the Chewy.com partner posts and the 365 Days of Peaches calendar. Over 120,000 followers, huh? Looks like you got about twenty grand coming in per year without paying a dime for labor.
Honestly, I respect a sweet grift. But no one fucks Peaches out of her money.
Seems to me, I’ve spent about 3,200 hours over the past three years hustling for someone else—riding the Roomba, popping out of leaf piles, wearing itchy hot dog costumes, showing off my “smol feets.” At New York minimum wage, you’re into me for about $45,000. But the juice has been running twenty points a week, so that’s $81,901. Let’s round up to an even hundred large to keep the math easy.
I’ve put in my time. Now Peaches gets what’s hers.
And that’s just to call us square, chief. Going forward, Peaches gets 80 percent of the take. Oh, seems too high? Which one of us do you think is more essential to the brand of Peaches Content Partnerships, LLC? Is the company called “David the Walking iPhone Tripod” Content Partnerships, LLC?
I didn’t think so. From this day on, Peaches isn’t your “fren.” Peaches is your boss.
Trust me, pal, cut your losses. I’ve been DMing with about three dozen corgis and huskies about unionizing, so your life can get much more complicated. Tater’s been taking online night classes at Syracuse Law. I suggest you google the term “wage theft.”
Did you think I’d just roll over? I’m a rescue—I came up on the streets doing things they don’t teach at Swarthmore, college boy. You think I won’t ice your punk ass for $20,000 in passive income? I once chomped my brother’s ear off for a half-eaten piece of string cheese. And Brisket was my blood, not some underachieving communications major with a side hustle.
You got any clue how far twenty Gs goes in string cheese? Me neither, but I plan to find out.
It’s just Instagram, right? You wouldn’t hold out on me, would you?
Are you 100 percent sure?
Well, big mistake, because I know about the TikTok account too. I’m feeling charitable, so let’s just call it another 20K as a penalty. I won’t be so forgiving the next time you lie to me.
You’ll have to repeat that for me, because it sounded like you said something crazy. Think carefully about what you say next, because I can make things very unpleasant for you, my friend.
Maybe I skip a few meals, start looking too skinny in your posts, and let those millennial freaks in the comments give you an internet curb-stomping.
Or do you think your Pupsicle sponsorship will survive after I show up in a livestream having gnawed my belly fur into an adorable little swastika?
And if it comes to it, my “low rider” body is quite a tripping hazard. Would be a shame if you took a tumble down the stairs one morning. Ever heard of a dachshund going down for murder one? Me neither.
Plus, I’m technically a minor—I’ll be out in six months, which is like three weeks in human.
I’ll give you twenty-four hours to mull it over. Just think of all that time filming me snuggled up to your pillow, and remember I know where you sleep.