Duration: 1m45s

I don't think I can stomach any more of this garbage. - Same here. - Words out of my mouth. I used to sleep on a lamb's-wool bean-bag next to an electric space-heater. That's my territory. I'm an indoor dog. I starred in 22 consecutive Doggy Chop commercials. Look at me now. I couldn't land an audition. I was the lead mascot for an undefeated high-school baseball team. I lost all my spirit. I'm depressing. I only ask for what I've always had: a balanced diet, regular grooming, and a general physical once a year. I think I might give up. - What, right now? - Right now. There's no future on Trash Island. You heard the rumor, right? About Buster. - Not sure. - Can you remind me? Who's Buster? Uh, my brother from another litter. - What happened to him? - Suicided. Hanged himself by his own leash. - Hmm. - Oh, boy. I want my master. Ah... You make me sick. I've seen cats with more balls than you dogs. Stop licking your wounds! You hungry? Kill something and eat it. You sick? Take a long nap. You cold? Dig a hole in the ground, crawl into it, and bury yourself. But nobody's giving up around here, and don't you forget it, ever. You're Rex! You're King! You're Duke! You're Boss! I'm Chief. We're a pack of scary, indestructible Alpha Dogs. You're talking like a bunch of house-broken... pets. You don't understand. Uh, how could you? You're a...