Marmaduke's owner-man implied that his wife gave birth to their dog. The psychosexual implications of this Freudian slip are vastly disturbing, particularly in light of recent events.

Marmaduke wants something besides a towel, but I am a gentleman and that is as far as I am explaining this one.

Marmaduke only wants to hang out with his owner-man when it's going to piss him off.

Marmaduke and his owner-lady are so cold they are sprouting phantom broccoli stalks, a side-effect of early-morning chill unique to the Marmidukiverse™.

Marmaduke's plans for tonight are to eat lots of snacks and watch elephants fucking on TV.

Marmaduke has forgotten that he does not speak English.

Marmaduke's owner-lady refuses to put ice cream on his dog food, no matter how much he tickles her butt.

Marmaduke could've sworn that cat was dead, but now he's going to have to sit through one of his owner-lady's boring lectures about not murdering.

Marmaduke prepares to devour a porcine houseguest's piece of cake, then rape her in the missionary position. His owner-girl explains to the woman that this is all perfectly acceptable, because Marmaduke can have anything he wants, and right now Marmaduke wants cake and non-consensual sex with a pig-lady.

Marmaduke is making it painfully obvious that he is coming over to his fat, elderly neighbor's house for one reason and one reason only: to play a game of Backwards Superman.