Marmaduke's lazy aloofness and barely-suppressed disdain for humans are explained away by his owner-boy (who is desperately trying to save face in front of a schoolyard chum) as a sign of intelligence. Which is probably true, but we are once again reminded of the fundamental truth at the heart of nearly every installment of Marmaduke: Marmaduke is an asshole.

Marmaduke's owner-lady attempts to argue her way out of a traffic ticket using logic that points to either astonishing stupidity, enormous balls, or some combination thereof.

Marmaduke wants his owner-man to know that the TV needs to be fixed, and clearly doesn't give two shits if owner-man is otherwise engaged.

Marmaduke went with his owner-lady to her knitting class, during which she made him a silly and unflattering costume of some sort, made him wear it, and showed the world at large that yes, life DOES begin at 40.

Marmaduke is wearing sunglasses. A police officer remarks upon this accessorization and betrays either a remarkable ignorance of the American justice system (of which he is a crucial part), or a terrible, terrible sense of humor.

Marmaduke is an asshole.

Marmaduke's owner-girl thinks he has the lawn mower confused with the vacuum cleaner. In reality, Marmaduke has the lawn mower confused with a serial rapist.

Marmaduke's owner-man mistakes him for the neighborhood trash can inspector.

Marmaduke is trying to let his owner-lady know that he wants to fuck her. His innuendo may seem blunt and crude, but in his defense, he is a dog.

Marmaduke frightened a little boy named Jeremy simply by playfully growling at him, and having jaws large and powerful enough to snap a little boy's torso in half.