If he thought that succumbing to the infection was the worst of the possibilities it seems that the residents of the Dog Park are determined to prove him wrong. Under different circumstances he might have chuckled at the absolutely horrible decorations, but as he has just entered the seven circles of hell Sarge has been muttering about not needing enemies with friends like this and wanting to kill everyone all the way to the council meeting.
Perched in his chair, positively seething, Sarge looks like a gargoyle about to attack. His thoughts trail off for a moment, considering what an advantage wings would be right now, and he begins to think exit strategies for later. There is no way that he will stick around for that stupid party. Who throws a party for this? Some dumb luck had him survive instead of facing the fate he rightfully deserved for being the dumbest fuck around.
Slowly his head turns toward Rodeo and if his eyes had any supernatural powers their leader would be nothing but a heap of ashes and smoking boots. There always have to be smoking boots."Looks like you gotta talk to her 'bout that new position after all. I ain't spendin' my valuable time with sick fucks like you." He fishes a toothpick from his pocket and begins to chew on it as if it personally offended him. "I'm a fuckin' rocket surgeon. I ain't gonna put up with this shit."