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| CANADA'S SOURCE FOR HUMOUR, PARODY, AND SATIRE
EX-GIRLFRIEND'S APARTMENT--You can blame me right now if you want to, but really, it's not my fault that your pet chinchilla died. Yes, I promised that I would take care of your furry little rat-rodent while you were away at that fat camp--I mean weight-loss retreat. But honestly, did you expect me to feed that thing every week?
You can cry all you want, but none of that is going to bring back Fuzzy, or Fluffy, or Stir-Fry. Of course I remember his name! He was as important to me as he was to you. But really, accusing me isn't going to bring your poor excuse of a pet--I mean tender companion--back to life. I don't know what could've happened that might have led to his demise. I gave him the best possible care and attention those two times I came over during your two month absence. It's more likely he died of old age. Chinchillas only have a lifespan of a few months, don't they? Your chinchilla certainly wasn't a very friendly pet. It didn't get along with my rottweiler--I don't even think it made an effort to be friends. It kept running away and making those weird chirping chinchilla sounds. Oh really, you know that Killer's bark is worse than his bite--except when he bites. Maybe if your chinchilla wasn't so jittery every time another animal was in the room it would still be alive today. I bet it worried itself to death. Yes, I followed your instructions. Hey, but how was I supposed to know that chinchillas couldn't drink beer? Was there anything on your list that said "don't feed my chinchilla beer?" No. And besides, beer is full of natural chinchilla-friendly ingredients like barley and hops. I'm sure he didn't get sick because of that. It might've been when I spun him a little too fast in his plastic mobile chinchilla ball. Oh come on! I was just teaching the little fellow about the law of centrifugal force. I certainly kept your little friend clean. I gave him a bubblebath in the toilet, and dried him off in the microwave--and he seemed to like it, the way he was jumping around all happy and stuff. Well I needed to wash him after he fell into that bucket of paint. And I didn't really need to bathe him because the acetone had already removed most of the paint. And it gave him a nice shiny coat--well, the coat that was still left after I shaved off the matted paint clumps. No I wasn't trying to suffocate your precious pet. That's preposterous! I just thought it was a good idea to wrap the entire cage in Saran Wrap, because that little shit--err, cute little guy--was tossing sawdust and chinchilla turds everywhere. I was only trying to keep your apartment clean! Hey, did you know that those things look just like raisins? They don't taste like them though...Anyhow, it's a big cage, and there had to have been plenty of air inside it. Maybe your chinchilla had some rare chinchilla lung cancer or something. No, I wasn't
jealous of your chinchilla. I loved the little furball. Think about it.
If I had wanted to get rid of your little treasure, I would've given him
to my dad to use in his crab traps--I mean I would've found a nice family
to adopt him. I loved Stir-Fry like he was my own. And to show how much
I cared about him, I'll buy you a big television to fill the huge area
his frickin' cage took up.
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| This fictional story about chinchillas is intended for adults. | The World Leader in Canadian humour, humor, parody, and satire. | |
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