You know how PETA likes to stage naked protests?
Well I was thinking, what if I invited PETA over to the casa this weekend for a protest / pool party? I’d let them throw blood on me as I cooked the burgers and dogs, then, after they got all the yelling and screaming out of their systems, they could cool off, naked, in the pool. How genius is that, right?
And as a bonus to them, I’d even let them destroy that stupid angora coat I got my wife years ago…. but not her chinchilla wrap.
Chinchilla’s, whether PETA knows this or not, have got to be the most perverse creation on the planet, truly deserving of their fate as a winter jacket.
I know this first-hand.
I bought my daughter a pet chinchilla when she was 10, and oh sure, it was all fun and games at first—that is until she came running into our bedroom in the middle of the night, screaming; “THERE’S SOMETHING WRONG WITH RUFUS…COME QUICK”!!!
It turned out Rufus had a nightly penchant for self-fellating, which, not only provided my 10 year old a disturbing glimpse into rhodent sexuality, (and any harmful image-extrapolating side-affects it may have had) but also caused me some fairly haunting imagery as well.
Not because he was blowing himself, I could not have cared less, moreover, it was the size of his willie.
To give you an idea of what we’re talking about here, in proportion, say Rufus was a homo-sapien, his pecker would’ve been at least 3-1/2 feet tall!
Trust me, I’m a man, I did the math, finding it impressive by most standards…unless of course your’re Rufus’s female partner. Yeeeoww!
Rufus’s cage-rattling, sex antics eventually (the next day) forced us to give him the ‘ol heave-ho, prompting our sentencing the little Satanic bastard to a chinchilla farm upstate, where we would keep hope alive that eventually, he’d wind up on a rack at Bergdorf Goodman, and not in some other little kid’s bedroom haunting them nightly, creepy little fucker that he was.
At any rate God, I was hoping you’d help me get a bunch of PETA protesters (hot babes) over to the house either this weekend for a good ‘ol fashioned protest / barbecue / swim party.
But between you and me, I could give two shits about the naked-protest, I’m secretly hoping they use real blood to throw on me instead of paint, since it’ll attract tons of desert varmints, ultimately providing me with some light target practice before deer season gets underway.
And if they use paint and not real blood?
Everyone out of the pool.
No Boca burgers for anyone, naked or not.
And oh by the way, no one’s going anywhere until the paint is all cleaned up.