It’s true. I may be the last human left in my building. I’m in the center apartment, upstairs. To my left are chimpanzees, that screech and whoop during ESPN Sports Center and The Man Show. To my right, the party animals. A young couple of indeterminate species that enjoy drinking until they vomit over their balcony, or playing a quiet game of “throw empties at the raccoons”. Below my are the Albanian hyenas which I have written extensively on. On the lower right, a flock of flamingos that enjoy preening their scaly legs on the balcony and flashing their boobies to passing vehicles.
These all pale in comparison to the family of were-ferrets to my lower left. Yes, were-ferrets.
Mustelithropes that assume the shape of manic ferrets every time NASCAR is on. An episode of NASCAR is like crack to them. It sends them into a feeding frenzy of chips, hot dogs, no-brand beer and furniture. Last night must have been a Dale Earnhardt Tribute. Not only did the noise resemble the “fun house” at Abu Ghraib, but this morning their porch was strewn with the chewed up remains of their sofa, box spring and clothing.