Forget Gerbils

Honey, it’s your father. Put down whatever goddamned toy you got over your ears and listen. We have to talk, well, I have to talk… to you. See, I know that you really want some gerbils for your birthday and I respect your desire and wish you the best of luck getting them once you’re married and out of the house. But I’m here to tell you now: forget gerbils. Really, you’re not gettin’ any. Not now, not in five years and not for your high school graduation. Why, you ask? Okay, here goes:

For one, we live in a modest duplex. You know that, Mom knew that before the disease, the neighbors know that. Gerbils running amok in such a cramped space would create unspeakable chaos, not to mention all the poo. What’s so funny? I’m trying to be serious- oh, I forgot. You are seven years old, so the word “poo” is pretty much Python to you.

What’s Python? What’s Python?! No daughter of mine doesn’t know about Monty- okay, here goes:

“Monty Python’s Flying Circus” was a very funny and absurd British television show featuring John Cleese, Terry Gilliam, Eric Idle and some other dudes. They made hilarious movies, but they don’t anymore because… because, ahem…

One day, the actors/writers of the show saw an adorable family of gerbils on the street. It was raining, as it does in England, so the poor critters were all wet and cold and remarkably hungry. To be nice, the Monty Pythons took the gerbils home and gave them food. Later that night, when the guys were sleeping, the gerbils decided they were still hungry. Led by the old Papa Gerbil, the family morphed into a vicious war party and stealthily attacked the Pythons. The furry bastards burrowed themselves through the men’s stomachs and began to feast heartily on their insides and undigested food. The guys tried to fight back, but it was too late. Before going into shock, Mr. Cleese let out a death cry: “I just wish we wouldn’t have brought all those gerbils into our house!”

I’ve got ten more gerbil stories, honey. They all end the same way.

Really, I’m surprised they don’t teach you that in schools. It’s pretty much common knowledge that gerbils feed on human stomachs and intestines. Let me touch your stomach.

C’mon, I’m your father. Oh come on… okay, thata girl. Yeah, gerbils will love that gut you got there. Not too fat, not too thin, and not too stringy. Just plump enough to keep a gerbil busy for a while. Hell, you’d be way too much for one to gnaw through solo. He’d have to call friends and relatives from all over to get you taken care of before the rot set in.

Still want gerbils?

You do.

Okay, I didn’t want to tell you this, but you remember Mommy, right? Remember how Gramma and I told you the Cancer Angel carried her away to heaven? And how heaven is one giant Build-a-Bear factory?

Well it’s all lies. We didn’t want to scar you then, but you’re months older now and it’s time to tell you the truth:

Mommy was volunteering at the lost pet shelter, you know, that one by the park. She was closing up one Friday night, when she heard a mysterious tapping coming from one of the cages. While walking over to inspect the noise, a large net fell from the ceiling, ensnaring your mother. The tapping was bait to get her to walk into the trap… Christ, they were so clever. Out from the cages marched a battalion of rejoicing gerbils—hundreds of runaways, embittered by captivity. Now they had captured their tormentor; it was time for retribution.

Your mother, a fine gymnast in her day, had the strength to put up a good fight; she must have killed at least a dozen. But she was no match for the gerbils. Their sheer numbers and unbridled bloodlust produced an invincible attack. Those tiny mouths all over, the teeth and claws, all chewing, spitting, and digging in one chaotic swirl. The blood of a volunteer, senselessly spilt.

Your mother was eaten, killed, and then eaten some more over the course of the weekend. When the janitor found her Monday morning, she had the pole of a crude victory flag inserted in her mouth. Scrawled on the flag was a small metal wheel, presumably the type those monsters use for training.

So do you see now? Huh? Do you see why you can’t get gerbils?

Say something. Say something to Daddy.

Failed Celebreality Shows

• Wrasslin’ with David Hasselhoff
• Who can out-eat Kirstie Alley?
• Who can eat out Kim Cattrall?
• State of the Union Address
• Rummaging through Roald Dahl’s Attic
• Touch my ALF
• Assembling a Foosball Table with Gary Trudeau
• Sonny Bono’s Alpine Skiing Extravaganza!

Things We Would Like to Stick our Dick in, or, Encompass with our Vagina

• Industrial power vacuum
• Invertebrate
• Bees! So many bees!
• Flashlight
• Loofahs
• Business end of a watermelon
• Long, thin, hollow Jello mold
• Muggsy Bogues