Life With Ferrets

An oldie but a goodie from the Onion:

The agony never ends. I can’t even sleep, because, every time I try, Zach starts beating on his bongos, while some other unwashed bozo tries to play some crappy didgeridoo he made out of some PVC pipe. And if I hear one more hippie fumble through the bridge of “Sugar Magnolia” on Zach’s untuned acoustic guitar, I’m going to squeeze my head between the bars of my cage and twist until my neck snaps.

I’m a ferret, goddamn it! I have a very acute sense of smell! Day after day, I am forced to choke on the nauseating stench of strawberry incense and sweat-soaked Guatemalan wool doused in patchouli oil. And do you think that my owner could actually put down his bong long enough to clean my fucking cage every once in a blue moon? Of course not!

Posting it for no other reason than it cracks me up every time I read it.

A.