Jennifer Aniston’s Adventure

April 18, 2012

“What a fine set of moustaches,” cooed Jennifer Aniston, leaning over the side of the enclosure and reaching her hand out to point at the distant walrus that had dumped itself lazily on an artificial rock. “I should like to feel those running through my hair.”

 

This was the first thing in the entire menagerie that had excited her. We were six miles below the desert of Dubai, which, I had been informed, was connected to various foreign food supplies by gob-smackingly expensive pipelines. These were used to sluice in grapes from Persia for the horses and a gallon of creamy butter every hour for the weasels, which were all obese and vomiting.

 

“Ah the walrus. The gentle scholar of the deep. The learned fisher-king of Neptune’s splashy continent. The Mark Twain of illiterate, mute, beanbag-shaped mammals.” Aniston opined, her Friends jacket twisting as she leaned ever further over the railing, which was for some reason made from jutting teak phalluses.

 

“I think it’s a bucktoothed, fey idiot” I burbled into her ear. She was my best friend, but I had to remind her that not everything she said was agreeable.

 

“Well I like them. I should like to mount one. They are known as the ponies of Poseidon’s intangible paddock, after all.” she said, pulling a bridle from the recesses of her wig. A sheik sipping coffee at a nearby bandstand scalded several of his wives when he involuntarily sprayed boiling liquid over them at the shock of this statement.

 

For my own part I was also surprised, dropping my monocle. A new one grew back almost immediately. “But Rachel, it is illegal for women to command man or beast in this country. You can’t even read a fucking book without also having a man’s cock resting on your shoulder like a featherless, boneless, beakless parrot. With enormous bollocks.”

 

Suddenly she turned to me, eyes black with rage, fists knitted with walnut knuckles and blue-gold veins.

 

“My name. Is Jennifer.”

 

The only one left alive was a walrus, softly weeping into a conch.

 

by The Monopoly Man

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