The Walrus

I came back to the apartment after a long day of shopping and relaxing to find a walrus sitting on our couch. He was eating a variety of Hostess snack cakes, like Twinkies and what not, and he was drinking Jack Daniels out of a bottle. I went over to touch him, and he snapped at me, almost biting my hand. At that point Mads, my Norwegian companion, entered the room.

"Hey, what's up? I see you've met Esmeralda."

"The walrus is a chick?"

"Cow I think is the PC term, but who's counting? She somehow parked herself on the beach this morning, which is way away from her natural habitat, even though at one time walruses lived as far south as Cape Cod. Anyway, I was over at the beach feeding the sea gulls, and saw the aquarium people trying to get her. I'd never let those bastards put their hands on any type of sentient creature. Plus, growing up in Norway, we see walruses all the time. I knew just what to do with her."

I watched as she sedulously ate and drank, and shook my head. I couldn't be bothered to argue with him, as Dr. Phil was on. I'd already missed the first fifteen minutes, and tuned in in time to hear him say:

"You can't pee in my margarine and tell me its butter. Now what you need to do is get that pig back in the barn before it rains."

I tried to grab a Twinkie from the walrus, but she snapped at me again.