Spot was the only Zebra in the Chichester Zoo for emotionally unstable animals. This was a very good thing, because Zebras are famously smelly creatures and she was highly allergic to air freshener. Despite living a comfortable existence, Spot was not happy. Her one pleasure in life – listening to Iron Maiden (Bruce Dickenson-era only) – was currently being denied because of a power cut and a lack of batteries in her sound-system. She stomped around her enclosure like a petulant teenager, snorting like an enraged camel in a sand-storm, sucking and blowing like Adam Sandler’s career, causing the straw on the concrete floor to cower and tremble like mothballs in a wardrobe-makers convention. Make no mistake, Spot was as angry as a Goth watching Glee.
Just then, thundering across the room in a fit of rampaging linoleum came the zookeeper, Gareth Petrol-Cucumber, who was fresh from an enjoyable vacation in the Everglades. Yes, it was a wonderful holiday apart from the incident where he was lightly masticated by an alligator who mistook him for a insurance-salesperson who had sold him life cover which, in the small print, had a clause nullifying it for scaly joint water/land dwellers. Luckily, Gareth had managed to placate the alligator by giving him the details of an internet-based insurer (www.yesweinsurefuckingalligators.com) which specialised in Floridian alligators’ needs and everything was sorted out amicably. Gareth was confident that his left arm would eventually grow back, anyway.
Gareth hadn’t always wanted to be a zookeeper, but he had been banned from working with children after an incident at his local playgroup involving Shrove Tuesday, pancake batter, A DVD of “In The Night Garden”, a tub of Ben & Jerry’s Ice Cream, A “Barney” costume and his engorged penis. He insisted it was all a misunderstanding, but it took them almost twelve years to get the mess off the carpet and the judge just didn’t want to listen, being extremely prejudiced against people in general. This left Gareth with the choice of either working with animals or being a mini-cab driver but he didn’t feel as if he had to stoop that low. Besides, he enjoyed his job at the Chichester Zoo for emotionally unstable animals and the pay was good. Almost a pound a week!
The heroic Mr. Petrol-Cucumber leaped into action and grabbed his tools. Spot licked Gareth’s left earlobe passionately as the balding zookeeper attempted to re-wire the electrics in her enclosure, which wasn’t at all easy with Zebra saliva dribbling down his neck. And then – success! All the lights came back on and Spot’s sound-system sparked into life – but shock, horror and fornication! The speakers were blasting out Metallica, not Iron Maiden! Alice, the Lemur, must have switched CDs when Spot wasn’t looking. As the whole of the marsupial enclosure moshed to ‘Sad But True’ from ‘The Black Album’, Spot collapsed in the corner with an alcoholic strawberry milkshake and sobbed like an asthmatic walrus being rogered mercilessly by a sperm whale. Life was so unfair! Although he sympathised, what could Gareth do other than watch the bitterly disappointed zebra and masturbate, furiously?
That’s for you to decide. I’m keeping well out of it.