The Final Insult

Hello cyberplaymates and the rest of you less loyal subjects.

Can you to tell me, in the name of Jesus H Christmas, what this poor bugger is?

I am no Animal Rights poster boy; I've put pork scratchings in a crack pipe, but I saw this poor sod in the window of an Olde Worlde Shoppe in Rye of Eastie Sussex England … around 6 hipster years ago. It was in a glass case and quite clearly unwell. I was on a diet of highly volatile Scrumpy Drink and felt compelled to rescue this fertive fellow.

I waved a sweaty bank note with an apologetic smile to the septuagenarian three piece Bri-Nylon suit wearing proprietor. He swiftly began to wrap the thing in brown paper, the type of brown paper that informs NewYork City Police Officer's that you are an arrestable deviant Hobo person. I know this from an unfortunate experience.

As he fumbled with string, scissors and Sellotape I asked him which way up the creature might now be standing. He scratched at his arched eyebrow and pronounced “The Devil if I know. Want me to unwrap him so you can take a look?” … I declined the offer on the grounds that any more frenetic movements might cause further disturbance to the thing.

I should not have worried. I managed to step into cab and then into a lamppost dropping the parcel several times.

In the morning I saw that the ominous brown parcel had been opened, by me. The glass was miraculously unbroken. The creature however had shed almost all of it's hair. It was not a welcome accompanyment to the oncoming horrors of a hangover.

It was once a Squirrel. Then a stuffed one.

And now at last he is in a dustbin in Spain.

This Apocryphal tale is unlikely to be optioned by Disney but Srumpy enthusiasts are likely to be a tad more empathetic.



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