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Myrtle (Moi - I like to refer to myself in the third person at times; so sue me. I contend that this is a sign of greatness.) is the world's most famous chinchilla. She was born and raised in a sack of rice in Cuba. From these humble, grainy beginnings, she taught herself the art of paperclip-chain making. She was soon the envy of the Cuban chinchilla community for her amazing paperclip talents. Unfortunatelyfor her, chinchillas are also extremely jealous creatures, and a few ofthe younger chinchillas plotted their vengeance. One dark, stormy night,they threw poor young Myrtle (pathos - do you hear the violins wail?) into the very rice sack she was born in, and cast her into the ocean. Little did they know that that was not the last they would see of Myrtle. The tide came in the next morning, and she washed up on shore. They threw her back in. And that was the last that they ever saw of Myrtle. But don't be alarmed, dear concerned listener! Myrtle survived the terrors of the high seas - she escaped the clutches of a ravenous octopus, and the fervent marriage proposals of a somewhat confused sea horse, who thought furry little Myrtle was simply in needof a decent haircut and some good lovin'. (When she revealed the truth about her mammalian identity - and that is tough! You ought to try it sometime if you dare to differ - and left him for a short fling with a wandering platypus, he |
recovered well, and later on became a lobbyist for inter-species dating). Anyway, she made it back to dry land, washing up on the shores of Texas, bedraggled and suffering from disillusionment because of the platypus, who finally told her that he was bisexual and hooked up with the spurned sea horse (who was also a gay-rights activist) Now, where were we? Ah yes, the grand shores of Texas. Well, Myrtle lay gasping her last gasp on those cluttered beaches, when providence arrived in the form of a kindly chihuahua named Herbert. Herbert took Myrtle to his master, a sour old woman named Gretchen. (Freudian psychoanalysis ahead. If you do not approve, read no further). Gretchen hated chinchillas with a passion, because while she was growing up, they lived in her garage and ate all the lightbulbs in her house. Her parents blamed her, and when she tried to prove the existence of the glass-munching chinchillas, they hid (they are quite cunning when they want to be) so her parents did not believe her. They became convinced, as the bulbs disappeared one by one, that Gretchen hated them and was punishing them for some childhood crime, so they palmed her off to a shrink. He did absolutely no good, but bled the family dry, and his bills left them destitute and starving. They died of hunger,(more violin wail) and Gretchen never forgot nor forgave, so she grabbed poor Myrtle by the neck and chopped her into little ittybitty(scientific term for very small) pieces. Exit Myrtle. Enter MOI. Old lady Gretchen lived on my street, and I was delivering her groceries to her, when the spirit of Myrtle descended upon me, and possessed me, mind body and soul.("So you are not actually Myrtle the chincilla?" you may ask. Ofcourse I am. For she abides in me and I in her, I AM SHE!). I've never told anyone else this, YOU MUSTKEEP MY SECRET. That is why I am such a great hand with paperclips. Okay, that's it for my story. Hope I didn't bore you too much. |