[S]he looks like a shape-shifting gazelle who speaks the language the gods used when they lived on the moon. You know, Gawker.
+++++
My parents have ceased speaking to me altogether. The last thing I said to them, when we were discussing donating animals to villages instead of gifts for one another, was a back-and-forth about whether we could get a water buffalo or something. My response was:
I want a hippopotamus for Christmas
Only a hippopotamus will do
Not a crocodile
Or rhinocerosuses
I only like hippopatamusseses
And hippopatamuses like me too
Needless to say they've broken off all communication with me since then. Which is difficult because presumably they're going away to Atlanta for Christmas and will need me to come take care of the cats.
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