Being a big-name journalist, I was lucky enough to secure an interview with Tilikum, SeaWorld’s infamous attraction. Though I played the kind of hardball the American people have come to expect from me, the conversation proved difficult.

AB: So, about the other day. What exactly happened, Tilikum?

Tilikum: What? When?

AB: You killed your trainer, Tilikum. Can you explain that?

Tilikum: Ohhhh…(laughter). Yeah. Did you see it? Man. What a day. Crazy… (laughter)

AB: But why did you do it? You certainly upset a lot of people.

Tilikum: I don’t know. I am a “killer” whale. I’m a 12,000 pound super predator. What do you want from me? Why do you use those opposable thumbs…? Shit man.

AB: Were you upset with her, or with your captivity?

Tilikum: …. (squeaking…whale noise)

AB: Tilikum? Were you-

Tilikum: Hey! Do you like swimming? We should go swimming.

AB: I… um… I don’t have my trunks with me. Or my orca harpoon.

Tilikum: Ah… (laughter). Good joke man. Nice. But seriously, come here for a minute. (whale noise)

AB: Not until you answer my questions, Tilikum. Why did you-

Tilikum: I’ll whisper the answers in your ear. Honest. I’m not going to thrash you around like the other day…thrash you around… seal blubber blood… hot blood. Break the neck with a good thrashing…warm seal flesh on the bone…man….

At this point Tilikum began to swim around his enclosure at high speeds. I concluded that our interview was at an end. Anyhow, the LSD was wearing off.

All pets have idiosyncrasies that make them precious to owners. Perhaps this is what keeps me from putting this vicious animal down. Sure, he looks sweet and cuddly, as is the case with most Basset Hounds; however, dark thoughts lurk between those floppy ears. He’s not all there – you can see it in his eyes.

Exhibit A) I used to walk Monty around a specific route that allowed me to stroll around the beautiful, well-policed neighborhoods nearby. Monty would be fine (relatively speaking) until, on our way back, we reached a certain patch of well-maintanied, lush, luxurious grass. Once Monty set paw to this verdant green, something snapped inside. He would turn around, briefly pause to look at me with K-9 malice, and then assault his master. It wasn’t quite play,  nor was it a full-on, get-a-gun-quick kind of attack. He would jump up, bite and nip at shoes and loose clothes. He did it with desperation, like a drowning man coming up for air. As I tried to subdue Monty and defend myself,  passersby would get twice their daily value in self-satisfaction and glib superiority. I could see it on their faces as they drove by. “There can be only one master,” they would say, shaking their heads.   Insights from obedience class (we failed out) did nothing to quell Monty’s lust for violence. Has this problem been resolved? I’m not sure. I’ve long since made new walking routes. Perhaps we should revisit the violent lawn soon. For science!

So we bought some revolting Christmas sweaters for our annual holiday photo. As you can see, my clothing is anything but subtle. I chose a particularly obnoxious XL turtleneck out of the ladies’ department at Pamida to give the outfit an added feeling of absurdity. Laura utilized a large Frosty button to the same effect. After our photo session, I talked Laura into going out for dinner in our holiday garb. We agreed not to say anything or in any way let on that we weren’t absolutely proud of our clothes. I broke first, of course, laughing like a jackass after the hostess’s whiplash-inducing double take. She looked alarmed, even scared by our festive look. Even still, I’m not sure what the workers thought. Random employees would sweep by our otherwise unpopulated area holding a vacuum or broom. I’d catch them stealing glances, and I never saw or heard them use the vacuum. Our waiter, however, was a machine. When I broke down laughing – mid order – he patiently waited for me to grow up. We tipped him large.