Thanks for the llama
I knew a llama once. At least I thought I knew him. I mean, how well can anyone really know anyone, much less a llama. With their air of mystery and thinly veiled contempt. It’s hard. But I digress.
His name was Kevin. But for reasons I will never understand, he would only ever answer to Albert. Identity issues aside, things started out okay. The usual introductory sniffing and sneezing went well, despite his allergies, but then things started going downhill during the ritual licking phase of the pleasantries. We pushed through. And had it not been for the spitting, we might have even been able to make it work, but alas, after just 3 seconds of bittersweet brotherhood, we finally decided to part ways. It’s kind of sad, when you think about it. Spitting seems like such an innocent thing to fight over, but he was pretty adamant that I should stop and that was just never going to happen. We might have overcome that issue, but Kevin, like all llamas, was very competitive. First came the stench competitions. Then it was belching contests. And lastly, a painstaking count to see which one was hairier. You can clearly see why our relationship was doomed. The poor fellow was a bit of a sore loser.
So he snuck out, taking with him a failed friendship, an obliviously optimistic dread of the future, and my sixth favorite toothbrush. Now that he is gone, I can honestly say, it's for the best. He was too much of a chick magnet anyway and who needs that poultry drama?
Sorry about the late reply. Working on the backlog.