The Observer, April 13, 2007
Volume XXXIX, Issue 24
Worst Case Scenario: A Llolumn
As I near graduation, I've been assessing my life. In some respects, it's not too bad. In others, however, it is sorely lacking. I am reasonably certain that these problems, though, could be solved if I had just one small thing – a llama.
Why a llama, you ask? Why not a baby deer, or a mouse? I'll answer those questions separately, and in reverse order. I don't want a mouse. I hate mice, and am in the process of trying to kill every last mousy, squeaky, evil one of them. I had a baby deer, both in real life and in cyberspace. But the real life baby deer disappeared under suspicious circumstances, and the cyberspace baby deer got her Facebook account shut down by some moron who didn't want her to have any friends.
I want a llama because I would be a good llama owner. I would resist the temptation to name my llama "Dalai" or "Lloyd." I would name my llama Petunia, and I would even grow her petunias to eat for breakfast. Hopefully, she would enjoy my carefully grown floral treats and not spit them out. If she likes to spit, though, I will not attempt to curb her habit: I will get her a spittoon.
Every day, I would ride my llama to the coffee shop and park her outside. I would even pay the meter, after I tied her to it. She would wait for me while I drank hot chocolate and read the newspaper, and if I decided to go to the grocery store, she would carry home my groceries. Petunia would like that because llamas are pack animals.
[If I had a llama, I wouldn't have to write this llolumn in the conditional.]
Most of all, I would never ever sell Petunia, my llama, to a llama farm. I don't know what they do at llama farms, but I don't think she'd like it. In fact, whatever they do at llama farms must be pretty bad, because I can't think of one legitimate reason to have a llama farm. Nobody likes llamas that much. No. Petunia will never go to a llama farm, even if she gets old and decrepit and starts spitting in my eyes. And I will never subject Petunia to the humiliation of shearing just so I can have a cute llama sweater.
Maybe someday, if I get a llama and if she's a really good llama and doesn't spit too much, I'll take my llama on vacation to Machu Picchu and she can stand on a precipice overlooking the ruins, just like the really cute llama on Wikipedia. We could also try slaloming in the Andes, but I don't think a llama would be very good at that.
Finally, Petunia might meet a handsome boy-llama in Peru, and even though that might lead to our separation when she stayed in the Andes, I would be a better person for having had a llama.
