A quiet chihuahua named Oscar worked as a data specialist at an accounting firm. He liked his job and coworkers, and since he had just come out of a long relationship, he took part in many of the social activities at the office. What bugged him, though, was that some of his female colleagues, specifically a rhino named Gloria and her BFF, Florence, who was a blue heron, had started insisting on carrying him in their purse when going out for drinks at The Floundering Flounder on Thursdays.
For weeks he practiced in the mirror at home:
“No, Glo, I would prefer not to be stuffed into your hobo bag that smells of weed and hard-boiled eggs.”
“Flo, can we not do the Oscar Express today? I had beans for lunch.”
Still, he couldn’t bring himself to say it to their horn and beak.
On St. Patrick’s day everyone from the third floor was going for green beer and leprechaun juice, and Oscar decided it was time, so when Gloria grabbed him around the belly and swung him toward the wide-open mouth of her leather knock-off he yelled:
“I LIKE POMEGRANATE!”
And no one ever picked him up again.