The Porcelain Prison Incident

One morning about 6 years ago I woke up with a hope that was very common back then. A hope that Pickles my penguin pooka had not come home from his partying of the night before. He had been in a particularly fowl mood that night and I felt, as I usually did, that I could really use a peaceful morning without his antics, cursing, and breath. I was encouraged by the fact that I couldn't here any snoring. I was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when I spotted him under my desk in the bedroom. Passed out so deep that he wasn’t making a sound. I decided to try and sneak by him to the bathroom for at least a peaceful shower. I was just stepping over his flippers when he cracked his eyelids and murmured "hey". I replied "hey" quietly and fully intended to ignore him and continue toward the only door in my house with a lock when I noticed something very strange. It looked like a fur pillow. He noticed me staring at him and queried "What?" in a very hung-over voice.
I said, "What is that?"
He replied trying to pry his tongue loose from the top of his mouth "What is what?"
"That." I pointed to the fur ball under his head. He smacked his beak open and close and turned his head oviously annoyed with having to move at all. Just as Pickles got his head turned a furry noggin rose up out of the middle of the pelt and smacked its lips together. They both squinted at each other to see what was moving. Their eyes met and suddenly Pickles screamed "Ayyyyyyyyyyyyy Monster!" the fur ball screamed "WIIIIIIIIIIIIIE!" (yes they can scream but don’t feel bad I didn’t know it either prior to that horrid morning). Pickles took off running one way and the thing took off running the other. Both hit opposite sides of my desk with surprising force and noise. The desk shook, the lamp on it fell over and the pair of beasts proceeded to flee wildly out into my apartment screaming the whole way “Ayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy Monster!” and “WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIE!”
I saw Pickles run into the living room and what I determined to be a squirrel duck under the bed. I went into the living room. “Who is that?” I demanded.
“How should I know,” came from under the couch “call an exterminator and get me an aspirin!”
“I am afraid an exterminator might be a little confused about which of us needs to escape.” At this point I began to realize that the aspirin wouldn’t be that bad of an idea. I must have had a few too many last night as well. “You don’t suppose we are hallucinating do you?” I rubbed my eyes and put my had through my greasy mop of hair.
Still from under the couch came “I don’t think so, I usually get worms and leggy chickens. I never got a furry psycho gila monster.”
“Well what are you doing bringing a squirrel home anyway?”
“She’s a Squirrel? Me? I can’t be held responsible for every rodent you allow in here! –If you’d clean up the place a little maybe these kinds of things wouldn’t happen! Did you know there were cheetoes under here!” CRUNCH “Never mind I think they’re old chicken nuggets.“ CRUNCH
I knew better than to argue or point out that he is the only animal I have ever let in and the only one who eats on the couch.
“Well if you had nothing to do with it how do you know she is a girl squirrel?”
I heard some muffled sound from under the couch and then I saw the penguin squeeze out. “Well we best go in and get her out of there.”
“Why? Maybe we should call animal control or something.” I argued. “Why the sudden burst of courage?
“Well cause I just laid a toxic air biscuit under that sofa and its gonna be about 7 seconds before this room becomes inhabitable.” I knew better than to try and suffer through one of his gases. Most likely I would pass out from the fumes and wake up when the room cleared to find a rabid squirrel gnawing at a stub where my leg used to be.
“Charrrrrrrrrrrrrge!” Pickles yelled as we ran back into the bedroom. I grabbed a tennis racket on my way in and Pickles jumped up on the bed. The squirrel shot out and up on my desk, leaping to the top of the door, running its length and then leaping to the stereo and then to the dresser knocking everything off of everything as it went. I was vigorously swinging at him but I hit everything but squirrel.
Then in the chaos he lept to the top of the bathroom door and then into the bathroom, thinking quickly I slammed the bathroom door! I then made the announcement “The beast is contained!”
“Good I am getting the aspirin.” Pickles stated as he let go of the ceiling fan and fell to the bed.
“I’m calling animal control.” I grabbed the phone. Then the same time that someone answered at the county office there was a terrific crash and splash from the bathroom. Then came a sloshing scream “shWIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIE!sh”
The person on the phone and I had the same response “What the” I opened the bathroom door and what greeted my eyes is still burnt into the back of my hazy mind. The squirrel had evidently slipped or fell into the open toilet and somehow in the process of getting in or trying to get out had caused the lid to crash down on top of her. It was now scrambling franticly and soaking wet struggling to lift the lid and squeeze out. But every time she would almost make it her feet would slip and the lid would come crashing back down and another temple piercing scream would be issued: “WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIE!” This was all happening so fast that it seemed to be one continuous motion. Pickles came rushing in past me and plants himself on the top of the commode and announces “The beast has been further contained!” There is a clank as the poor squirrel hit its head on the top of the lid and then silence. “Did she knock herself out?” I looked down and saw two little paws sticking out between the lid and the bowl. Like some condemned prisoner in a porcelain prison.
“No.”
“Hello, Hello?” At first I thought it was the squirrel and that really freaked me out until I realized I still had the phone in my hand.
“Hello? Who is this.”
“Animal Control. What is going on there?”
“Well we have a squirrel infestation. We have trapped it in the toilet. Please come as soon as you can.”
“Well sir,” he laughed indignantly ”We don’t do squirrels.”
“What do you mean? It’s an animal isn’t it? Come control it! “
“We pretty much stick to dogs and cats, Sir. Just let it go.” Chuckling again.
-Suddenly my conversation was interrupted by the distinctive sound of an evacuating toilet! There was one more blood curdling “WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIE!” -then silence and no claws under the little lid. I pushed Pickles off “What did you do that for?” and slowly opened the lid.
“We’ll someone had to do something, I am a penguin of action.”
There was no water in the toilet and wedged in the hole at the bottom was a little face with a pitiful expression looking up at me. Pickles peeking in states the obvious “Its stuck.”
“What just happened?” it was the voice from the phone again. Then a very angry and repulsed man yelled “Squirrels don’t flush!” Then he hung up in disgust.
“What are you doing, now!?” I yelled. Pickles was standing over the toilet with a determined look on his face and a plunger in his hand.
“I gotta go.” The squirrel looking up swallowed hard right as the head of the plunger covered her face. Then Pickles went to work pumping up and down.
“I need some air. I can’t take this.” I walked out onto the patio, a few seconds later I heard a POP and a scamper. I felt a cold and wet blur pass over me and then noticed a wet trail from the back door, across my chest, and over my patio wall.
Since that day we have a saying, a reminder if you will, that when things get out of control doing anything just for the sake of doing something is not always the best course of action. It’s summed up with the simple edict “Squirrels don’t flush.”

The Peg Explanation

According to Pickles he lost his beloved flipper off the coast of Madagascar in a sword fight with Major Stede Bonnet. The Major was an infamous pirate who learned pirating from Teach Blackbeard himself. It seems that prior to Pickles joining the crew Stede had paid a Sir Nicholas Trott Esq., who at that time was the judge of the Vice-Admiralty Court, to fake his death on the gallows. A man who had been arrested for public drunkenness and apparently had accidentally fallen asleep in Trott’s wife’s bed was hung for piracy on December 10, 1718.

Pickles claims he had been in the service of “The Man of Letters” as Pickles always refers to him for several years when he was sent ashore at a small port near Madagascar to secure provisions. Pickles always pauses here and looks far away and gets all cute and mushy. While there, he says, he laid eyes on the one, the love of his life, the missing part of himself that he had never even been aware of. From the moment their eyes connected he recalls, the landscape shifted, silence fell on his heart and no thoughts he had ever entertained before were allowed voice. He says they stayed like that for what seemed like hours just in awe of the connection but all the time slowly moving closer until finally the proximity was overwhelming and they fell into each other’s arms. He says they spent the entire afternoon enthralled in passion rarely speaking and then only in whispers of vague confirmations that all feelings were mutual. No concept of responsibility to anything other than this love seemed to even matter anymore. Then as darkness invaded the evening and the details of their features began to dim. An explosion of men entered their room and dragged Pickles away. He fought them he said but still half in shock and half in wonder he failed. These were Willington’s men he was first mate on Stede’s ship. He was taken back to the vessel and charged with derelict of duty. He was flogged but he says all that was a blur in his memory. As the lashes struck him he watched the last sight of land disappear on the horizon and swore inwardly that he would return no matter what the cost. His wounds were treated and he was lead to mess in the galley. Stede showed up there, which was very unusual. He talked to Pickles briefly about his absence but said that all was forgiven. Then just as he was about to leave he turned and asked Pickles if the soup was good? Pickles responded “yeah, fine.” A chorus of laughter arose lead by Stede. Pickles then realized that it was CHICKEN STEW! His love was supper! His soul mate was soup! Rage over took him, and something inside -something that held things in place broke. He pulled his pants back up and began to fight! He says that things got blurry again for a while but he knows that he killed at least three men with the spoon he had used to sip his dearest and seriously wounded several others with his beak and bare wings.
His next clear memory he says was on deck. He had somehow gained possession of a saber and was pulling it out of Willington when before he could turn and attack. “The Man of Letters” thrust his sword into Pickles’ wing. The penguin never stopped his mad season of killing, however, taking out two crewmembers as he hobbled and wobbled toward his prey. Stede stepped forward again and engaged Pickles. The Man of Letters was the best swordsman that Pickles had ever seen. He had no hope of winning but his rage and hunger were for death and his own would suffice if Stede’s could not be secured. But they fought on and on. Pickles rage never allowing Major Bonnet to gain the upper hand in the duel. He says that he was so saturated by pain of every kind that it provided a clarity in the fight that he had never experienced. It blocked every distraction. The ship “The Revenge” was on fire around them evidently coming from the galley where the ship’s cook lay skewered on the grill. Men were screaming in agony of their wounds as they desperately fought the fires and tried to keep them from reaching the powder room. The blood of every creature on board was smeared across the deck with the exception of Stede’s own.
Some of the men lowered a skiff into the water and began to fight over who was going in it. The ship was completely engulfed now and only time stood between Pickles and his goal. He knew now that whether he could defeat “The Man of Letters” with the sword or not. It did not matter. “The Revenge” was lost. The explosion or the depths would do his deadly job for him.
Stede however, had other plans and although not able to strike a decisive blow was well in control of the fight he worked his way over to just above the skiff. When he saw his chanced, he leapt. Pickles thrust his short saber in his beak and jumped over board after him. There were several men already in the water fighting to get into the skiff but The Man of Letters had already killed several and managed to climb in and began defending the craft. It was really only big enough for 3 or 4 men and when the last of the men in the water had given up Stede turned on the 5 in the boat. Pickles saw his chance. Swimming with speed only a penguin could muster he was in the boat in a matter of seconds. He took out the last man in the back just as Stede was pushing one off the front. Pickles and Stede both grabbed oars and began to paddle soon an explosion blew past them and the heat singed. Debris rained into the skiff and both Pickles and Stede were knocked out. Pickles said he drifted in and out of consciousness for about 3 days and when he finally snapped out of it his leg was missing. Stede was awake and sitting in the bow of the boat picking his teeth. Pickles said that the Major looked really smug and simply said “What? I was hungry.”
Pickles replied, “Well here, be my guest.” And leaped onto Stede prying his mouth open and climbing inside and forcing his way down his throat saber in hand. This is the part of the story that Pickles likes the best and he gets very graphic and excited and starts slobbering and frothing all over himself. He works himself up into a lather with all the gory details of what happened next. I wont. You can use your imagination if you’re a sicko or as I prefer to do just hum quietly to yourself until he gets finished. In the end though his summation I guess is accurate. He always insists that Major Stede Bonnet died of food poisoning.

He actually took a femur from “The Man of Letters” corpse and had it fashioned to serve as his peg. Pickles says he was rescued a week later by a clipper named The Victoria. He says it was full of corset models bound for a fashion show in New York. He further asserts that while his leg healed and he was pampered by young corset models and drowned his sorrows in boos, and Fen-Phen (the only drug on board). He also claims to have learned a very important secret of life aboard that vessel, but that’s another story.