So the other day I was having a long winding conversation with the significant other when we chanced upon the picture of a man in a tuxedo.
SO: Don’t they look nice? Especially in weddings, all dressed in tuxedos.
Me: Nice? That’s not nice. They look like nervous penguins if you ask me. All shifty and black and white.
SO: So what’s wrong with penguins?
Me: What’s wrong? Everything! Firstly, they’re birds that can’t fly. And as if that wasn’t queer enough, they swim! Secondly they smell like pigeons.
SO: Smell like pigeons? What nonsense? Who told you that?
Me: A polar bear. Really. His name’s Snowy.
SO: Fine, assuming, ridiculously, that this polar bear…
Me: Call him Snowy, please.. he’s very sensitive
SO: Alright alright, so assuming that Snowy can speak and in some mysterious way established contact with you…
Me: Errrm.. GTalk isn’t really mysterious you know
SO: STOP INTERRUPTING! Not a word. Let me finish!
Me: Ok ok
SO: Yes so as I was saying assuming that this polar bea.. I mean Snowy can speak and established contact with you, how would he know the smell of pigeons? There are obviously none in the Arctic circle.
Me: Valid point.
SO: HA! Admit it, you were making it up.
Me: Of course not, you must be aware that pigeons often fly over bits of the Arctic while migrating. Don’t you think they need to take a dump over such a long flight?
SO: Oh c’mon!
Me: And if that isn’t enough, you should know Snowy has seen the world. You should befriend him on 4square really, in case you someday magically become a pigeon and…
SO: Ok enough of this polar bear. Back to penguins.
Me: Snowy. And yes, where was I?
SO: You were done with secondly.
Me: Correct. Thirdly, did you know why their wings are actually called flippers?
SO: Because they swim with them. No shit Sherlock.
Me: Oh that’s what everyone think. Uh-uh. So wrong sista. Imagine you’re a penguin. And another penguin you hate makes a really bad yo momma joke about your momma. Like “yo momma’s so fat, that polar bears call her an all-you-can-eat buffet.” or “yo momma’s so stupid that..”
SO: Ufff I get it.
Me: Ya so if some bad nigga penguin makes that joke what do you do? You wanna flame that mothercuffer. If you were human, you’d show him the middle finger. But penguins don’t have fingers. So the only way they can flip that bad nigga penguin is with his entire limb. That’s why they call’em flippers. And that is why showing the middle finger is called ‘flipping the bird’. Cause your flipping that bad nigga penguin.
SO: You’re wasting my time! How careless and inconsiderate.
Me: Yes I am rather flippant. *sniggers*
SO: Shut up!
Me: Easy girl. Fourthly, did you know they mate for life?
SO: Well that sort of an urban myth. Its only for one year. But wouldn’t it be great if it was so? If the whole world was like penguins and mated for life? Imagine!
I imagined. It was terrifying.
But being the chivalrous, loving boyfriend, I obviously wasn’t going to tell her that. I nodded softly and smiled. The ends of my eyes crinkling while my heart pounded with fright. The pictures were fresh in my mind. The whole world mating for life. Disastrous. Disturbing. Petrifying even.
The economy would spiral. Millions of divorce lawyers, marriage counselors left unemployed. Court houses would be empty. Tabloids would turn into notepads. Internet gossip blogs would now be cybersquatters. Lunches would be morose and quiet. No one would have tea in the evening. Sharmaji’s years of work trying to build a playboy reputation down the drain. Party planners would die of hunger. Let’s not even get to the wedding planners, they’ll have lesser takers than Mattel’s Paris Hilton chastity belt.
And what will Hollywood actors do? Without the urge to marry so many times, they might start contributing to movies. Imagine! Tom Cruise will turn to direction and every movie will have at least one character that jumps on couches chanting Scientology mantras. Tattoo artists would be deeply saddened, thousands of dollars gone down the drain in tattoos signifying unwavering and immortal love that have to be covered up before the ink on the needle dries.
Singers/authors who sang/wrote about love and sex and such debauchery will now be filed in the ‘Fantasy’ section. Men might even stop shaving their balls. Can you even fathom the implications of that? It would render an entire Russel Peters act redundant. I can see his scriptwriters sobbing on his now-hairy shoulders. So much for that gradient.
I could go on all night. And I normally do, but that is usually grunt filled verbosity.
Somethings things are better left unspoken. As my mind struggled to approximate the enormity of the consequences of such a innocent wish, she blissfully fell asleep. It’s so much tougher for us thinkers I tell you. I doubt if I could ever sleep again. Surely this is what the Mayans spoke off. I must act, immediately.
NOTE: This is a work of fiction. The author isn’t really that funny in real life. Also, please note how only the significant other uses caps. The author would also like the convey that he now enjoys writing foot notes. They are great fun. Like foot massages.