>Stephanie and I have been arguing a lot lately about whether or not I can have an ostrich.
Her arguments are mainly as follows:
1. There is something wrong with you. You are a complete fucking idiot.
2. We live in a townhome in an urban area where it gets very cold.
3. Ostriches are mean.
4. You can’t ride an ostrich anyway.
My counter arguments go something like this:
1. Am not!
2. We can keep it in the garage.
3. They are only mean to people who are going to eat them and pluck out their feathers and make ugly leather out of them. I just want to ride mine around.
I should mention that the only abuse my ostrich might suffer is that I remember a Curious George book from when I was a kid, where Curious George fed a trumpet to an ostrich, so that the ostrich had a big trumpet-shaped lump in its throat. While Stephanie is indeed a big dumb monkey, and she might do something like feed a trumpet to an ostrich, we don’t have any trumpets at this time.