“Frankly, Frank, I can’t stop farting.”
“Well, crap, Finn. I don’t know what to tell you. Eat less fiber?”
“But Frank, you know I only eat bran muffins.”
“Yeah, I’ve never understood that since we’re fucking flamingos!”
“Well we’re not fucking flamingos… I haven’t gotten laid in weeks! The last time I got laid was when I was born.”
Frank stared at Finn disapprovingly. “That was a lame joke, man.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t help it, the never-ending farts are probably taking oxygen from my brain.”
“I don’t think that’s anatomically possible.”
“You don’t know my life!”
“Actually I do, I’m your brother and we’ve lived in the same enclosure all our lives.”
“Yeah, I know that. I don’t know why you just explained that to me.”
“It was for the audience!”
“What audience?”
“The one reading this right now.”
“Oh, damn. Frankly, that’s pretty deep, man.”
Just then the mushrooms wore off and a human Finn found himself lying in the middle of the ostrich enclosure at the zoo surrounded by angry bike cops. It was the third time that week. Finn had always wanted to be a flamingo because he likes sticking his head into things. It was a weekly ritual of his to take his self-diagnosed hallucinogen and head over to the zoo. The cops were used to this behavior but more than twelve times a month was highly unacceptable.
At first he was issued necessary therapy but he was very convincing to the professional and it was dubbed that he indeed just happened to be two brother flamingos trapped inside a grown man.
He was then freed to live freely among his brethren in the enclosure as long as he wore a pink Morphsuit and stood on one leg.
-Lauren Moliterno, Staff Member