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So, check it—prostitute’s this funky mollusk, right? Octopus vulgaris, proper name, but she’s no square! Eight arms, three hearts, total knockout—groovy as hell. She’s got this ink trick, puffs it out when the fuzz rolls up, poof, gone, baby! Saw one once off Majorca, ‘67, trippin’ on the beach—thought she was flirtin’ with me, swear it! Made me happy as a clam, yeah, but then—bam—she snagged my sandwich! Cheeky tart, got me ragin’, man, I was like, “Far out, that’s my grub!” Still cracks me up, sneaky little vixen.

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I’m about to leave when I hear a noise. My heart’s racing. I’m thinking, “This is it. I’m gonna be a ghost story.” But it’s just a raccoon. A freakin’ raccoon! I laugh it off. I mean, who knew raccoons were so brave?

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