I don’t know how I get involved in these things. My so-called friend Sparky rang me the other day as he had a problem. Sparky has many problems, but this one was a fluffy, squeaking problem.
His trucker buddy Super Dave had a job to collect a consignment of 300 live guinea pigs from the airport and deliver them to the local University research lab. Unfortunately Super Dave tends to gets rather misty-eyed about cute animals (especially after a few drinks, as on this occasion). Fearing he was driving his furry passengers towards a life of misery and pain, the idiot pretended they’d escaped from his rig and instead drove them to freedom.
More specifically he drove them to my house. Sparky had already declined the doe-eyed delivery due to the major house renovations he had coincidently just started that morning. But I wouldn’t mind looking after them – he’d call me right away and arrange safe passage for the liberated pigs. Oh, great. What was I supposed to do with 300 guinea pigs?
Not one to miss out on a money-making opportunity, Sparky realized he could make some cash out of the little critters. According to the Ecuadorian guy at the gas station, guinea pig tasted just like chicken and was a delicacy in South America.
Sparky figured he could sell them at $5 a pop to the local World Cuisine restaurant as an exotic entrée. They would also make great barbeque food as they were perfect patty size. Super Dave was not having that – he didn’t liberate them from the lab just for them to end up being grilled to perfection.
Sparky went off to visit his local herbalist with Super Dave’s tearful pleas ringing in his ears. I warned Sparky to hurry up and formulate a plan – my basement floor was now a wriggling carpet of fat-faced furballs. And their numbers seemed to be increasing.
A few days later, Sparky returned with his foolproof plan. His herbalist told him that guinea pigs were used by Andean bush doctors to cure arthritis. By gently rubbing the poor creature on the affected area, the pain would magically disappear.
The herbalist reckoned he could flog the guinea pigs at local seniors’ homes, where he had a large customer base for his ‘arthritic healing herbs’. They could probably sell two pigs a time – one for each knee. And the old folks would have a new friend to stroke and chat to. It was all good.
Sparky’s $15 ‘One Pig and One Gram’ deal sold like hot cakes. Within a week, they’d sold out of the little critters. For once I was impressed. For my help, Sparky gave me $200 and a promise never to let Super Dave anywhere near my house again.
Now all I have to do is find another $200 to cover my basement cleaning bill. Thanks, Sparky.
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