So clutch your four pet chickens nice and close to this computer screen, read this in a clucking voice to them, scatter seeds on the keys in case they lose interest and enjoy...
"After I fed some ketamine to my hairless guinea pigs, they were stuck in a k-hole for days," Stan Smerkson, a writer of no small import, snickers through his nose. "But when they came out the other end, I swear they were mouthing the words 'holy shit' again and again."
The circle of six people around him burst out laughing. He is brilliantly perverse and warped and they can share in that brilliance without being tainted by his perversions or warpedness. They are simply the audience.
"I just gave lysergic acid diethylamide to my pet ferret the other day," comes a voice from across the room. Patrick Donaldson, literary rival to Stan Smerkson, steps into the room playing with his scarf. "He started scratching iridescent mandellas into the walls."
The ensuing silence is filled with nothing but their total hatred for each other. They are both up to their elbows in research and manuscripts about living with unusual pets on drugs. They accuse each other of plagiarizing the idea.
One of them will be killed by animal rights activists.
The other will write a book about dealing with the lose of his best friend and rival, while brain damaged animals stumble around at his feet.