Did you know I have a pangolin living in my sock drawer? It’s true. His name is Donald, and he spends his time brooding in a corner, obsessively playing his mandolin while the rest of us stick our collective fingers in our ears.
We got off to a bit of a bad start, old Donald and I. Seems I once referred to him as a spiny anteater when introducing him to a friend. I honestly don’t remember doing it. In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion he invented the whole thing to generate interest in his flagging music career. But I did apologize. Eventually.
I just wish he’d move away so I wouldn’t have to listen to his god-awful mandolin playing any longer. I know the progressive hipster types out there are content to sit there and be amazed he can play an instrument at all. But I’m telling you, the guy stinks. Not only does he lack feeling, but he has absolutely no sense of rhythm. Throw in his love for cheesy 80’s pop, and you have a recipe for something truly horrible. Seriously, six minutes into Donald the Pangolin’s extended version of Phil Collins ‘Easy Lover’ and you’ll be looking for a gun. (to shoot yourself with)
And it’s not as if you can tell him any of this because he’ll either scratch your face or roll up into a ball, depending on his mood. I'm telling you: Pangolins. Yeesh!