I found a medium-sized elephant in my garage, so I put him in a jar and now I feed him toast and jelly. I named him Charlie because I like that name and I resent my parents for not giving it to me.
On occasion I let Charlie out of his home and he stomps around on my carpet. Or he puts some of his butt on my couch in an attempt to sit down and then he sleeps while I watch television shows or read magazines.
Yesterday I let him out and he stole a watermelon and swallowed the whole thing without chewing. I said, Bad Charlie! But I find it difficult to remain morally opposed to the things I love, so I hugged him and commanded him to never leave me.
Then this morning he broke out of his jar and charged through the front door. He left a little bit of glass on the rug and a little bit of quiet in my heart, so I bought a gun and then tracked him to the park, where I shot him by the swing-set.