C'mere and stroke my ferret

I started to write a post about the Ferret Stroker and Aunt Florence, then realised that I would be up half the night writing a post the blogging length-equivalent of a Harry Potter novel. Thus, I will break the crazy into two parts.

Brace yourselves Stroker fans, I have managed to procure TWO, yes two photos of the Ferret Stroker. You have no idea of the kind of covert ops which were required to obtain these photos, and I assure you they did not involve me, 20 minutes of crouching at a large window, debating whether or not flash was really required. However, if, by chance, these elements were involved, the answer may or may not be that a photo taken without flash would be blurred, yet a flash would alert Ferret Stroker to my presence. A resolution could, hypothetically, be to move a large armchair in a position to slightly block the window so one could quickly snap a photo (with flash) around the side of the chair and then dash behind it at the slightest hint of head turning from The Stroker.

Behold:





I know the photos are blurry, but as we know the insanity hovers close to the surface with this guy so I didn't want to be obvious. Please note the requisite stonewashed jeans with generic, white K-Mart kicks, the long stringy hair, and backwards hat. I'm a bit disappointed he wasn't donning his cut-offs at the time, especially considering the oppressive heat at the time. Also absent is the ferret, who may or may not now be deceased. I didn't see the poor mite for the entire two and a half weeks we were there, which, considering I saw him as much as I saw my own kid last summer, proves rather worrisome.

There were some developments since the Ferret Stroker was last mentioned. He was served with a warrant after shooting at my Mom's house with a pellet gun, and didn't think to flush his wacky weed down the toilet as the cops were banging on his door. Consequently, he's facing a charge for being a violent asshole, and charges for being a stupid pothead with limited foresight.

These papparazzi shots were taken the night before the Ferret Stroker hauled ass and split for parts unknown. He and his heavily pregnant, still-braless wife were less than secretive about their actions, parking the UHaul outside the house for two days whilst they periodically carried large boxes back and forth. We couldn't determine whether they were legally moving to another abode within the same area, or were really that dumb to skip down and add even more charges to the list. I vote the latter, but can't remember when the trial is, so we may not know the truth behind The Stroker's disappearance for awhile.

There you go. I came through for you big-time, Stroker devotees, and I hope you know how very insane The Dude thought me to be when I was running around my Mom's house trying to figure out which vantage point granted the best photo opportunities. Away and masturbate, because you know what they say - a man who knows how to stroke a ferret with such finesse knows how to...ok, now I've just made myself ill.

Aunt Florence report either tomorrow or Friday. Or Saturday.