Phase 1: Deciding On A Bit/Post
You’re getting ready to go to a party. You look in the mirror, and you’re delighted by what you see.
You feel a little strange wearing a badger on your head, but you figure you can pass as quirky. The kind of person about whom one would say, “Oh hey, she does weird things but manages to look stylish while doing them. I like her undying free spirit.” You decide that everything will work out okay.
Phase 2: Brainstorming
You arrive at the party. As determined, people think you’re a bit weird, but you pass it off with a smile and some comment about how PETA says badger skins are really in this year.
The badger begins to become uncomfortable with all the attention, and starts making badger noises at people. You quickly move to the drinks station, hoping that this will pass and you’ll get through the party without much bullshit.
But the drunker you get, the angrier the badger gets. He’s actively swiping at your friends, smacking drinks out of their hands, clawing at their clothing and snarling. It’s getting ugly. You’re still trying to pass this all off as an okay decision that you have made, but it’s becoming apparent to everyone that you’re fucking crazy. You suddenly realize you’re the center of attention and try to laugh it off.
Phase 3: Writing
The badger leaps off of your head and onto the crown moulding. He’s circling the room, holding everyone’s attention and enjoying the rapt fear he commands from you.
Then, he strikes.
He soars from the ceiling onto your friend’s throat and starts viciously clawing at everything it can touch. You didn’t know badgers could speak, but he damn well called your friend’s mother a dick-wrangling fucksmack. He’s leaping from person to person, leaving a wake of horror through the room. They’re trying so hard to get away, but he’s a crafty motherfucker, and no where is safe. Lamps are broken, couches are ripped apart, you are threatened with blackmail, and your friend’s poodle might be a rape victim.
You’re bleeding from your ears. Oh God, this is going to be bad.
Phase 4: Editing
Now you’re stalking the badger with a pillow case, attempting a Guantanamo-Bay-Style capture of the bastard. It’s a goddamn Benny Hill chase through the party as you trade between leaping recklessly over furniture to catch him, and he, in turn, farting in your face, biting your chin, and running away.
You convince your least-hemorrhaging friends to assist you, and all 19 of you finally manage to cram some Valium down his hateful little throat and cram him into a ferret-carrier.
Phase 5: Posting/Delivering
You stumble home with your broken heels, torn dress, and comatose badger in his sad little prison. You’re certain that this will be the end of you, that it was the worst decision you’ve ever made. You treat your wounds, pass out, and pray for no one to remember this day.
In the morning, you check Facebook, certain of your impending sacrifice. Soon, you realize that people are talking about how hilarious it was that you brought the badger–they’ll never forget the image of you shouting at your party hat while hurdling the couch , “I’MMA KILL YOU AND YOUR WHORE MAMA, YOU RAT-FACED BASTARD.” No one was seriously injured, or at least not sober enough to remember why that happened if they were.
It suddenly occurs to you that it might have all been worthwhile. You bandage your eyes, poke a little fun at yourself, and realize that you had fun on the way. You might wear him next to the coffee shop, or on your next date.
But if that badger fucks with you again, he will rue the day.