Llama gonna leave this right here...

  Hey there! I am so excited to announce a guest post written by one of my good friends, The Distinguished Llama. (I say friend, you say alter-ego. Same thing, basically.) Before I hand things over to the Llama, you must understand two things.

   First, according to my friend, "Llama" is pronounced "luh-MAA," not "LAH-muh".

  Second, these stories were written for my little brother. If you are looking for expert storytelling or any semblance of plot, you are probably on the wrong blog.

  Disclaimers aside, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I - I mean... The Llama enjoyed writing it!

  P.S. Try reading this in the most distinguished voice you have. (Side note: please don't ask him what it means to be Distinguished. It's quite complicated, but basically means that he is civilized and not an alpaca. Like I said, don't ask.)

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The Issue with Herman: A Memoir

by The Distinguished Llama

  To begin, I must first introduce you to my colleague, Herman. Some might call him my pet, due to the fact that he is a tortoise, but I find the term “colleague” is far more Distinguished (not to mention less discriminating). I shall begin at the beginning, regardless of the fact that if I began anywhere else, it would still be known as the “beginning” … but I digress.

  I ought to explain where Herman came from. However, I cannot. He just showed up one day and never left. I certainly would not have sought him out since we are completely opposed in nearly all areas of thought. Take for example his ridiculous belief that Nutella is superior to salted caramel dip. In fact, one evening we were debating about this, and Herman became rather stubborn. He simply hid inside his shell and refused to come out. As it was already quite late, I decided to go to bed. When I got up the next morning, Herman was nowhere to be found. Still calling his name, I flipped the switch to turn on the ceiling fan. Wham! All of a sudden, something heavy flew off the fan blade and onto my back, making a peculiar hollering noise. I swiveled my extra-long llama neck around and took a closer look. Apparently, Herman had wrapped himself in duct tape and packing peanuts and launched himself at me off the spinning blade. Thus, Herman started a new hobby: ambushing me. He particularly enjoyed doing it early in the morning, since he could spend all night in preparation and then attack me when I was groggy.

  I remember one attack vividly; I had just opened the toaster oven to toss in five waffles, when I heard a snap. A split-second later, Herman was hurtling toward my face, with his legs flailing in a ridiculous manner. I nearly had a heart attack! Several minutes later, (once I recovered from the shock) Herman showed me the miniature catapult he had built in the toaster during the night. After that, I knew better than to drink coffee on mornings when Herman was missing. Who needs caffeine when you have a tortoise unexpectedly free-falling onto you? We have saved so much money since I’ve stopped drinking coffee.