OUTRAGED ANIMALS BARRAGE ZOOGOERS WITH SOMETHING STRANGE
by Janey McMaberparr and Harry Swill
Ershatz Menagerie has long been known as the most renovated zoo in the Tri-State Area. That, and its locally famous curly fries—the original recipe, created by owner Gilg Portenslatter's wife Oolia has been as closely guarded as the variety of animals enclosed in their fences. In fact, it is kept behind a set of its own fences, along with Portenslatter’s other precious belongings, such as his personal pet Jackie, a Chinese Milk-haired Lemur.
On Saturday June 29th, however, even with both the Menagerie’s trusty wooden fencing—refurbished from the actual original fences installed 1898—and its state-of-the-art video security system, Portenslatter and his staff of fourteen sons were unable to keep their animals under control.
“I don’t know what happened. The animals went berserk. They really went crazy. I really don’t know. They just let go. They went crazy. What did I do? I don’t know. I just don’t know, why they went crazy.”
Portenslatter shrugged as he gave this repetitive statement to the press on the following Sunday. A rotund man with a penchant for Hindu devotional artwork and Kevin Bacon movies, he was devastated by the catastrophe of Saturday.
Portenslatter has a love for all the creatures he keeps prisoner in his institution.
“They are all my children. All the alligator, seals and giraffe, lizard and Siamese cat, they are like my sons and daughters and babies…”
In fact, Portenslatter’s seals were abducted by poachers in 1986 (neither the poachers nor the seals were ever found). We decided against pointing this out in his personal interview, due to his fragile emotional state.
However, through the chaos of that Saturday came a strange phenomenon which currently has German, Chinese, and American scientists scrambling for their inhalers, and an answer to this strange phenomenon.
“It was certainly a strange phenomenon,” said Dr. Edward Treeline of Porkham University.
It was “any other day” at the Ershatz Menagerie on Saturday. The front gates and their gleaming turnstiles, as usual, opened wide and welcoming to visitors at 6:00 A.M. Portenslatter, along with his family, assembled themselves in their daily “delta formation” in front to greet their Saturday guests. This consists of forming an angle that points inward to the zoo, Portenslatter standing with balloons and a grin at its vertex and his 14 sons, 8 daughters, and wife Oolia arranged on both sides. Sure enough, visitors began trickling in at 10:00 A.M., four hours later.
“I am sure, 100 percent that it is our cheer and passion which attracts these people,” claims Portenslatter. When we suggested that perhaps an opening time of 6:00 was a bit unnecessary, he replied sternly, “I have nothing to say.” We did not further pursue that matter.
At 2:17 in the afternoon, the crisis occurred.
The wail of fire-trucks and low grumble of veterinary paramedic vehicles, or VPVs, filled the air as visitors dropped their funnel cake and grabbed their smallest children, dashing around in panicked fury.
“I get migraine now just thinking about that Saturday,” said Portenslatter, massaging his temples with his right hand and smoothing Jackie’s fur with the other. “But we just installed those new electric fences like the kind dog-owners use, and it will not happen once more.”