The Price of Fame

I've sunk to new lows for you people: stalking deformed animals for your viewing pleasure. I might as well paste "Flab Beach Bodies" all over this post just to sell more copies. I don't think I can make it in the tabloid world. I'll have to leave that to Courtney Cox and her lipstick vibrator.

Nevertheless, here is the best shot I could get of Mr. Albino Squirrel. I literally followed him around the neighborhood until I was close enough that he didn't wind up looking like a Q-tip in the damn picture. Did I mention I was just wearing a t-shirt? I can still hear the neighbor's laughing as I turned back towards the house, and one lady asked, "Did you get it?" meaning the shot, and she was totally snickering. Bitch.

"MUST HIDE ACORNS FROM RACCOON."

"QUICK. AM BEING FOLLOWED BY HUMAN."

The white raccoon has proven more elusive than his rodent counterparts. I spent most of Saturday peering out into the yard through the rain, watching for him to make an appearance. And then I remembered that raccoons are nocturnal so I planned an all-night stake-out, but Gray convinced me that the chances of the same white raccoon showing up at a specific location on our property three times in one week was incredibly unlikely, so I decided to cheat and instead of a picture of our albino raccoon, I provide you with this:

This is a dead albino raccoon. I know it doesn't look like a raccoon, but it totally is one. Hence the confusion at our house.