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Dear Hot! XXX! Adult! Excitement! Emporium,

I would like to apologize for the deeds I did in your establishment on the morning of July 16, 2012. Because I managed to escape before the authorities arrived, you can take comfort in the fact that this apology is not a part of a court-ordered sentencing. I am genuinely sorry, and don't need The Man to tell me so.

Genuineness verified, let's get to the apologizing! First things first:

It Was Not What You Think

What you, and your employees, and your sad, sad customers think happened? That's an abomination. Public masturbation is a completely unacceptable form of masturbation, and certainly isn't one of my favorites.

Getty Which are, for the record, private, semi-private and wind-assisted.

That was not what I was doing, though I do understand why you might think that. Yes, I did have my hand right down the front of my pants when you gave me my first warning. And yes, by the time you threatened to call the police, I did have both hands down the front of my pants. And yes, I was moaning quite a bit. All classic signs of onanism, so yes, if I were you, I'd think I was punching the one-eyed luncheon meat, too.

But I wasn't.

I had a chinchilla in there.

But It Wasn't Sexual

You run a pornographic theater, so I'm going to make a few assumptions about your educational background and just explain what a chinchilla is. A chinchilla is a type of rodent, maybe a bit bigger than a squirrel, known for its soft fur. Chinchillas make excellent pets, and can, with minimal effort, be placed inside your underpants.

Getty All aboard, little buddy!

Now I know what you're thinking. Of course a guy with a rodent down the front of his pants is doing something sexual. That's why our pants have extra space in there!

But I swear, this one time, it wasn't sexual.

You see, chinchillas are a bit rare; well bred examples can fetch a couple hundred dollars. And there's a bunch of regulations, and licenses, and just like a ton of professional behavior necessary to breed these things properly. All of this only raises chinchilla costs further, and it's only natural that creative entrepreneurs would move into the lower-cost spaces of this market. Without going into all the details, I basically work as an interface between slightly unprofessional chinchilla breeders and completely unprofessional chinchilla wholesalers, two groups with a decided interest in discretion. If you wanted to wrap this all up into a single description, I guess you could call me a chinchilla mule.

Again, this is not sexual.

As you can imagine, my work occasionally ... well, always requires that I deal with pretty shady customers, and its often in my best interest to walk into meetings with concealed chinchillas. And, on occasion, I also sometimes have to run out of said shady-customer meet-and-greets with concealed chinchillas. Which indeed was exactly the situation you observed me in when I strode lurchily into your establishment that fateful morning.

So already I hope you can see that this is all just reasonable as fuck. "Why even apologize!?" I hear you saying. "If nothing sexual was going on, I should be apologizing to you!" you go on. And while your sentiment is appreciated, I do have to admit that ...

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There Was a Part That Was a Little Bit Sexual

Not for me, though.

I'll let you in on a little trade secret: Showing up at a black-market chinchilla demo with a single chinchilla is a total amateur move. Let's say you've got a big deal with a heavy chinchilla hitter, and you pull out your sample chinchilla, and its a little sweaty or whatever. That's not going to look good. Chinchillas don't sweat, right? Do you get what I'm saying?

Anyways, you'd look like an idiot, which was why I had multiple chinchillas in my underpants that day.

Trade Secret #2: It is basically impossible to tell what gender a chinchilla is. They don't wear skirts or, like, Ed Hardy T-shirts. You can't tell which one likes cars more, or see whether a bunch of them go to the bathroom at the same time. So yeah, I accidentally had a mixed-gender chinchilla pairing in there, and, well, I guess one thing led to another.

It was the pheromones, I'm thinking.

Also critically, I was hiding out in a porn theater, and I am a man. "Are you?" I hear you asking. Yes, I am. Anyways, there was kind of a tenting effect going on, which probably opened up a lot of room for the chinchillas, which was evidently the last thing they needed to get to fucking.

Where Are All the Apologies?

I don't seem to be apologizing much yet, do I? And indeed, so far, what is there to apologize for? How could you be upset about two young chinchillas in love, unless you're some kind of monster? (Although perhaps the role of pornographic theater proprietor requires being a monster. Tempting and then prohibiting self-gratification like that? Preventing tiny little miracles from happening every day?)

Well, here's an apology. I am sorry for all the groaning. They were not groans of pleasure, as you probably suspected when you observed me with my hands down my pants during a screening of Breasts 178. (Incidentally, I think you're failing a bit in your role as a curator of the pornographic arts.) Chinchillas have tiny little claws, and when they're excited, they make tiny little scratches, which, when made on a part of the body that shouldn't be scratched, leads to loud exclamations.

"Easy, fellas. You break it, you bought it."

Nevertheless, a movie theater is a place for being quiet, and even if my groaning was non-sexual and somewhat explainable, I disturbed your other customers, and am sorry for it. This sorriness also, sightly, is based on the fact that my evidently quite-distinctive crotch-pain groans attracted the attention of my chinchilla-buying pursuers.

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The Gunplay Was Also Primarily My Fault

Keeping a loaded gun in your pants with two chinchillas is not recommended by many gun-carrying associations. Any of them, actually. I've started a Tumblr to share some of the tips I've learned doing exactly that, but that's about the extent of the available literature. Critically, few tips are available on how to properly draw a weapon from such a rig, and, pun slightly intended, the risk of accidental discharge is high.

Still, it did scare away my pursuers, so maybe I'm not sorry for it. I guess I'm kind of sorry about the stream of blood trickling down my pant leg that I tracked through your establishment, though I noticed that your carpet was kind of a blackish brown, so maybe that's not such a big deal. I imagine you have a bottle of Febreze or something around as well. So no harm, no foul?

Now that we're cool again, if you could check your Lost & Found for any frightened, probably hearing-impaired chinchillas, that'd be super nice of you. I should be mobile again in a couple days and will swing by to pick those up. Also falling out of my pants during my escape were some Cheerios (for the chinchillas), a short plastic Habitrail tube (for the chinchillas) and a different short plastic Habitrail tube (for my own personal use).

petplanet.co.uk

I won't tell you what it's for, but rest assured that it is disgusting.

Yours bow-leggedly,

Christopher Xerxes Bucholz

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Bucholz has gotten less terrified of human contact! Make him reconsider that by liking his Facepage or bothering him on Twitter!

For more from Bucholz, check out I Am Sorry About Sending You a Picture of My Penis and Greatest Note Ever Left On a Dented Car.

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