"Oh, right," she said, as she signaled for a large figure to join her in my office. "There's two of us, and we're both in terrible danger." The figure reluctantly shuffled up behind her with weighted feet, looming in my doorway and breathing heavily. It was covered in fur and smelled like a wet garbage truck dipped in an ass fire.
"I'd be happy to tell your story and expose the truth to the best of my ability, ma'am," I said, "but I'm afraid you can't park your partially-shaved gorilla in my office. I'm sorry, but it's a deal-breaker for me, it's one of my very few rules."
"'Partially shaved gorilla?' What... Oh, I see, that's not a gorilla, that's my husband; celebrated stage and screen actor Randy Quaid."
This photo was seriously in no way doctored.
"No, you must mean 'Dennis Quaid.' Either that or you mean 'not celebrated' and 'never appeared on stage.' And you mean to put 'actor' in little sarcasm quotes." She really butchered that sentence.
"My wife knows what she said," the Gorilla howled. "I am Randy Quaid. I know that I've seen better days, and the fact that I keep drooling all over myself and slapping my chest is admittedly not helping my case--"