Being a meercat is no picnic since the cameramen

Being a meercat is no picnic since the cameramen showed up. And the fame - Flower has become a real bitch. Strutting and preening. What''s a father to do? I can't

just crush her dreams of stardom, but we meercats Are supposed to have the highest social standards in the animal kingdom. But there goes my baby, trashy tail sticking out for all

the prairie to see. She doesn't even make the men work for it. I wonder what would happen if I didn't signal when the hawk was around. Just what would happen when

her father walked in on her and some random stray fellow she picked up, her bed chambers heavy with the lingering odor of KY and human musk? I shudder to think about it. But I

sniffed long and deeply from the tube. Dr. Griffin said "remarkable isn't it?". I nodded, in awe of the powerful workings of the scents. "I can fill a whole room with a small vial.

, but most of the time, I fill the room with acid" Then he pushed him down and read dirty limericks to him. That's when the yo-yo army began repelling down the candyland rock cliff

while the wall dissolved into a rainbow. He waved his hand and knew that he was peaking. He began to sing limericks to the tune of Stairway to Heaven when the knocking started.

It turned out he was. The next day he was kicked out from his apartment by his roommate, Jeeves. He roamed the streets, looking for an answer to the conundrum that was his larynx.

What he found was four pens, a hamburger wrapper, and seventy-two toothpicks. He used them to barter with a gang of mercenary hobos, and received two candy bars. Life was okay.