“I guess I’ll buy Baltic Avenue,” said Mrs. Miller, while having a clear view of Snoodles’ throbbing penis.
Sources say that cold weather has prevented Snoodles from getting enough exercise, and that the frustrated pet has channeled his pent-up energy into increasingly frantic attempts to mount laundry hampers, video game consoles, various pieces of furniture, a dropped head of lettuce, and his own shadow.
The Millers’ son attempted to quietly resolve the situation by tossing a Shrek dog toy into the adjacent room, but Snoodles promptly returned with it, his engorged ding-dong flopping all the while.
A slobbering dog then escalated the crisis by clumsily thrusting at the toy, in an act that resembled a tube of lipstick being repeatedly mashed against a squeaking pile of felt and plastic in the shape of a cartoon ogre.
“Oh, is it my turn?” the Millers’ daughter asked while the squeaking grew more frantic. “Well, I’ll buy a hotel,” she said, resisting the urge to remind everyone that she’d wanted a cat.
Mr. Miller, unable to handle the tension any longer, broke the implied pact by whispering “You’re a little frisky tonight, huh?” to Snoodles. This only increased the awkwardness, and the next few turns were played out in a grim stillness.
At press time, Mrs. Miller was silently moving her good pillows out of hump range.