Sometimes when you take care of a person’s dogs, you bring home fleas. Other times? You bring home a turtle.
I don’t know anything about turtles but this little fella hadn’t been fed in a week or let out to roam in quite some time. He was pretty dirty and sad looking.
A quick Googoracle consult revealed that these guys like having water to lounge around in. A mini turtle spa, if you will. I dusted off our special casino giveaway dish reserved only for guests and filled it with purified water. Just outside the reach of the heat lamp, I served him his shredded carrot, Romaine, and diced banana salad that he has added to his room service tab.
After a brief dip, the casino lap pool has become a bidet and he is now requesting his banana salads be served on a chilled plate with a sliver of shaved carrot on the side. He has informed me that he will no longer go by his slave name Morty and will henceforth only answer to his proper gladiator name.
Ladies and germs I present to you:
MORTIMUS MAXIMUS
(if you wondered how long it will be until I figure out which Barbie clothes will fit him…well that is well under way and in the sorting process. In this lifetime, if only briefly, he will be posed artfully in a plastic cowboy hat)
interpretivefoodfightdotcom 