Aaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!

No, I wasn't talking like a pirate; I was ralphing like one. After a few yummy rums and CF Diet Coke, I yielded to the call of the wild. Instead of shaking a T-Shirt at the weasels or giving them a raisin, my impaired judgement motivated me to sit among the ferrets, roughhouse with them, hug them, squeeze them, and call them George. In short, when I left their room, I was one itchy, wheezing, sneezing mess who couldn't take a shower fast enough.