The Kangaroo

A kangaroo in a tuxedo is a curious sight on the streets of Toronto.

The kangaroo had been hired for a wedding. The groom, lacking a best man, made an appeal to the zoo. The zoo, when offered a tidy sum, obliged. The kangaroo, though reticent to wear the clothes, didn’t fight when they were put on. And so the tuxedo was donned.

Midway through the ceremony, the kangaroo seemed to have second thoughts. Not about his clothing, but rather about the wedding itself. With two quick punches, both the bride and groom were dispatched, and a kick took care of the minister. Then the kangaroo was on his way.

He hopped out of the church and on to Dundas street. He kept hopping, forcing traffic to a standstill. Streetcars braked. Pedestrians scurried out of the way. And the kangaroo kept hopping.

At Keele street he stopped, looked around to get his bearings. Then he kept going. Three hundred metres later, he entered a coffee shop.

The baristas were so shocked by the kangaroo in a tuxedo, they hurried to pour a coffee and slide it to the creature. The kangaroo took his coffee, hopped to a table, and started to sip at what little hadn’t spilled out. A few minutes later, a barista approached the table cautiously, a carafe in hand, to refill the drink.

The kangaroo was pleased, and tipped well before leaving.


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