THE DIABOLICAL QUOKKA

I’m the Quokka Who Stole Your Wife Part II

Soon, I will lock down your ex-wife for eternity

G’day Gary,

It’s me again, Bob, the Australian quokka who stole your wife. Did you get the email I sent you yesterday?

It describes why I’m so much better for your ex-wife than you are, and why she dumped you for me. It explains how Priscilla visited me here on Rottnest Island months ago, how we are now engaged, how right now she’s on her way to Australia to pick me up and bring me back to New York with her, how I’ll be living in your house and raising your kids soon, and how it doesn’t matter that you’re a famous pediatric surgeon because I’m still WAY better than you.

Did you read it? In case it got lost in your inbox, here it is again:

Just look at the beautiful collage I pasted into the top of this email, Gary. It features all our best engagement photos. In the top picture, you see my face right after I slid that giant engagement ring on Priscilla’s finger. All the other photos are just of her cheating on you with me.

Priscilla will be here this afternoon, but since I had some free time today, I thought I’d send you another email explaining why I’m so much better for her than you are:

I’m athletic as hell, and HUNKY

Who are those two guys in the picture, Gary? Are they Gianmarco Tamberi and Mutaz Essa Barshim, joint winners of the 2021 high jump Olympic gold medal?

Negatorious. Those two hotties are known as Aerodynamic Bob, and his best friend, Gus. Feel free to admire me as I bolt into the atmosphere like the Virgin Galactic Spaceship, while Gus prepares himself for takeoff. Just wait until I use my God-given talents to play hopscotch with your kids in New York.

I’m athletic. I’m hot. I’M SWOL. Not like you, Lazy Gary.

That’s right — Priscilla told me you never even hopped onto that exercise bike you bought last year. Just know that when I move to New York, I’ll establish a work-out routine. Every day, I’ll chug a protein shake, put my Lululemon stretchy pants on, and mount myself upon this technological marvel that you call a Peloton.

And you know what, Gary? I’ll ride the shit out of that beast. I’ll even do it shirtless, like Vladdy Poots.

I’m into the nightlife

I’m nocturnal, and I like to party, Gary. This means that on the weekends, Priscilla and I will hit the hottest clubs in New York. And I’m not talking about doing the Hokey Pokey. I’m talking about twerking, grinding, and shaking arse to the sweet, smooth, sexy sounds of Lady Gaga.

Just wait until people in the club see me jiggle my booty to P-p-p-poker Face. Trust me Gary — when I start dancing, I get really excited. You’ve never seen a little animal move like this. I move my arms, my legs, my butt, then I do some hair flips like Britney, and I’m on FIYAH.

Once I hit the dancefloor, my moves will be so mesmerizing that people will stop, stare, and form a circle around me. I’ll dance ecstatically in the middle of this circle, soaking up all the attention.

Soon, word will spread throughout the club that the tiny dancer’s name is Bob, and his wife’s name is Priscilla. Everyone will start chanting, “Bobilla! Bobilla! Bobilla!” as I perform the Stanky Legg.

All this fun will remind Priscilla what it’s like to be young again — something you could never do, since you’re ANCIENT.

When I sleep, I roll up into a ball and shut the hell up

After all this fun at the discoteca, it will be time to go back to the house you once lived in, and go to bed. Speaking of bedtime, Priscilla told me all about your sleep apnea, Gary. She said that when you snore, you sound like a thousand flatulent pigs. She even said your doctor prescribed you some sort of Hannibal Lecter-inspired medical mask so you don’t choke in your sleep.

No woman wants to roll over in bed and see a face that screams, “I ate your liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.”

I, on the other hand, sleep like a goddamn baby. When it’s nap time, I contort my body into a ball like a Cirque du Soleil acrobat. Then I close my eyes and peacefully dream about your ex-wife’s beautiful face, her warm smile, and her titties.

When I move to New York, Priscilla will wake up every day feeling so well rested, because when I sleep, my sinuses don’t emit the torturous sounds of a shrill vuvuzela. But she’ll also feel so well rested because — how can I put this delicately?

I’m a beast in the sheets, Gary. My acrobatic bedroom skills will wear her out and put her to sleep quicker than a bottle of NyQuil.

Adios, Gary!

In just a couple days, I’ll be waking up in the bed that used to be yours, Gary. I’ll rub the crust from my eyes, stretch my little arms out, and yawn with a giant smile on my face. Then I’ll hop over Priscilla’s shoulder and waddle off to the kitchen to make her an espresso. Your kids will wake up soon after that, and I’ll pack them their lunch boxes.

I just wanted to share that nugget of joy with you.

Oh — one last thing.

I am the Titan of Marsupials. King of the Outback. God of Rottnest Island. Future Husband of Priscilla.

I’ll send you photos of our wedding and honeymoon. We’re going to Hawaii. Don’t get jelly!

Toodles!

Bob, the quokka who stole your wife

P.S. Here’s another picture of me, so you don’t forget my face.

Read part I of “I’m the Quokka Who Stole Your Wife.”