From the LOL File, I bring you today's funniest "ottermotive" Outback blooper: this oily little riverdog hops right in some unfortunate Aussie's car and refuses to leave. In fact, the slinky fella does everything BUT leaving: it flails and flops, it hops around, it goes fully roly-poly in the driver's seat and gets a little flirtatious with a steering wheel. Despite all kinds of prodding and provocation, the rambunctious Mustelid staunchly refuses to disembark-- and I literally can't stop watching!
I can't stop watching. It has been hours now. I am transfixed by the virality of this web content. The ever-so-clickable frolicsomeness of this adorababy otterball has shattered my free will. I am unable to turn my head. I have reached my word count. Why can't I stop watching?
My chin slumps into my neck. My breathing is labored. Is it nighttime? How long have I watched this otter not getting out of this car? My legs are falling asleep. The piece has gone live. Tears stream down my face as the wacky critter wears out its welcome again and again and again. The Facebook likes are rolling in.
Urine pools in my socks. My body is numb. 1.9k Twitter shares. Will I live to spend my traffic bonus?
I don't know how many days it's been. The tears have stopped. My body is dessicated from thirst, my eyeballs dry and windblown. Blinking has become more difficult, as though my eyes are held open by taut metal springs. I must budget my every precious blink, for each is more difficult than the blink before. I know that each could be my last. I can't stop watching.
There is no help coming. I live alone. The doorbell rang some days ago, but I couldn't cry out. The stink is incredible. My extremities are purple and their tingling feels like daggers. The otter won't get out of the car.
I can feel my unblinking orbs shrink and blister as the otter dances before them. My retinas detach and crack, and the video becomes a kaleidoscope of blurry frolicking. Why can't I stop watching this hilarious otter?
My face is fixed in a leering death mask. My vision darkens. The fancy-free weasel is still bouncing around, and the guy is absolutely unable to persuade it to leave his car. My breathing is shallow. My phone rings, and my voicemail picks up: I've won today's traffic award. My editor wants something on the Roomba cat chasing a duckling ASAP. But I can't stop watching this otter refusing to leave a guy's car.
My eyes are wide, but I see nothing. I can't stop watching.
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH