Unserious postmodern paintings.

The monkey has been typing for 47 years, not because it believes in Shakespeare, but because the typewriter jams if it stops.…

The serval had been invited to the soirée not for its wit, but for its coat — which, under the chandelier’s glow,…

The bream had been there since Tuesday. No one remembered putting it there. It didn’t swim. It didn’t sink. It simply hovered,…

The beetle had been assigned to the Dung Optimization Unit after a clerical error misfiled its species as ‘urban sanitation specialist.’ It…

The bushbaby had been waiting for the kettle to boil for seventeen minutes when it decided, quite suddenly, that heroism required no…

The quelea had been translucent for exactly three days, a condition it attributed to overexposure to laundry detergent fumes during a misguided…

The mule had been polite for exactly seventeen minutes — nodding at the teapot, refraining from kicking the flour sack, even allowing…

The weevil had spent seventeen years organizing the janitorial supplies by expiration date, a task it believed held cosmic significance. When the…

The sunfish had been there for three days, according to the logbook no one checked. It didn’t swim, didn’t eat, didn’t seem…

The roadrunner had been running for exactly 47 years, 3 months, and 14 days when it realized infinity was not a destination…

The grouper had been told, in a memo slipped under its coral cave three days prior, that it was to be the…

The rhea had been waiting for three days. Not for food, not for company, but for the door to open — a…