There's a Vegan by the pool

Vegans believe that puppies are magic. They are not to be eaten, they are to be herded onto the backs of swans where their big puppy eyes will act as beacons against the night sky. The swan-pups are startled from the still lake by the calls of an angry moose I'm making like my dingdong's in the gas tank. I'm flat on my back twenty paces from the RV, moonbathing on the dirt-road cul de sac. Here they come, descending toward the campsite in a geese-like pattern. I can see their eyes. Vegans believe that when a shortening of swan-pups appear, they mean to spirit a fortunate soul into Asparaguay, the mythical mystical land of meat-free rapture. Asparaguayans speak Cornish, a language that thanks to the tropical climate has developed over 200 words for thick hairy coconut. These people, whose society can best be correlated with the Earthan belief system Buddhism, are alas a bunch of skirts. But for our friend the Vegan, paradise is a moonbath away.