Bunyips

"I had a plant-based steak for dinner. It was okay, once I covered it with A.1. Sauce.
Then I sat in my bamboo chair and fanned myself with a palm leaf until my shift started with the succulents.
When my shift was over I went to The Club.
But they were closed for repairs, so I took a banana peel home and slept a few hours.
When I awoke I discovered my roof thatch was on fire, so I called Animal Control and they sent over a mail order bride. We honeymooned in La Crosse, Wisconsin. 
After the kids were grown and gone, we decided to pull up stakes and move to Tasmania so we could raise bunyips. 
But after my wife died I lost heart and sold the whole kit and kaboodle to Standard Oil for a pittance and took passage on a refurbished dreadnought headed for the Spanish Lakes. 
The ship sank just off the coast of Bulgaria, and when I got to shore the natives shut me in a hut and forced me to spin kapok into watch caps for their fishermen. This was cruel and harsh work, so I escaped one night and managed to get to Bucharest, where the Embassy took me in, fed me, clothed me, and let me stay on as a supernumerary. 
But eventually I missed my old shift with the succulents, so the Embassy kindly let me go back to the States in a green baize diplomatic pouch, and I have been sleeping in this broom closet ever since."

So read the statement of the old man the police had brought to my court that night for exhibiting a vacant stare without means of support. 
I dealt with many such cases in my job at the Judgery. People who had outlived their usefulness, of course, had to be dealt with harshly -- otherwise the city would be overrun with derelict squatters taking over the mops and pails of our hardworking janitors. These destitute creatures also drank up all the Zep high traffic floor polish they could get their hands on.
The man refused to identify himself, referring to himself only as Theodore Brandon McWilliams the Third. So I had no choice but to have the court clerk write 'John Doe' across his forehead with a black magic marker. Then I lectured him for a half hour on subject-verb agreement errors before remanding him into the custody of the geriatric ward at Sears-Roebuck. I think the old man understood very well what that meant, because he asked for permission to approach the bench -- where he handed me a small plastic bottle of hand sanitizer while whispering "Et tu, Brute?" 
When my shift was done, I had a plant-based steak for dinner. It was okay, once I covered it with A.1. Sauce.