Ritz and Rolf: Playfox

The morning dew was plastered on Ritz’s window as he sat up in his bed, stretching his arms with great relief after a successful night of sleep. He looked out the window, on the second floor, where he recognized the bird nest that was still being built by the family of birds on his blossom tree.
His eyes glazed the rest of his room. They wondered over the posters of beautiful partially clothed women. His eyes began to droop with delight as he gazed upon the beautiful Gallia Fox. Her wonderfully bronze fur made him tingle with pleasure every time he laid his eyes on her. No one in this animal world could compare to her beauty. It would not do her justice.
Ritz got out of bed and began to dress into his usual, everyday work clothes. White shirt, white button down shirt, black suit jacket, black pants, black formal shoes, and a striped clip-on tie. Very ordinary.
He was almost finished getting dressed when he looked out the window again. The mailfox was there. At his mailbox. He watched the mailfox put his magazine into the mailbox, along with other meaningless mail.
FINALLY, after 30 long grueling days of waiting. His subscription magazine was here. Well, technically it wasn’t HIS magazine. It was his roommates’, Rolfs’,  magazine.
The lucky dolt. What does HE need a magazine for? Ha. Stupid question. Every male animal in this world would give anything to see the beautiful Gallia Fox.
Yes. That’s right. It was a Playfox magazine. The worlds most active and popular porn magazine, ever. It contains the most vial, disgustingly luscious female animals on the face of this crap world.
Ritz caught himself drooling.
He always got the first look at the magazine, because Rolf would never let him sneak a peek. He couldn’t afford his own subscriptions, so he has to live by lies and sneaking around. There was only one time where he was caught looking at Rolf’s magazines. It was not something he wanted to repeat.
He struggled to get his pants belt latched together. He finally managed to get them together then walked quickly to his door and down the hall, being careful not to wake his sleeping roommate, for fear of being caught. This was the same routine, every month. Ritz wakes up, creeps down the old wooden stairs, runs to the mail box, runs back up to his room, gets a good look at the whole magazine, being extremely careful not to harm it, then goes back down to the mail box, puts it back, then has breakfast. This was one of six other times that he would be looking into his roommates’ personal magazines. He didn’t feel too guilty because Playfox was created for the pleasure of male animals everywhere. He needed to get his fair share, right?
Ritz continued down the hall then reached the old wooden stairs to the greatest creation of animal kind.
He repeated the same words that were glued to his damaged mind. Playfox, Playfox, Playfox, Playfox! If only other animals realized his passion for beautiful foxes, they would understand how he felt.
He slithered to the stairs, then. . .
Oh F&%K!
Ritz tripped over his long tail and tumbled down the stairs with a loud CRASH at the bottom. His eyes were bug-eyed open. His face was facing the ground. He didn’t get up or move. His heart racing, he listened to see if Rolf was woken up by his fall. He didn’t hear anything. Not a sound.
Relieved, he slowly regained his stance as his heart was slightly slowing down. He starred up the stairs while he walked to the front door, being extra careful Rolf was actually asleep.
As he headed out the door, he stopped again to listen. Nothing. Ritz raced down the driveway and made it to the mailbox. He looked all around him, being sure no one was watching him.
He opened the mailbox. His heart dropped as well as his jaw. There was nothing in the mailbox. It was gone. His eyes darted around himself, not moving his head an inch. Where IS it? He thought to himself. He specifically watched the mailman put the magazine in the mailbox, but now it was gone.
His breathing pattern moved faster, he was beginning to sweat. Maybe, Rolf managed to get to the mailbox before he did. That HAD to be it. Unlikely, but possible.
Ritz ran back to the house and stopped in the hallway. Now. If I were a Playfox magazine, where would I be? He thought.
Slowly walking to the stairs, he checked all the rooms on the first floor. Rolf was nowhere there. He climbed up the stairs and crept past his room, making his way to the almost closed door of Rolf’s room. The magazine just HAD to be in there. Where else would Rolf keep his magazines? He had never dared to look for them before.
He slowly pushed the door open. Poking his head in, he took a look around the room. Rolf wasn’t in here either. He walked into the middle of the room and taking in the disaster of a room. It would be hopeless to find the magazines in this mess. All well, if he didn’t start looking for them now, he might never find them.
Most male foxes put their magazines in their closet in some kind of box if nothing at all, so Ritz started in the closet. He opened the vanilla coloured doors and was faced with a foul stench. What IS that? He looked around the closet being careful not to breath too much air in the closet. It was pretty small compartment, but still big enough to hold magazines.
Ritz decided to just dive into the mess. He moved things around and looked in boxes. Instead of finding his treasure, he found the weirdest stuff. In a rectangular shoe box he found a pair of pink and purple perforated ping-pong balls. What the-? He also found a pair of blue; fur rimmed handcuffs that looked worn out.
He had gone through everything in the closet. The magazine wasn’t in there. Ritz stood up from the closet and turned around to look at the rest of the room. He still had a long ways to go. His eyes slowly grazed the room, then came upon Rolf’s wooden dresser. The bottom drawer was sticking out a little and had clothes sticking out of it. Immediately, Ritz ran to the dresser and shuffled through the bottom drawer. He moved through T-shirts that looked like they were just stuffed there without any other care.
Nothing was found in the bottom drawer, so he moved his way up to the top drawer. Nothing but clothes.
Poke.
Ritz froze in place. His mind was racing. An object was pressing into the center of his back. Oh no, it was Rolf, it had to be him, and he has a gun. Where would he get such a thing? But more importantly, why?
“What are you doing?,” Rolf asked behind him.
“Uh . . . well, you see . . .” Ritz stammered. He was a dead animal.
The object on his back pressed harder. “Start explaining.”
Ritz was shaking. “I- I was looking for this months . . . subscription to Playfox . . . magazine,” He whispered.
Ritz saw an arm reach across to the desk next to the dresser. Rolf opened the desk drawer and pulled out the newest magazine.
“You mean this one?,” Rolf asked playfully.
Ritz grew excited and dumbfound. It was in his desk that whole time. On the TOP pile of magazines. He felt so stupid. Ritz spun around as Rolf pulled the magazine to himself.
“You know Ritz, this magazine is something that of very precious to males all around the globe. It’s a shame it causes you to act so badly. I mean, here you are, in my room, snooping through my belongings. Did you find anything you fancied?”
Ritz just stared at him; embarrassed. He was right. He was acting very rude and selfish. He looked down at Rolfs hand and saw that he did indeed have a gun. Ritz’s body tensed and stepped back until he bumped into the dresser. “What are you going to do with that?” he asked shakily.
Rolf smiled. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He lowered the gun and walked to the other side of the desk.
Ritz didn’t move. The next thing he heard was a whirling noise and the sound of shredding paper. His eyes grew wide. He jumped to the other side of the desk and saw his beloved magazine being ripped into tiny little pieces.
“NO!,” he screamed.
Rolf stood back smiling as Ritz pulled the plug out of the wall with a big yank, causing a spark to fly from the wall. The paper shredder slowed to a stop and Ritz took off the top lid and emptied the can onto the floor.
Rolf stepped forward and put the gun to Ritz’s head.
Ritz stopped going through the little scraps and looked up at him.
Rolf pulled the trigger and sprayed Ritz in the face with water. “Let’s hope this teaches you a lesson,” he said with a smirk.
Ritz nearly crapped his pants when Rolf pulled the trigger. Instead he wet himself. Rolf had scared him to death.
He sat there on the ground in his own soil and sadness. He starred in one direction. The wall.
Rolf smiled to himself. He exited the room whistling and twirling his water gun at the tips of his fingers.