Judy, Jeeves and Pearl

I had to return my favorite penguin, Jeeves. He was too gay.

To be fair, it wasn't really because Jeeves was too gay. That's his business, and I support his decision. It's just that, as a certified single guy, I was ill-equipped to provide Jeeves with a properly empathetic environment.

Now, before we dive in, I want everybody to stay calm, take a deep breath. I'm not anti-penguin, anti-bird, anti-raw-fish-diet, nothing like that. In fact, lots of people I know dress in black, some of my best friends are pigeon-toed, and a couple actually have beaks. But no matter what I say in the next few minutes, something is bound to offend somebody, somewhere. That's just life in America. If I scribbled off something about, say, crayons, it wouldn't be long before some anti-wax-stick lobby or #2 Pencil support group submitted an indignant response condemning my pejorative use of the term "burnt sienna."

So everybody stay calm. I am what I am, and what I am is a certified, professional, aging, tenured single guy. Which means that I'm not qualified to discuss anything about any gender, however many it is that we have this week. When it comes to interpersonal relationships, I have no competent advice to offer, zero success stories to share, and just a couple of lawsuit anecdotes that we won't be able to get to today. Plus, I was framed.

I guess I'm what you'd call a traditionalist. When I think of dating, I think of women, and when I think of women, I think of the number One. Zero is not enough, two is too many. But I'm not here to preach: I'm just trying to tell you a story about a guy and his pets. So let's all stay calm. Let's all just stay focused on poor Jeeves.

This whole penguin orientation issue is not new. In 2005, at a German zoo, two gay German penguins named "Z" and "Vielpunkt" adopted a German egg, hatched it, and are now raising the little Übungsflugzeug. (If somebody had named me "Vielpunkt" and made me sit on an egg, I might end up with some orientation issues, too.) Gay rights advocates were outraged when the zoo flew in some extremely hot-looking fraulein penguins to engage in what, in church circles, is referred to as "reparative therapy." (These were human advocates. The penguins had split cab fare and were all headed downtown.)

In 2008, a brace of gay penguins got ejected from "Polar Land" in northern China after the rascals were convicted of egg-napping. One penguin was sent to a forced labor camp, where he reverted to heterosexuality after falling for Jack Bauer. The other escaped to North Korea, donned an odd wig, ran for office, and is now the leader of that country.

Other gay penguins in other zoos have been cited for hassling straight penguins. They didn't steal anything; they just rearranged the nest and slipped the baby birds a bootleg copy of "Brokeback Iceberg."

But the topic begs the question: how do you tell if a penguin is gay? Personally, I'll admit that I was taking a blind stab in the dark just assuming Jeeves was male. I mean, I have 18 penguins at home and, except for the very special Pearl Bailey (don't ask), I have no idea which is which. They all look like waiters at some French cafe. They dress alike, they sound alike. They all vote, every time, for the shortest contestant on American Idol. If I hear a crash and some muffled laughter, then discover somebody dropped another Judy Garland album, I have no idea who did it. A set of poker faces like you wouldn't believe!

(A tip: You can play poker with a penguin, but never, ever let him deal.)

But apparently there are penguin orientation studies, tests, matrices, research papers. And to what level of Research Assistant Hell must one sink to be slated with such a plum project?

Professor: Okay, Rob. For extra credit, follow that bird into the bathroom.

Rob (daydreaming): ...and lastly, I'd like to thank the Nobel Prize committee...

Are penguins born gay? Or is that some personal post-hatch decision? If it's a choice, when and why do they choose? Is it the cold? The featureless tundra teeming with identical penguin-kind? Maybe they're just myopic amid a swirl of sea-bird similarity: "Whaddya mean, 'what about my wife?' I thought that was my wife!"

I wish Jeeves the best. I really do. But I gotta run. Pearl's got dinner ready.

Mmm. Sushi!