Animals: Just Slamina Backwards? (Pt. 2)

As a child, I grew up believing in two things. First, animals want to maintain peace with humans as much as we want to not get dead by them. Two, the chemical that turns blue when you pee in a public pool, aptly named “Wee-Wee-See,” was abundant in every source of water. There were some other things I believed. For instance, bears dance on giant inflatable balls instinctually but prefer to do so while wearing tutus (Looney Tunes was rather convincing at the tender age of 14). Elvis is still dead, but asked in his last will and testament that his identical twin brother Wesley appear in public once in awhile. But we aren’t here to talk about those. More appropriately, we can’t talk about those. Because you are reading this. And I am not in your room. Probably.

As I mentioned in the riveting first part to my symposium (a word that I don’t care if I used correctly) on animals, entitled “Animals: Crackers in Your Soup?” I hope to defend you from the wiles of the wild. Part 1 did not deal with soup, as much as it dealt with animals, and crackers were entirely out of the picture since racial stereotypes are wrong. This writer is colorblind to all races. Literally, totally colorblind. It doesn’t affect my ability to enjoy not enjoying “Two and a Half Men,” but it gets darn tricky at stoplights. And parking lots. That seems like it would be someone’s excuse for stealing a car on NCIS. I didn’t say it was a good one. Just…whatever. Anyways. I am Micah Smith, animal whatever-the-opposite-of-enthusiast-is, and I am here today or whenevs to give you the means to prepare yourself against the oncoming onslaught of ocelots and octopi openly overcoming our…world. Dang. Alliteration combo breaker.

Animals seem harmless enough, mauling the occasional fat kid left behind by his school bus, forcing him to walk through old Wild Cat Mountain Death Road, a place no human has ventured since the old “Campfire-Story-Made-Up-Last-Name” triplets disappeared on the way to a bar mitzvah… Wasn’t even that good of a bar mitzvah.  But here are some facts and statistics that could be factual or statistical had they not been partially-to-entirely falsified:

1. 1.     Animals understand the concept of land ownership, ex. The Lion King. “Everything the light touches”? More like…you know… just “everything.”
2. 2.     Animals have no remorse for killing, ex. A caterpillar I saw bite a leaf one time. It got brown, and now that leave will have to live the rest of its life dead.
3. 3.     Animals can smell fear but can’t smell themselves, ex. I assume this is true, because if dogs could smell themselves I’d imagine they’d be more inclined to bathe.

So yeah, that was a good time-killer. What else… Have you guys ever seen “All Dogs Go To Heaven”? Have you noticed that movie proves its own title to be incorrect? There is this bulldog in it that is kinda a prude but you’re cool with it because at the end he turns good, but for a majority of the thing he’s in Dog Hell. That’s disturbing because even the worst dogs should probably at least get Dog Limbo or whatever. Permission to sidebar? Sidebar granted: Limbo would be a much more entertaining place to be if you got out when you won at limbo. Not many Jamaicans there, probably.

To continue on the subject of animals, a subject I almost forgot I was on, there are three different categories of danger in which we should classify all various animals, based on their dangerous qualities. They are as follows, from least threat to you being dead already:

1. 1.     Green: Moderate risk. Animals may have fluffy appendages; often sing songs about sharing/caring/staring/old-timey jazz standards; made out of gummy material.
2. 2.    Yellow: Risky risk. Animals have small- to medium-sized horns/claws/government mind control devices; dress up as grandparents (whether for attack purposes or just general enjoyment of fine linens).
3. 3.     Fuchsia: X-treme risk. Animals exhibit signs of having rabies, having babies, or both; dislike of old-timey jazz standards; cause sudden loss of the first “E” in “extreme” and dramatic capitalization of the “X”.

So there you have it. I trust you have found this to be insightful. It may not be true, but I trust it regardless. If I could leave you with one final word it would be “Don’t die.” And that alone might keep you alive. I hope to one day hear from my millions of readers (but I will settle for two) about how the information digital-scribbled on this screen has saved you from the Colgate-whitened, minty-flavored jaws of death countless numbers of a single time.

Party moderately, chaps,

Dr. Lt. Gen. Micah Smith, PhD.

Animals: Crackers in Your Soup? (Pt. 1)

Squirrels. You've seen them. Pudgy face filled with joy, wonderment, and rabies. Bushy tail a brown blur as they dash from spot to spot due to their crippling stupidity. Hoarding stuff for the winter, like they deserve it more than us. Meanwhile, I, a middle-class working man, must go without any stuffs to speak of. Do I really want those nuts and assorted smelly shoe strings? No, but it would be nice to have been asked.

Hello dear reader (Side note: Notice that "reader" backwards is almost, but not really "dear". Coincidence? Yes, but not a very good one.) My name is Micah Smith. Teacher. Mentor. Guru. Ghandi. These are all nouns, but only one of them is proper. Anyway, my name and junk. I am a renowned (or at the very least, "nowned") writer of how-to's, guidelines, lessons, and life ponderings. Or any combination or those words, such as "how-ponderings life-to's guide lessons lines." Rolls right off the tongue. I am an expert on many, if not five, things: life, love, natural disasters, movie rental etiquette, and unnatural disasters. And now animals!

"But Micah," you yell at the top of your lungs to be heard over the great crowd of people chanting my name as I ride by in my flaming candy chariot, "can't animals be placed in a category with natural disasters?" Good question, yelling bystander. But that is a stupid question. Animals are not natural. Animals are godless killing, or excrementing, machines. Pretty godless either way. I will spin a timeless parable for you, reader. Like that of Cinderella, but with less singing and fat, mentally handicapped mice.

Last week, pause for dramatic effect, I was pooped on by a baby sugar glider. To protect the identity of the innocent-until-proven-guilty-but-definitely-freaking-guilty party, we will call this sugar glider Pepito. I had arrived at a meeting in a timely fashion, at least four hours before the scheduled time, and a woman (we'll call Mitch) walked in carrying a zebra-striped tote with two sugar gliders. Zebra stripes. Ztrike one. They slept soundly, dreaming of disemboweling humans until Ben Fritz (whom we'll call Ben Fritz) removed the male from his lil' stripy cage. After an hour I noticed that the animal had not yet disemboweled Ben Fritz, as is their way. None of the signs of evil intent could be seen in the small rodent. No devil horns or absurdly pointy goatee. But this could easily be explained by an inability to grow facial hair, or horns. Also, it hadn't burned the American flag, or burned a copy of a Nickelback album (the other kind of burn - the fire one is acceptable in this scenario).

So I held Pepito. By God, how I held him. Planets formed and suns died in that moment, universes trillions of miles away felt the impact of two of God's creations, once mortal enemies, now making contact that shattered notions of life as we know it. Souls melded together, as if to shout, "THIS IS PRETTY COOL I GUESS!"

And then he pooped and peed and junk. It was gross, I was wearing a new shirt. But alas, this is the way of animals. Untamed and pooping everywhere. They have no comprehension of our customs and civilization. It's probably a safe bet that no animals even watched the Royal Wedding. And I know, like, at least two people who did. And I saw highlights of it a week later so I'm good.


To Be Continued and Then Finished After Said Continuation...