The True Genius of Bottled Streams

Out in the woods, we elk quenched our thirst from the cool, running stream waters. In this society place people have bottled the streams to take it with them. Initially, this seemed like a grand plan. People carry their bottles of water, large and small, everywhere, providing constant refreshment. What a time saver to not have to run to a stream whenever a tongue gets parched!

Eventually I discovered these bottles for sale, which I found alarming. Stream water was always free, and these portable streams cost more than other beverages. Perhaps the cost was to due the heavy labor of removing bugs and dirt from the water, though it never really bothered me back home.

I considered purchasing a bottle with the $2 I earned from posing with a tourist, but then I noticed something even more ingenious. According to a mall security guard I asked, it was called a water fountain. At the push of a button this fountain provided bug- and dirt-free water, for free! These fountains appeared to be everywhere.

So why do people pay for water? I scanned through an archive of microfiche on the subject and discovered that prior to the 1980s very few people paid to drink water from bottles (some may have put their own free water in bottles themselves). Perhaps there was a serious health advantage to this “special” expensive water. Yet, I noticed that there was a healthy population of octogenarians even in the 1970s. For that matter, even a hundred years ago people lived to ripe old ages. So apparently free water wasn’t a mass murderer.

It seems to me that bottling a stream isn’t genius at all. Convincing people to pay for it, now that’s brilliant.

An Observation for the Obese

Trampolines should be avoided.

Fashion and a Fearful Future for Children

People seem to wear a variety of things to cover up their top and bottom parts. Some of them are quite attractive. I like “shirts” with stripes. But one style I’ve noticed recently has been quite troublesome: camouflage. I find it disturbing in general, but especially for children. Camouflage is designed to blend into the environment, yet I can see these ridiculous people with little to no effort. Enemies would have a field day.

After much thought and a lengthy trip to the library, I’ve concluded there are only two explanations for this choice of children's clothing. The first is preparation for war. Patriotic parents are apparently developing their children into soldiers for future combat. Once these youngsters grow to like the camouflage, they’ll be anxious to wear it as adults. And where better than the army? Seven days a week!

The second conclusion I’ve reached is that parents are preparing to abandon their children in the woods. Possibly to be raised by elk, like me. However, I wore no camouflage, instead I was dressed in a faded “Foghat” concert tee-shirt and blue jeans when I was left on my own. I suspect that the camouflage is intended hide them from search parties. Since elk rely more on their sense of smell, they’ll find the poor children without difficulty. Although I’ve seen some children wearing blue camouflage, which can only mean they’ll be thrown into the waters to be raised by fish.

I wish these children well.

The Curious Magic of the Blue Mailbox

Walking about town I’ve noticed large blue box-like beings on numerous street corners. Curious as to what they were, I decided to take a break from my search for fresh, non-poisonous berries and study one. For five minutes it did nothing. But then a female approached it, opened its mouth, and dropped some papers in. This seemingly dead creature apparently still required feeding.

Later, a male also dropped papers in the mouth. Still hungry for berries, I decided to settle on some nearby paper to see what all the rage was about. I found it bland.

Soon another female walked toward the blue box and I stopped her to inquire about the papers. She asked me if she was being filmed for a TV show and I told her I wasn’t aware of TV shows. Then she asked me why I was wearing antlers and informed me that Halloween wasn’t for some eight months. My eyes lowered and I noticed she had nice boobs. She saw me stare and to regain my attention she answered my question and explained the system of “mail.”

I found her tale amazing. People simply drop papers in a box colored blue at a corner, and within days an entire group of people they’ve never met, and know nothing about, pass the piece of paper along some sort of nationwide conveyor belt until it reaches its destination. In a way, it’s kind of like magic. Why weren’t more people excited about this? Back home, if I wanted to send a nut to an elk friend, I had to run it over there, sometimes crossing through a cold stream and tip-toeing past sleeping coyotes.

I plan to buy the necessary stamp and stuff some fresh lettuce in the mail for my elk mom. I think she’ll like that.

The Significance of the Insignificance of “How Are You?”

Today I was in a store and I heard a person working there greet people with the question, “How are you?” Coincidentally, all of them were “fine.”

I was surprised that all these people -- tall, short, fat, thin, crippled -- described their well-being in the same manner. Is it just a necessary formality? I suspect she didn’t really care how the person was doing, but is required by law to ask in order to appear polite. Yet, I also suspect that the people being asked don’t care to share their feelings and emotions with the asker, but would feel offended if they weren’t given the opportunity. It seems to be a silly societal game played to keep civilization happy. I prefer checkers.

The work person soon spotted me as I was trying on a shirt and got it stuck over my antlers. “How are you?” she asked me. I answered more in-depth.

I explained to her that despite the tangling of the shirt with my antlers, things were going relatively well since leaving the woods. I told her how much better I’ve been eating and how great the climate control of heat indoors is, as opposed to the night cold outside. I also told her that I would soon need to locate a bathroom, and would be feeling even better afterward.

She smiled and walked away.

Grazing Never Came With Fries!

Fast food is a fascinating phenomenon. I always had fast food as a youth, it was mainly anything I walked on. We elk just drop our heads and graze from the ground. But there were never any promotional toys. No plastic goodies like at the fast food joints. Well, once I found a syringe in the field, but that wasn’t any fun.

The food here is much tastier, too. And it’s never frozen to the ground in winter. I like having a wider variety to choose from—not just grass (which takes weeks to be “supersized”). I love the way a delicious leaf of lettuce comes with a piece of meat and two pieces of bread. And since it comes wrapped in paper, no one can leave droppings on it (I think.)

Fast food seems to be a great way to fatten up, as I saw many large males and females eating at the establishment, some requiring two, even three seats. However, these larger people would stand less of a chance of escape from hungry, lunging mountain lions. The cats would have a feast.

Cologne: Territory Marker or Lazy Man’s Shower?

Cologne is a curious liquid, much like gasoline. Both smell interesting, but taste awful. At first I thought the bottle was to be used for marking territory. This seemed brilliant. Elk usually rub their chins on saplings to mark their territory. The little spray bottle is certainly easier on the chin. I knew bulls (male elk) who had harems of up to 60 cows (female elk). I figured with the cologne bottle -- in a crowded area -- I could mark 60 females in just minutes! That’s when I got into trouble and learned it was meant to be used on myself. To smell good. The judge said I’m not allowed to say anything more about it.

This cologne is confusing. Isn’t soap the thing people use to smell good? I like the feeling of cool stream waters rushing against my body, stripping away the muck and filth (unless a floater gets in the way). Using soap makes it even better. But with cologne, I could just spray it on and cover up any stinky smells. Easy, but lazy.

However, I’ve noticed that by spraying a hefty portion all over my body, people stay away from me. Too much pleasant smell becomes unpleasant. Sometimes this is good for privacy. Or when I’m on a crowded train and there’s no place to sit, people will move to get away from my strong scent. Then I get a seat. I guess cologne is a clever way to be like a skunk. A less-foul skunk.

The Environmental Effect on the Acceptance of the Bikini

I recently came across a very sandy and sunny place called the beach. It’s like the area near a stream, only with less trees and a much bigger stream. And no elk.

Instead, people of all shapes and sizes lay on the beach doing nothing. At first I thought they were dead. Then one flipped over and went back to doing nothing. So I layed down and did nothing, too. Basking in the warm sun felt so peaceful! Other people were in the water, but not drinking it.

The females here are almost naked, like female elk. I’m not sure why they bother wearing anything because their bottom garment is like a string being yanked up their behind. It seemed very uncomfortable. But I liked the way it looked for some reason. I’m going to look for my own piece of string to wear.

However, this attire made me curious. For some reason, it appeared normal for women to bounce along the beach wearing nearly nothing. Yet, I haven’t seen such flesh-revealing outfits anywhere else. It seems like it would make other places more fun to look at.

I asked a skinny, large-breasted woman if she’d ever wear her bikini at a sandwich shop or a bank. She said I was cute and that people would think she was a slut if she did that and the males would harass her. Then I asked her what a slut was and she said it was when a female mates too frequently.

Apparently scantily-clad women are accepted on the beach, but considered sluts on the sidewalk. Society sure is fickle.

On the Brilliance of Socks

Growing up in the woods I generally walked around barefoot. The ground was filled with obstacles, such as sharp stones, droppings, broken twigs, and crunchy insects. None of them were comfy to walk on, except the fresh droppings -- they were soft, but left a bad odor and a layer of crust between my toes. On occasion I managed to fashion a temporary shoe from the bark of a tree. Nothing fancy, but they did have a pump.

Out here, the people all wear shoes. But what I especially like are the socks. They’re like a soft, flexible shoe. Soft, cozy, and no laces to learn how to tie. There appear to be all kinds of styles – stripes, dots, triangles, and lots of colors -- yet, they’re hidden by shoes and pant legs. One exception I’ve noticed is the adult male on the weekend working in the yard to make the grass shorter. I’ve seen many such men with black socks prominently displayed on white legs showcased by short pants. This is a man who appreciates his socks.

I’ve also noticed that people have determined that socks are only for the feet. However, after an afternoon of experimentation and a few light snacks, I realized that socks could also be worn on the arms and hands. I made a few calls and consulted several local elders who all agreed that there no was law against this. The sock is like a light mitten, but goes beyond the duty of a mitten by warming the forearm as well (if the sock is a long one). In this sense, the sock is also much more versatile than the shoe.

If everyone gets tattoos to be different, aren’t they all like everyone else?

Elk are distinguished by their antlers. In this people world, “tattoos” are used to stand out. Younger females often mark themselves just above the rump. Usually with a pretty butterfly or flower. The males seem to like scary dragons and tribal designs. Children’s names are often emblazoned on the flesh of both sexes, which apparently serve as reminders for forgetful parents.

I’ve also noticed that many people get tattoos featuring Asian symbols. But they’re not Asian, they’re pale skinned -- like myself. I asked one woman about her tattoo and she claimed it said “princess.” But when I flagged down someone who could translate Chinese, we learned it actually said “prostitute.” Then the lady got mad and kicked me in the shin. It hurt.

There are so many with tattoos, it seems that the unmarked people are the true individuals.

Are elevators purely mechanical or simply dim-witted creatures?

I came upon something in a building yesterday that was some sort of amazing people transporter with delightful music playing lightly in the background. A nicely dressed female informed me it was an “elevator” and then her eyes rolled in a funny way. She smelled pretty. The only way elk can reach higher ground is by walking. Sometimes it gets tiring. And when it rains the ground gets slippery so I always use caution.

This elevator machine worked by simply pushing buttons indicating “up” or “down” and the available floor numbers one could reach. Pushing it once caused the button to light up like a firefly. This was a lot of fun to do.

But what really struck me was that people would enter the elevator with people already inside, see a button lit up, then press it again. Or in some cases a person would push the button multiple times, usually quickly. These people were usually dressed in suits and ties and held little machines called Blackberries close to their faces. I think the Blackberries may be poisonous.

Did these people believe the elevator had a consciousness and would react quicker to its buttons being pushed faster or more frequently? Perhaps they believed the elevators were dumb and needed extra encouragement. Like an obese woman stuck to her couch.

I asked one of the suited, silver-haired males about his actions. The conversation went something like this:

Me: Excuse me, why did you push that button three times?

Him: Huh?

Me: Doesn’t the elevator respond after just one button pressing?

Him: Who the hell are you?

Me: I’m new here.

Him: Why the hell are you wearing twigs on your head?

Me: Oh, these? They’re my prosthetic antlers. See, I was raised by elk and I’ve never been able to grow my own antlers. So I created my own from trees.

Him: How lovely. I’ll let security know.

Then he got off at the 14th floor. I kept riding upward, closer to the sky. Then a man in a blue uniform got on the elevator and chained my hands together behind my back. It was really uncomfortable. We went downtown which was neat because I’d never been there. There were lots of mean-looking people there. They reminded me of wild boars. Dangerous, ugly, and smelly. I explained the elevator situation to the bluish man and he agreed there was no need to push the button multiple times. Then he complimented my antlers. I thanked him, but told him I don’t swing that way.

The Great Mystery of Belly Button Lint

How does every color shirt leave bluish lint in my belly button? I’ve been tracking the color of my lint and the color of the shirt producing it every night for the past three weeks on a handsome chart made from posterboard and an old antler (one my elk dad once shed) dipped in ink. Yet, the mystery only deepens. I’ve heard detectives are good at solving mysteries, so I placed several calls to local sleuths. None have been returned.

What amazes me is that I can wear a white tee shirt and by nightfall my belly button has collected a nice clump of bluish lint. It’s soft, fuzzy, and oval in shape. But why is the lint not white? Colored shirts frequently end up in lint with the same bluish color. On occasion, I’ve noted, a red shirt will leave red lint. Red seems to be a standout color. Perhaps its association with fire gives it the strength and power to out duel the bluish will of the lint.

Once my chart is properly marked, I store the lint in a pinecone-sized jar. After 365 days have passed, I intend to take the accumulated lint and recreate it into a shirt, thereby bringing the entire project full circle. This is the way of nature. My elk mom always taught me to return to the earth that which I take. This is why she left droppings up to 20 times a day.

Has anyone else pondered this fascinating phenomenon? If so, please email me your findings and photos of lint.

Why are these boob things so darn attractive?

I’ve noticed that the females here have longer hair and larger chests than us males. Though I’ve seen some “men” with long hair and that initially throws me off. The fat ones often have large chests, too. But they’re saggy, not perky or proud. Unless they also have hair on the face, like elk, it’s sometimes hard to tell if they’re ugly women or ugly men.

On occasion I see a woman whose chest is similar to mine in size. But they’re never happy when I point this out. It seems these boob things come in all different shapes and sizes, like antlers. But for the most part, these chests are much larger than mine. And I like them. Why is this? What are they? So soft and round. Like fleshy pillows – which would beat the pants off the pointy rocks I slept on back home. The female elk don’t have such boobs but the males sure seem to like their white-haired rumps. I’ve yet to discover if the females here also have white-haired rumps and if I would like that, too.

The more attractive boobs have a physical effect on me. This usually happens when it’s sunny outside and the females show off a large portion of boobs. Usually it’s just the top part. They get pushed up and outward. They heave. They practically yell at my eyes to stare at them. And my eyes always listen. Yet, the women just walk right by without stopping for me to take a better look. Sometimes my pee thing straightens up, too. It’s very alert. Other soft, roundish things don’t have this effect. Not even a ripe peach.

Why do only women purchase them? I’d like to get a pair for myself.