It’s a fine, spring day, and you’re walking in the woods in your brand new Keen hikers and your brand new North Face day pack. Everything is in full bloom, a tapestry of colors. Up in the trees birds flit to and fro, singing paeans to the new day, while squirrels scamper and squabble. A couple of deer stop and look up at you from a small clearing.
“Hello, woodland creatures!” you yell.
“Hello, asshole!” they yell back. You feel totally, completely alive! You’re on top of the world. Nothing can get you down.
But then, for some reason, the animals become spooked. They begin to run, all in the same direction, streaming past you down the trail: the birds, the squirrels, the deer. More join, and more, from all directions.
“Forest fire?” you whisper to yourself, picking up the pace. You start to jog.
The swarm of creatures grows larger by the second: rabbits, mice, chipmunks, frogs, skunks, even a beaver join in this strange stampede. You look in the river, which is frothy with a fish stampede! A black bear in a tiny car, many times too small for him, roars past you.
“What’s happening!” you yell. You begin to run, panic setting in. The forest floor is awash with a rippling mass of wildlife running nearly shoulder to shoulder, climbing and tripping over one another. The deer bound ahead, while the smaller animals are left behind. Your foot falls on a little mole and you feel his body push deep into the loamy earth. “My glasses!” he cries.
There’s no time to stop, however. At this point you’re off the trail, tearing through low-lying tree limbs. Vines and brambles rip at your arms and face, and you taste blood on your lip. You’re mind is racing: what the hell is behind us?
You try to keep up. Over hills and down into valleys, the animals race on, pulling you along by the sheer inertia. They run for what seems like hours. As you’re about to collapse from exhaustion, you enter a huge field of bluestem and wildflowers. The animal herd, a million strong, you guess, makes a long, looping arc and circles back upon itself. Suddenly, you’re running in a circle, forming a spiral for which you seem to be the center.
Then, as quickly as it started, it stops. The animals, and you, simply stop running. You look around, your chest heaving, and realize: the animals are looking at you. They’re ALL looking at you. They begin to laugh.
What the…my God, you think, they were having me on! You sit down in the grass. Your beautiful new backpack is completely gone and your Keens are ripped to shreds. Still, that was a pretty good joke. You smile and shake your head. “Crazy animals,” you say. “Crazy, crazy animals.” You’d laugh, too, but it hurts. One of your ribs is cracked.
There’s a splattering noise and you turn slightly to see the bear – the one with the car – peeing on the back of your head. It mats your hair and runs in little rivulets down your back.
Let them have their fun, you think. You’re just too tired to care.
Then Mr. Scrubs, associate symposiarch of the Wolverine Council, stands up and proclaims: “And now, the human will give us all a blowjob!”
Well now! That’s not something you agreed to. No, sir.