Diluvium: In Which the Mastodon Goes Extinct
“An elephant is an elephant, and it’s not going to stop acting like an elephant just because you separate it from its food supply and put it on an ark with 5,000 other panicking mammals. Actually, it’s going to act even more like an elephant, and do what elephants do best, which is to bellow deafeningly, stampede, and then (if possible) eat up all the buffalo food.”
~Noah, Diluvium 13
Happy Monday! Thank you to the reader who pointed out that Hollywood (which has obviously been following my blog) is attempting to steal my franchise by making a Noah movie of their own, starring Russell Crowe. I shall certainly write to Russell Crowe’s lawyer about this. In the meantime, here is Diluvium 14: In Which the Mastodon Goes Extinct.
Have a wonderful week,
Well, eventually things settled down. The animals all got sorted into their proper places, and they calmed down once we gave them a square meal, heavily seasoned with ground up elephant tranquilizers. Shem eventually did agree to get married, out of duty to mankind. We found him a very nice lesbian named Sedeq, who felt just like Shem, but was willing to get married for the sake of propriety, and of not dying shortly afterward. The rain poured down harder, and the Ark began to float.
I won’t say we didn’t encounter some technical difficulties.
Right away, for example, the mastodon went extinct. What happened was: the male mastodon (who was by far the heavier of the two) never did manage to achieve lift off with the rest of the Ark. Instead, he went crashing through the bottom of the boat, and drowned. You can only imagine the nightmare of trying to patch up a mastodon-shaped hole in the bottom of an ark, while simultaneously bailing out water so the rest of us didn’t drown too. And meanwhile, of course, my wife is tapping me on the shoulder with her umbrella the whole time, begging me to jump overboard and rescue the mastodon.
“Woman,” I finally bellowed, “I can do many things. But treading water while balancing a five-ton mastodon on my shoulders is not one of them. God grant us the serenity to accept the things we cannot change.”
And then of course, there was an argument about what to do with the female mastodon. Personally, I was all for discretely dumping her overboard to join her mate. What’s the point of feeding and sheltering a four-ton, recently widowed mastodon who, by no fault of anyone tangible or visible, is doomed to a life of celibacy and eventual extinction? God said two of each animal. One would be, quite frankly, useless. But when I made this logical and obviously well-reasoned argument, my wife and daughter raised a howl like you wouldn’t believe, and all of the cats joined in.
“Fine!” I shouted in the end. “We’ll keep her! We’ll waste half our food supply on a useless, grass-guzzling mastodon, for the sole purpose of confusing future anthropologists when they eventually dig her up and can’t figure out why she didn’t die out with the rest of her kind!”
Also, I don’t like to harp on minor details, but it turned out that someone had forgotten to pack the chicken feed. I won’t mention names, but his rhymes with the curse word I was forced to bellow when I discovered this latest example of imbecility among my immediate family members. (You may have noticed that, as this story progresses, I begin to curse more, but can you blame me? It wasn’t a sin at the time; don’t tell me it was sinful. The Ten Commandments hadn’t even been written yet. If it wasn’t for me, Moses would never have even been born.) Apparently, some people can’t concentrate on getting married and packing chicken feed at the same time. Now in an ordinary situation, I would have controlled my temper, and simply made a quick stop at the grocery store to pick up five thousand new sacks of chicken feed. But at this point, the grocery store was several fathoms underwater, so it wasn’t an option. I had a private consultation with God about how to handle the situation. God said (in as encouraging a tone as possible) that He was sure I’d come up with some way to manage.
This is the Guy who can design whole planets, swirl up storms to deluge them, and make life-giving manna rain down from the heavens in the case of lucky bastards like Moses, but in my case, it seems I was pretty much on my own. I asked God if He couldn’t make some chicken feed fall out of the sky, to help me out with my poultry problems, but He said He was extremely busy generating the rain itself, and it’s not good to have too many things fall out of the sky at once; also the chicken feed would get wet.
Talk about a support system.
Quite honestly, I don’t think God even wanted to save me. I think He just got attached to His animals, and needed someone along on the journey to feed them. He had to choose me for the job; no one else in the world would have done it. ♦
(To be continued…)