Man vs. Nature

June 1, 2009
The age old story: Nature-loving biker vs. whatever the fuck that thing is.

The age old story: Nature-loving biker vs. whatever the fuck that thing is.

During my drive to work, I am given the opportunity to hit any number of God’s creatures. Humble little daredevils, who, despite me piloting the only vehicle in miles, wait until the last possible second to hurl themselves under my wheels.

Some might view this as a natural result of man’s imposition on nature. After all, they were here first. (Unless you’re a creationist, in which case they had around 3-5 days to stake a claim.)

But let’s say, for the sake of argument, that they were here for millions of years previous to my drive to work. What have they done with the place? It’s overgrown with weeds and 6-foot high grass. There’s no indoor plumbing. Their roads are little more than 1-foot wide sections of beaten down grass. They’re way behind in arts, literature and major sciences. They routinely blow punchlines and they can’t hold their alcohol.

And it’s not as if I’m leaving the road to hit them, chasing them down and pinning them up against trees and rocks. Say I do take a sudden 70 mph 90-degree left-hand turn to avoid Mr. Raccoon, whose several million years of development have coalesced into this split-second decision to run for it.

My vehicle ends up in the ditch. I go to the hospital. Is the raccoon going to hold a benefit to make sure I can continue living the way I had been? Will there be a candlelight vigil in case the medical attention isn’t enough? Will they post flowers at my “X” on the side of the road, to be admired by other drivers who will whisper “Jackass,” under their breath as they drive by?

Fuck no. It’s just going to continue across the highway to terrorize someone’s chickens or raid their trashcan.

I honestly don’t think we’re hunting enough. The deer are out there, too. 600 pound animals who have shown the startling ability to appear out of nowhere and attempt to blankly stare down approaching vehicles. What kind of survival instinct is that? Is this the thought process?

“Something’s coming. Sounds like 120 horses. Running on all four cylinders. Might be dangerous. 120 horses can be very heavy. Perhaps I should flag down this oncoming vehicle for more information.”

I’ll swerve to avoid a deer. That’s a 50/50 bet. Same thing for a stray cow.

We do this. A lot. Life is good.

We do this. A lot. Life is good.


Cows. Cows just stand around doing their cow thing of standing around. Good thing they have that whole “beef” thing going for them.

Pigs. Like cows, only stinkier. Again with the food angle. Apparently very intelligent but they hide it very well. You may be the next Einstein, but if you smell like that and spend most of your time wallowing in your own filth, no one will ever know. Ask Will Hunting.

Deer. Best friend of auto body shops everywhere. I swear to God I’ve seen some with 800 numbers and logos branded in to them. They probably even pass out business cards before expiring.

Goats. The fuck is up with them? If you hate everything you own, get a goat. Perfect bitter divorce partner. They’ll eat everything that isn’t nailed down. Then they’ll eat the nails. At that point, nothing is nailed down. See Step 1. “You wanted 1/2 of what exactly, honey?”

Raccoons. Nature’s dumpster diver. Smart and tenacious. Feed them once and they’ll pry off your screen looking for more. Best bet: feed ’em sugar cubes. They wash their food before eating it. The comedy writes itself.

Bears. Whoops. Didn’t see that cub there, did you? That’s because nature is very good at hiding. Now you’re missing a couple of limbs and most of your face. Good thing you have your unicycle.

Horses. Useful for measuring vehicle power and wowing 8-year-old girls. The same thing could be said for Hannah Montana or shiny play jewelry. (Yep. This Hemi cranks out 185 Montana’s which is the equivalent of the compressed lung power of 25,000 screaming tweens.)

Dogs. Supposedly man’s best friend, but it only seems to be that way when 1.) I’m cooking something or 2.) it wishes to express its pleasure in my return from work by peeing all over my shoe.

Cats. If I want that sort of disdain from another living creature, I just have to wait until my kids hit their teenage years.

Keep your distance, nature. That’s all I’m asking. Don’t make us drop the “p” from “preservation” unless you all want to be bundled up and shipped to the ass-end of the United States, where your new lives will consist of alcoholism, legalized gambling and multi-colored government housing. It’s not like we haven’t done it to a native species before.



  1. At first…I was sad for the little guy…but by the end I was ready to stand there with you, picket sign in hand, protesting 4-legged creation to shape up or ship out.

    • Do you know how much the average raccoon family paid in taxes last year? $0.

      And due to the increase in the Earned Income Credit, they will be receiving upwards of $45,000 (at $3,150 per child).

      A true outrage.

      Thanks for stopping by, Jessica.

  2. I say paint the highways red! I’ve fallen victim to those retarded bambi wannabes. Like winos on train tracks, you really have to want to die.

    • True story: I once saw a deer shove a child down just to get Ed Begley Jr.’s autograph.

      Nice to see you, RR.

  3. Don’t get me started on the inequalities of the progressive vertebrate tax system—primates always get reamed!!

    • Excellent point, FJ. Even the lower primates are seeing an increase this year to make up for the deadbeat rodent population.

  4. I have a theory that when we aren’t watching them –cows like to dance.

    • Could be. I spend a lot of time not watching them.

      Nice to see you again, Alan.

  5. Oh, CLT. I’m so disappointed in you. You’re willing to give them government housing? I suppose you’re going to give the freeloaders welfare payments and food stamps as well? You’re going soft on me.

    I vote we take all of the “nature creatures”, the little tree huggers, hole diggers, and forest dwellers and ship them all to Antarctica or someplace where people don’t live. They can have all of the nature they want. Survival of the fittest, right?

    • We all started going soft when we tossed the little bastards on some concrete, gave them a little water, and called it a “zoo.”

      Antarctica’s a good place for them. We’ll take them there in the middle of the night and tell the zoologists to go take a second look. While they’re busy wetting themselves with excitement and naming this “new” species of cow after themselves, we’ll celebrate with a few hundred drinks and casually weave home on our critter-free roads.

      Thanks for the great comment, CC.

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