Posts Tagged ‘Man vs. Nature’


Man vs. Nature v.2

June 3, 2009
Signs that you are suffering from a black widow bite: 1. You have been asked to make significant changes to your will...

Signs that you are suffering from a black widow bite: 1. You have been asked to make significant changes to your will...

In the previous installment, we discussed nature vs. me in my current life. (This discussion, you’ll note, was much like any discussion with management. Mainly me talking and you listening or thinking of something else.)

Nature is a different kind of problem where I grew up.

El Paso, Texas.

It climate mirrors most of Arizona. Wrath of God heat. It never rains. When it does rain, it clogs the drain systems which were built on the assumption that “it never rains,” and, consequently have the capacity to hold between 0-1″ of rainwater.

Unlike Arizona, however, El Paso has yet to put together a quality online university or a 9-7 Super Bowl quality football team. We’ve also certainly never had a Hall of Fame bag boy for a franchise quarterback. And it goes without saying that we’ve never had a 38-year old quarterback who managed to throw his way out of Mike Martz’s “defense is for pussies” scheme and into Arizonian folklore.

Perhaps the turning point was Warner’s divorce of Susan Powter


Honey??!! Some of your fingernails are in my brain.

and subsequent marriage to a woman with fewer testicles than him.


Honey??!! Your testicle is making it hard for me to breathe.

He’s become a legendary figure like Paul Bunyan or Andre the Giant. Cue NFL Film’s narration:

Kurt Warner. Raised in the northern Iowa wilderness by panthers, Warner would continue on to try out for the Green Bay Packers. Unable to read Brett Favre’s career intentions, Warner would settle on a much safer position, that of bag boy at the local Hyvee.

Even the 2nd shift manager knew they had something special, as Kurt would routinely hurl customers’ groceries 50+ yards into their open trunks. Still coasting on the cries of, “What an arm!” and “My eggs!” Kurt took his skills to the claustrophobic climes of football’s top arena: arena football.

Kurt’s success at the arena level was unparalleled. He led his Iowa Subisidies to victory after victory, with final scores that frequently rivalled NBA games. It was during this time that he married Susan Powter, an on-the-fence lesbian. He swept her off her experimenting feet, promising that, “Once you go bag, you never go back.”

Powter became known as the architect of Warner’s future and was frequently referred to, out loud, as “tough as nails,” due to her arm wrestling matches with Lenny Dykstra. During this time, Warner signed with the non-L.A. Rams and proceeded to tear every page out of their record books. These were subsequently replaced with new pages and the amount of the replacement docked from his suddenly hefty paycheck…

Anyway, nature.

El Paso fucking Texas. Scorpions, spiders, centipedes and snakes. You’d hear the horror stories. Jars over bed legs to keep the scorpions and centipedes from joining you in bed like a drunken frat boy with the clap. Aggressive black widow spiders who would bite you just for reaching into an area you couldn’t see clearly and settle back to collect the sizable inheritance. Snakes that would winter in your heating vents, complaining about how their hundred of kids wouldn’t visit.

We are legion. And we are rad-resistant.

We are legion. And we are rad-resistant.

But of all the horrors, nothing compares to the fucking roaches. Omnipresent. Fast. And so fucking many of them.

Did you know roaches will climb walls when they know they’re dying? Who knows why? Some leftover instinct from their early days as sun worshippers? Or perhaps their small brains figure everything trying to kill them is a flood?

We did not realize this until we bug-bombed our house. You could hear them falling off the ceiling. Hitting the lineoleum like the world’s smallest self-contained hailstorm.

And they’re immune to everything. Those that survived our bombing run would live on to sneer at the next gas attack.

They still haven’t figured out how to defeat their old nemesis, the shoe, however. But that day’s coming. Then they’ll be back, going all inner city youth on us, a couple hundred thousand strong, stealing our shoes. And coming back for our wallets and jewelry.

Just remember, if that crazy guy is right, and not simply raving to himself, beware of the apocalypse. It will be the survivors versus the roaches and they already have us outnumbered.



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.