Consider the Bison

You know what’s scary? All that Darwin stuff DOES anger God, because it makes a god of … nature? … Rationality? No.

OF MY BELLY! And my silky-soft tongue.

All will be zesty, and despair.

One worry for the last 200 years has been species death. We would hunt to extinction all kinds of critters the biosphere would miss later. Baaaad humanity. Taking down the poor mammoth and the Australian Brown Hell-Fucker and the wolf and Free Willy.

This is still “normal” evolutionary pressure. If we feared or competed with them or wanted to use them for clothing or fuel … megafauna be fucked, dawg.

But! If humans want to EAT them, I mean, really finds them tasty, it’s a golden ticket. Fuck meteors. Sorry God. The critters that inherit the earth will be determined by a new pressure. A weird intelligent design that ends with me spreading sauce on your kind over, and over again.

Where would the chicken be, if we hadn’t found it perfect for grilling? What about barley, oats, modern wheat? Potatoes? They might have their niche.

But in 2007? Chickens own most of the real estate, and a chunk of every freakin’ continent. Flightless self-drowning dumbasses, Chickens could inherit the earth. If the bison don’t run them down.

There’s your perfect example. 50 years ago, the American Buffalo was as good as dead. All we wanted were their hides. We had enough interest to kill them, and not enough to keep them alive. Then as obesity set in, we craved leaner meat.

And Ted Turner said “that could be DELICIOUS.”

Thus the species thrived. And now undulates proudly across the West, the Northwest, Upstate, and right onto my fork.

Not because it was stronger than us, or was able to settle into equilibrium with us. Because it was weak enough to be controlled. We selected it to thrive, because we could wipe it out with no problem. Forget you, Hell-Fucker. The power of humans is not to force other life to advance, but to let it advance just to the point where it is swollen with goodness, but not yet smart or tough, and retard things right there, at the same time, over the entire world.

Now isn’t that all weird and godly. Forget the fire of Prometheus. Forget the command to be fruitful and multiply. We’ve reached down to sub-retard birds and mutants like the poodle (different case), and actually done it for them. They have a demographic spread and reproductive head start over everyone but us.

What if we aren’t the point of this alliance? What if the Olympians outlive the Titans? What if it’s like the rats and the fleas, or the mosquitoes and Malaria? Sheep do tend to look at you … like they know something … Say super-AIDS goes airborne, and wipes out the human race tomorrow. The pens and wire fences won’t last long, and the other predators have all been culled.

Is it possible we’ve been bad gods?

There’s the last hippo or brown bear, running frantically, searching for clean land. Shitting out chicken and slipping in chicken shit, crushing eggs with every step. Chickens scrambling up over their dead, chicken mothers pecking at its eyes, roosters drowning out its ears, feathers in the throat, legs giving out. Chickens. Chickens. Chickens. No hope.

We could die, and the world could totally choke on our leftovers.