Bowsy’s Christ you Humans are Dumb II

Well replace my stuffing with cat’s vomit if it isn’t almost Summer again.

For those who don’t know, that’s the season when every goddam asshole apparantly feels an irrisistible urge to strip half naked and expose their armits and hairy backs for all the world to see. This despite years of warnings from the medical world that if you sit under the sun all day you’re going to die a long, slow painful death and not only that, you’ll be hideously ugly too.

You humans really aren’t the brightest crayons in the packet, are you. You’ll notice I haven’t added a question mark there.

Anyhoo, yesterday there I was watching Columbo,  when during the commericials one of those road safety adverts popped up. You know them – the ones that feature a driver and passengers getting ripped to pieces by their own windscreen because the gobshite in the front hasn’t been paying attention, or some such thing. Apparently you losers can’t just be told “don’t speed, it’s a bit dangerous”.

Oh no.

You don’t believe anything until the government hires a shitload of actors and a director to play out the scenario for you. You even expect them to wreck a real car in the process. Then you might start to listen.

Maybe. If you’re not too busy pouring gallons of pure alcohol down your greedy gullet in an attempt to make your friends look more interesting.

That’s why anti smoking campaigns don’t work. You’re just not going to listen until they wheel out John Wayne’s ghost and  he rips out his lungs for you to have a good close up look at. Then you might consider cutting back.

They try making it easy for you. They even paint a couple of  thick white lines across the road for you to cross between, and another line for the cars to wait behind until the big luminious set of lights changes to green. In Ireland they add in a ramp at each side of the road and cover it in a tactile surface so even people who can’t see can find where the designated safe crossing area is.

Meanwhile, you’re thirty yards down the street, staggering across the road in an untidy diagonal, passing right in front of a forty foot truck as you make an ultra important call on your telephone, which you make sure to press hard against your head while we await conclusive proof of their safety, maybe reading the latest Stephen King about a family who’s being haunted by the revengeful pedestrian who they ran over and killed.

We do these things a little differently in the bear world.

Allow me to explain, using an easy to understand example. Put your hand up if you’ve got any questions, and I’ll bite it off for you.

Let’s say. I’m in the woods. In actual fact I’m not. I’m flung on the floor of the spare room while that asshole downstairs writes this crap in my name. Anyway, say I’m in the woods and my friend Ullysses, that cheap bastard who Neal got in a supermarket with a few tokens and an old Irish five pound note,  is walking ahead of me.

And all of a sudden I hear a high pitched “yelp”, followed by a scream, in that unmistakeably stupid voice that I know to belong to Ullysses. What do I do? Well of course I carry on the same route that Ully took and hope for the best.

Well I do if I’m a human

But being a member of a more thought-driven species, I slow down and assess the situation, and carefully check whether my companion has come to any danger, and if it turns out that he’s been shot to pieces by a drug-crazed deer hunter who’s had a bad day, then I consider the possiblity of maybe giving some thought to whether or not it might be advisable to take a different route.

It’s that simple, humanity. If a tenth of your population is dying of lung cancer, think about not smoking so much. If there’s a load of people getting killed by speeding on the roads every weekend, consider slowing down. And if your entire family have died a long, slow painful death as a result of sitting in the sun all day, I’d perhaps think about maybe putting on a shirt on the beach when it’ reaches, say, a  hundred degress celcius. Just for the sake of reducing your theoretical odds, or whatever.

Personally, I think the Road Runner said it best when he said “meep meep”, then flew off down the mountain road at breakneck speed to avoid having his neck broken by a bloodthirsty coyote. Not that that’s going to happen to any of you, but if you’ve got even half an imagination you’ll adapt the tale to fit into your daily lives.

Say for example that the coyote is a Nissan Micra and the Road Runner is…I dunno…you, and the mountain road is a pavement outside your house that’s very slippy because you have failed to live up to your legal responsibility to keep it free of ice.

Now let’s say the Nissan Micra notices that you’ve got an Acme brand bowling ball shaped bomb hidden under your fur, so it slows to five miles an hour to delay it’s approach so that, by the time the Nissan reaches you, you’ve been blown to smithereens.

Now lets say there’s no moral to that story, and that I just made it up because I enjoy the thought of you being blown up.

And let’s say you’re reading this sentence, gripped by every word that passes into your ears and astounded at the profundity, truth and wisdom that eminates from it’s author, and wondering what the bear is going to come out with next. Now let’s say you’re an asshole.

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