Oh, what a frightful embarrassment that moment you realise that the “Hello” you just hello-ed back wasn’t meant for you but for the person behind you. And there you were thinking Gosh such a good-looking person is accosting me on the street, Lord what a lucky so-and-so I am. Obviously you couldn’t see behind you the good-looking friend of the good-looking accoster since evolution hadn’t thought it necessary to put eyes in the backs of our heads. Two eyes in front are good but, at least, one more at the back could save us a lot of bright florid blushes.
I like to think of evolution as beyond God. You see, according to the Holy Books, God made us in His own image so I presume naturally that God has two eyes, both facing forward. I’m not exactly sure why God would need eyes at all since He knows everything everywhere at every instant and eyes are for those who need to see what’s going on in front and perhaps a bit to the sides. Perhaps a modern St Aquinas can help us here. But for humans, having only front facing eyes leaves us with a number of problems that we don’t need and that evolution could have helped with.
For instance without eyes at the back of our heads we can’t see if someone is approaching our head from behind with a machete in hand. It is a well known phenomenon that a head meeting a machete disadvantages only one of the combatants and it’s always the same one.
Another difficulty, though one less fatal, is that we can’t tell who’s sniggering behind our backs. We all know how it is with our fellow humans, some of us do it too, who hail Welcome to ‘friends’ and ‘comrades’ and can’t wait to plunge into an animated debate over the price of bread or oil or the cost of sending children to school or about the new war in the Middle East. But as soon as you turn your back the flock of previously rounded noses behind you assume the shapes of wrinkly mushrooms, eyes are rolling around like balls on lottery night and mouths start salivating with gossip. How many of our young people have been driven to suicide by not being able to see the sniggering rascals and at least have the opportunity to tell friends from frenemies?
The other vexing issue is that if you know that a really good looking woman (or man) is walking right behind you and they previously caught your eye (and not necessarily the other way round) you won’t know if they are admiring your ass or simply casting around for a good price in the sale windows or enjoying the flowers in someone’s front porch. You could spend a lot of wasted time and energy swaying your hips in the most embarrassing and suggestive fashion.
Once, a keen angler, rod in tow headed out in his boat to a spot on a lake where he had known much success. He hummed a cheerful pop tune as his mind projected bellyful reminiscences of prior tasty repasts. This afternoon he was particularly hungry and it was with some resolve and malevolence that he settled his craft in his “good luck” spot. As luck would have it a fetching mullet soon came bobbing by.
To conserve stock, our excited piscator put out a small worm bait. Perhaps the white sucker didn’t see it because after ten minutes it was clear it wouldn’t bite. Fine, thought the angler so he laid out a particularly inviting morsel. The white sucker would nose around the hook, kind of consider whether to go for it (or not) and then it would swim away with an annoying nonchalance. This drove the angler to exasperation. After another half hour he concluded that he would have to try something more drastic. By now, he was riven with hunger, a state well known for turning gentlemen into raving lunatics. So he brought out his fish net and every time the mullet would swim by, the ravished angler would plunge the net into the water and sweep a wide arc in a wild effort to ensnare his lunch.
After an hour and with sweat long dripping down his back and beyond, frustration finally got the better of him and, mind lost, he screamed out at the fish: “You’re supposed to be my dinner, dammit!”. To which the fish cocked its head and retorted, “Yes, but you’ve got to catch me first!” before swimming down to the nether depths of the lake.
Copyright 2012. d3mola
Who will care?
I won’t be here
Your friends won’t be there
Your boss will be elsewhere
Your pusher will be scarce
The law will be fierce
The judge will be terse
Your name will be cursed
The shock will only get worse
Companion’s who once were close
Now, like mists, sense where the wind blows
Their smiles, grotesque; with reeking underbellies
They dance; revel with Machiavelli
When the shit hits the fan
It’s never long ‘fore you know
That Earth will open wide to swallow
Neither a naive nor timid fellow
Don’t let the shit hit the ….
Can you raed this? Olny 55 plepoe out of 100 can. I cdnuolt blveiee that I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd what I was rdanieg. The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid, aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it dseno’t mtaetr in what oerdr the ltteres in a word are, the olny iproamtnt tihng is that the frsit and last ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can still raed it whotuit a pboerlm. This is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the word as a wlohe. Azanmig huh? Yaeh and I awlyas tghuhot slpeling was ipmorantt!
– Reblogged from smoewhere
You’re not aware until it swoops upon you like a Peregrine Falcon. Your companions are its prey. Swoosh and it’s done. It’s hiss is like a V12 engine ripping through the atmosphere, striking alarm in near bystanders. At other times you can, if you clench tightly, quieten it down and release the whiff in short sharp bursts and hope to hell no one notices. If everyone can just keep moving. Is that a gust of wind? Oh thank you dear gods. It’s deeply unsettling when the angel descends bringing with it a rapturous trail of malodour which it will leave behind. The trumpet sounds and it scarcely notices if you’re at a tony gathering trying to make an impression. Swoosh it snoops, swift in flight. One good thing is that no one can definitely prove it’s you. Scientists have yet to invent a biometric fit. “Who was that?” You join the chorus, yours among the pointing fingers as every nose wrinkles and all scatter asunder. It had to be done. You can’t stop the majestic fart.