Deer diary...

I hate Deer. I will never understand the phenomenon of people stopping and saying, "oh look, a deer!" Oh, look, nature. I mean there is a real hierarchy with animals, and I don't like it. Nobody talks about squirrels (except this nurse I once knew, and she saw some shit, 3rd shift). Nobody stops to look at raccoons. It is the same principle behind people stopping and looking at planes flying. Who cares? Planes quit being cool after Kitty Hawk or some shit, and even then they were only cool cause some dude was strapped in and running, and you knew he was going to crash; but dudes still stare when jets fly over, and you can feel the thinking: "oh yeah, back in 1977 I used to fly Corsairs. Damn good bird. She and I used to log hundreds of hours, and honestly, if I hadn't a lost my eyes while arm wrestling at the Fair (He did. 1983, my dad's eyes popped out of his head at the Fair. To this day we still don't go, not cause it is sad, but he can't really drive anymore either), that steel beauty coulda been my lover forever!" Or so the story goes that one fishing trip in 1991. But whatever, mom and dad's relationship doesn't change the fact that I'm going to kill a Deer. Has nothing to do with how I was raised or that I listened to Ozzy or D.R.I. as a child. What it has to do with is death promises.

So last night I found myself driving and I noticed it was getting dark. Then I noticed I was being held hostage in my car by Deer on the road. They were everywhere last night. I slowed to a crawl in an effort to not disturb the perfect balance and harmony I had achieved careening through nature in my Nissan, but then it occurred to me, somewhere around Eddyville, that the Deer don't even care about it. They don't care about balance. They only care about eating, mating, and jumping over fences. In a way, they remind me of myself on the weekend. Except jumping over fences is sometimes really difficult for me, especially in the winter time when the cold sets in on my pants, and Deer never seem to have this trouble; but maybe that is because they don't wear pants. If they did they would probably value their life more than they do.

So I was held hostage for 2 hours on highway 163. At one point this skinny Deer ran out in front of me and then jumped over a fence. I thought it was really inapropriate timing. I decided from that point that I would speed up in an effort to drive through them. To destroy them. I am an American. I don't run from nothing, and since you aren't a horse you aren't American and you deserve to die. So I sped up, holding on at ten and two.

I cried when I saw Bambi as a kid. But Bambi represents an older generation of Deer. A more sensible generation of Deer. They were the greatest generation; Bambi's generation. They knew who they were and what their lot was in life. If you look at pictures from antiquity you will notice that the Deer has not changed that much, so they were really ahead of their time in that. In fact, they used to be flame retardent until the 1980s rolled around. Then they got all freaked out about fire and stuff. This is the reason, some Deer people have suspected, for the changing attitude of Deer, especially when around fire. They just don't have any perspective anymore.

So here I am, was. Driving. Held hostage by Deer. The good thing is my car is red, so when I do kill them, the blood won't show. It will just mesh with the rest of the stuff I have run over. And believe me, I don't run over that much stuff, but sometimes I just find myself thinking about America and Columbus, and I don't care anymore. I just don't like things running out in front of me. I tend to think of myself as a lover of sorts, but I lose all that when you run in front of me. Even at the mall, on foot. I hate it. Let me summarize: even if, let's say, 347 retarded people (or Iraqis) ran in front of me, I would have a problem with it. My car is red, and this keeps me focused.

So fuck you, Deer. If there are any Deer reading this, remember: get out of nature what you put into it. Don't be so dumb to think that your father's father was flame resistant for nothing. So the next time you are engulfed in flames think about the logical progression and hierarchy of the horse, the zebra, and yourself. I didn't make it up, and everyone else knows this.