3/11/2010

Mastodon Migration....

No we may not have evolved and despite the magnificent changes in the world, Saturday night was surely proof that we were all alright with that.

The plan was simple. Hit as many local watering holes along the migration through G-Vegas as we could. Sample the ample variety of libations and most definitely, get into as much trouble, (legally'ish!) as mastodonly possible.

A message went out about a change in the planned route. Instead of 4:00pm at one location, it would be 5:00pm at another.

We're mastodons people, we don't deal well with change!

The herd had been separated and the nervous chatter was beginning to grow. One mastodon would head in one direction, guided only by the smell of opportunistic booze. Another followed along, never getting close enough to cause concern but clearly, close enough to alert the other to his presence.

Elsewhere, several small packs started to form in various areas. Something was clearly in the air! With tusks and trunks raised to sample the vibe along the migration path, movement started to become less cumbersome and awkward. The group started coming together as a herd again, a herd with a purpose.

The faces of several small groups of local dwellers told the story.

It was beginning.

The first to feel the thunder of the mass, was a small little watering hole on The Blue Ridge. A spot for maybe 60 some, holding just three tables occupied by the residents. They seemed unafraid at first, comfortable with calling the place home. But the herd showed no mercy. None at all! They plowed down anything in their way, for they were mastodons. Big, lumbering and un-evolved masses, that nothing or no one could contain. They destroyed all in their path, as they started to form a pack along the darkest back recession of the place. For the most part, with backs to the wall along the furthest reaches of the spot. Then some, skulking near or at the end of the bar in the darkness. All seemingly totally content to just hang and drink, as long as it was towards the bowels of the establishment. There was a great variety of drink, probably too much for a mastodon to comprehend at first. As several beasts were seen continually patrolling the service area, taking in the choices before them.

When all had been satisfied with a beverage or two, one mastodon made a circle of the herd with eyes clearly focused on the center. This mastodon had purpose and to me, this mastodon seemed to possess greater knowledge of the area than most. Something told me that this mastodon, had probably been at this watering hole before. Another joined him and the herd seemed startled at first. Restless shifts in weight and more trampling under foot took place. Something was happening within the herd, there was an eerie and uneasy feeling amongst the gatherers and it was palpable. Then the first mastodon spoke.

"Here are the rules for the migration." he said.

Rules?

Rules for some great lumbering beasts?
Rules defining how and what this enormous mass of flesh, blood and fur can and can't do along the way?
Rules despite the fact that we were clearly the superior size if not superior beasts, across the great land at the moment.
Rules for a herd that had just shown total domination in taking a spot away from the locals, that had previously called it home?
Rules? Really?

Despite my trepidation, the two in the center did appear wise. They were mastodons with a plan it was clear. I just needed to make sure those plans included me and my mate. For I'd have killed any and all of those that tried to separate us from each other, or our herd. I'm a mastodon, don't fuck with me!

As our newly self appointed migration leader continued, we learned that there were drinking rules, as well as rules of speak. Namely, you will drink at every stop along the way. No mastodon will fall behind during the migration due to a lack of hydration. We were reminded of the criticalness to the success of the herd, that each of us look out for and care for the others. Ensuring that each is continually and properly drinking along the way, was our only hope for a successful yet more than likely eventful migration.

The entire herd seemed to acknowledge the wisdom of our new found leaders words. Hoisting trunks and drinks into the air in unison, the collective grunt of the herd I'm sure, was heard throughout the land.

Mastodons will drink!

Now along with that rule, came one that I truly don't think the entire herd was capable of comprehending. We are mastodons after all! There is no record or historical evidence of superior intellect in our past. We trudge and trample, we eat, drink and crap. But our leader was asking mastodons to think. Historically at least, I thought that was an unprecedented path to take.

"You must listen, you then drink and only when the shot is completely and truly gone, you may speak. " came the newest words of wisdom.

At each watering hole, our leader would pose a question of the herd. A question so rich in local knowledge that it became abundantly clear to me, several of the leaders strongest followers had also done this migration before.

The herd was in good hands now I know. I was comfortable that my mate and I would be making the migration with proven veterans of the trip. Older and wiser isn't always everything. Sometimes a mastodon needs to give in to experience and local knowledge, then just go along for the ride.

The question was asked, the drinks had been downed and one mastodon stood above the herd and announced his response. It was the Pauly mastodon and according to our leader, he had done the herd proud. I knew right then that this Pauly fellow, was my mastodon for the race. I immediately placed side action with my mate, giving her the field. A brave and bold move on my part but hey like I said, mastodons are not known for their smarts.

The scene replayed itself over and over again,


at each and every watering hole,


we'd all gather around our leader and listen to his question. There were pretenders of course, those blurting out responses at random. There were other less scrupulous mastodons as well, thieving drinks from other mastodons and posing as a player in the herd. But then there was my mastodon, the Pauly mastodon. I stuck with him and ran screens and interference. I ensured the Pauly mastodon was present at every question. I even ensured a drink was available for him, when the others plotted a cruel plan to break him free of the herd. He's the Pauly mastodon and he's my mastodon in this race, don't fuck with him either!

At one particular watering hole, a rumble of panic spread across the herd. A beverage of choice had run dry and one of our herd was in trouble! The mastodons needed to come together for our weak link and help him rally. But who was it, and how could we help?

I trundled over to the bar for information.

As I surveyed the herd and started to ask what I thought was the appropriate questions to solve the issue, "Excuse me. Have you seen a particularly fuzzy mastodon around here?"


the answer presented itself immediately.

There was a deepening feeling of impending doom in the group, as we realized which of our herd was lacking the required sustenance for the journey. Acting quickly, my mate and that of the leader rallied around his plight.


The AlCantHang mastodon, now seemed capable of carrying on with the migration.

That wasn't the only time that the mate of our leader came to the rescue either! Later in the migration there was a moment where I was sure that I would not be carrying on. My tusks grew heavy, my molting fur seemingly carrying the weight of the herd as I trudged on. But she of our leader recognized my woes and was bringing me gifts, while encouraging me to continue.


The "gift" in this case, a seriously hawt pre-migration teacher that just didn't quite make it into the picture. But I felt her, I know she was real and hopefully, I'll catch that wild little mastodon again on the next trip down to the south if I make it.

As the migration started slowly coming to an end, I thanked our leaders for such an effortless and enjoyable migration. Their care in ensuring everyone felt the same about this trip, showed in every little thing they did along the way.

Oh and my mastodon Pauly?


He's the king of the mastodons now.
Don't fuck with him!

My sincerest thanks for dropping by....

3 comments:

KenP said...

Of course, the scientific community is awash with theories on the extinction.

The latest view is the 40-something ones started acting like 20-something ones.

It seems a pretty solid theory.

ROFL

lightning36 said...

..."for they were mastodons. Big, lumbering and un-evolved masses ...

Gold, Jerry -- gold!

HighOnPoker said...

Great post, Bammer. It was a very fun read.