Monday, March 27, 2006

Tossin Whose Salad

There are over 4 billion people here living on Earth. Possibly. It could be less. It could be more. I sort of made up that earlier number. It could be 3 billion, or 10 billion. I really wouldn’t know. Let’s just say that there are a lot of people here on Earth.

And yet, Earth really isn’t all that crowded. It just seems that way because we humans like to flock together. We can’t stand living all by our lonesome. So we build buildings and neighborhoods all packed together, with only the illusion of space created by walls and parking lots, and parks and trees, and other stuff like that.

The truth being that real trees exist in forests. They grow there naturally. And there’s all that real wilderness to live in, and we refuse to, all out of fear.

I mean, isn’t that the basis of half the horror flicks out there: being trapped out in no where’s land with nobody around to help you when you come across some nuclear atomic freaks, or some weird dude in a hockey mask out to poke you through the ribs with the broken off handle of a rake. Isn’t that what the Loch Ness monster is all about, or Big Foot -- being caught out in the real world with nobody to help you when big ole danger comes your way?

And I guess I can understand the fear. The real world is really unpredictable. You could be minding your own business, picking some berries or something, and all of a sudden a bear comes up and wants to eat you, or have sex with you, but I think eat you is probably more probable. And what do you do then. Lay on the ground and act like you’re dead? I wonder if that even works. Who knows. The bear could be horny. And look what you’ve gone and done. Laid right on the ground just like he wants you to, waiting for the sweet lovin to come. Yep. Now who’s tossing whose salad? Hmmm… Salad.

I should make a song out of that. Call it, “Now Who’s Tossin’ Whose Salad?”

It wouldn’t be about bear/man love. But it would be about, uh, salad. Maybe a love/hate song. The whole song would be from the point of view of the man whose chick cheated on him. And he’s telling her about how she’ll miss all the good love he’s given her throughout the years. The chorus would go like this:

Girl, you’ll be missin me kissin you sweetly
You’ll be missin dem late night treats
You’ll be missin my dirty little talents
Now look who’s tossin whose salad.