The Cold Hard Truth about Holes

Fact: potholes in roads are caused by nocturnal elephants crossing the road. As an amateur footprint expert (I have loved footprints ever since I was a little boy!) , I can safely assert that in the image below, 3 adult and 2 baby elephants had walked on the pictured road the night before.

A common tactic employed by these never-before-photographed animals is to fill the potholes their feet leave behind with a stream of concentrated urine. According to my research as an amateur biologist, they do this to hide their traces. They are “fixing” their damage as it were, or at least trying to, while feeling quite guilty about the whole thing. The explanation is simple: this particular breed of elephants are carriers of the OCD virus, which is the true cause of OCD in humans – like HIV, it is a disease that was transmitted onto humans by someone attempting to mate with an animal, in HIV’s case a particularly sexy monkey, in the nocturnal elephant’s case, well, one would hope it was just a size thing…

Naturally, to supply this amount of urine to fill all the holes they leave behind, the elephants must have immense water storage capabilities, and it will be no surprise to you that indeed they do. While the documentary “Dumbo” clearly showed how elephants can store water in their trunks and use it for “water sports”, the nocturnal elephant’s main fluid storage is in its urinary bladder. According to my calculations, an adult Nocturnal Elephant (Elefantum Nocturnalis) can store up to 25 bath tubs of urine in its bladder, and to fill these potholes, it has the capacity (as portrayed by Dumbo) to use its trunk as a hose. (Word of advice: do not drink from these potholes! While the water may look like chocolate milk, it most definitely is not!)

I am telling you all this, because the truth needs to be told. And also, because I’m hunting these fuckers down! I will be the first to photograph them, to capture them, and to finally put an end to my car’s shock absorbers’ worst nightmare!

Right after I take my pill…


Splitting Hairs and a Big Banana

I had finished counting my hair early, which gave me time for an existential crisis, a piece of chocolate, and some meaningless pondering about the concept of an infinite universe.

“Shouldn’t count so fast next time,” I mumbled to myself.

As part of my daily routine, I was counting the strands of hair on a patch of 4 square centimetres that had been marked by a thin tattoo. Together with a microscopic camera connected to my laptop, counting hairs in the marked patch took only about 1-2 hours of my morning. Given that the standard amount of hair on a human head is around 200 per square cm, any outcome above 800 was cause for celebration.

I could end up being “that weird bald guy with the square tattooed on his head”, but before that happened, I still had lots of counting to do.

That day’s result, 780, confronted me again with the ephemeral nature of life, a gut-punch coming straight from the cold, shrivelled heart of the universe (which means it comes from everywhere, technically).

How I looked forward to my mindless routine, to stop this train of thought dead in its tracks.

I had done many jobs, and regardless of what my job happened to be (And there were many… Fruit picker? Forklift operator? Horse inseminator? Banana bender? I’d done it all!), I always felt as if it wasn’t me doing it. As if somehow, the fact that I, the Chosen One, was doing all these mundane jobs, was all just a façade for my intense research for a new role in an upcoming film I’d star in, the film that would finally award me with the Oscar I’d always deserved.

For instance, when I started working in the orchard, it felt as if I was actually a fruit picker, as if this was my destiny, that’s how good I was at acting it all out, and then when my performance ended for the day, I got out of character and complimented myself on yet another stellar performance.

“Why would you want to be a fruit picker?”
“I need this job to put on a mask so as to hide for myself, for at least 8 hours a day, the cruel reality of the universe’s collected dark matter weighing down on my soul, crushing me cell by cell, ripping out my hair one by one in a cruel, decade-long performance on the road to insanity and incontinence.”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, I like apples.”
“You’re hired!”

The fact that I later ended up convincing Big Banana (as in ‘Big Pharma”, the evil conglomerate controlling the world’s supply of bananas, even making them slightly radioactive, just because they can (look it up!)) of hiring me, proves how well of an actor I’d become.

The next morning, I laughed at my existential crisis of the day before: I counted 1023 hairs that day. I knew it may not be biologically possible to grow 243 hairs in a day, but even if the truth would be an average of both counts, I’d still be 100+ hairs ahead of “normality”…

I smiled, called in sick, and spent my day in a tree.