Thought You Understood Evolution, Did You? Ha!

by Cowgirl Devoted to Krishna


The other day my brother said Primary Colors was so funny he was roaring enough to echo all over all the theatre, it was that funny, but then he said soberly, “God, even that will probably help Clinton,” and, you know, he’s right. For a long time now I’ve been ready to impeach the SOB with my bare hands, but now I’m starting to get a certain religious dread of the guy. I feel like those Transylvanians with torches who have to drive a stake through Dracula’s heart to make sure he’s dead, but even then are still afraid HE’LL BE BACK. I now honestly believe the guy is immortal. The only thing I can compare him to is the Ebola virus, but eventually somebody will probably figure out how to get rid of that too, whereas Clinton is like the guy in the Jason movies, except that he seems to be for real.

When I first heard of the survival of the fittest, I figured the fittest were strong and good-looking and understood hydraulics and could probably whistle with two fingers and fix Slinkies when they got screwed up--you know, pretty much what you’d consider the best and the brightest. But then I noticed all this counterintuitive evidence: cockroaches will inherit the earth, the unsightly not only mate but breed superabundantly, the stupid and mean live long and prosperous lives, and you can’t even wipe out mosquitoes without bringing down something equally unappealing on your head.

OK, I thought, viewing Clinton with disfavor--though back then I was still amused he was such an obvious crook and implausible liar and somehow always got away with it anyway (I am now more terrified than amused)--so maybe Darwin meant survival of the fattest: that would make a certain amount of sense, keeping the organism alive during famines and ice ages to produce pudgy youngsters, OK, fine. “Ho, ho,” said I, each time another member of


(a characterization I consider so actionable as libel that I would initiate a class action suit, We the people of the United States vs. the so-called Clinton Cabinet, if I could face the idea of hiring a lawyer and the fact that somehow some Clinton stooge would somehow make money from that too) was indicted for something, “looks like the Capital Rotunda’s buddies are in the soup again” or “Oh oh, the Old Makeout King’s been having trouble making a distinction between his professional life and his private life in the secretarial pool again.” Oh yeah, it was all so funny THEN.

I ceased yucking it up--that is, THE LAUGHTER TURNED TO TEARS--right after that Friday Monica poll that showed a 70 percent approval rate. Hiding in my house, I realized that if I went out onto the street where I’ve lived for like 12 years now, three of every four of the people I would encounter on this block, individuals I thought pretty much shared my premises--expecting the sun to rise tomorrow, refraining whenever possible from going out to the front lawn to throw up or get into a domestic fracas, almost never decorating the shrubbery with the severed heads of clan enemies--would in fact have recently hatched out of pods and be impersonating friends and neighbors whose bodies they had snatched. There would be no way to know which of the four was a legit human being, and within 24 hours maybe I’d be the only one in the whole town of Palookaville who would see anything wrong with Clinton.

So, yeah, I’m still in hiding and, yeah, I was right about the pods, and, no, I don’t think it’s all that goddamn funny anymore. What I learned in The Baltimore Catechism supposedly about God was actually about Bill Clinton: “He always was and always will be and always remains the same.”

If that maniac ever checks out of the White House, just count the goddamn towels, OK?