On the way back from Washington, D.C, I found myself stuck in the routine Beltway bumper-to-bumper grind. Always a bitch. My average speed clocked in somewhere near a geriatric quadriplegic bumbling along in a manual wheelchair.
I spent the whole time stuck behind a large tractor-trailer. After what may have been the third hour of traffic, the bulk of the trailer started swaying back and forth in violent trailer spasms.
My passenger and I shared jokes about illegal Canadian immigrants packed into the back, fleeing an oppressive regime that forcibly imposes foolish accents and the word "eh" upon its helpless citizens.
In a way, we were right.
After a few good jerks, the large cargo doors swung open to reveal a stampeding Canadian moose, head down, antlers arching towards the sky. In one step, the moose was clear of the back trailer. In another, he was stomping on the hood of my car. There was never any third step.
On that second step, using the front of my Tracer Trio as a springboard, the moose rocketed itself into the air, revealing the massive wings previously hidden alongside its flanks. Four more moose followed suit and arced their way across the sky in a "V" formation.
The flying moose is a rare breed. Actually, it's not really a breed, but more the warped imagination of two kids stuck too long in endless traffic. But it got me thinking--"Why aren't there flying moose in the world? It makes perfect sense; if whales and dolphins need air and swim around pretending that they're fish while actually nothing more than mammalian failures, why the hell can't moose fly? And if they flew, would they be called meese?" If the plural of goose is geese, it only seems logical to follow suit.
But I digress.
With all the vast improvements in genetic research, why not make something useful? Scientists need to stop fiddling with useless experiments like making monkeys glow in the dark and start turning their attention to something of actual use. The possibilities of a flying moose are inherently endless; from tasty barbecued moose-wings to moose taxis, cries of global warming would wane and my daily neuroses concerning the polar ice caps' melting would be a distant dream.
And really, while ethical questions surround the cloning of humans, there could be no such concerns about creating a creature whose sheer amusement factor is beyond that of even midgets.
It can only be so long before the genetic engineers of the world wise up to the foolishness of their ways. While nature may have glossed over the simple yet magnificent form of this mighty northern wonder, there's no need for the world to be deprived of the splendor.
Nearly two weeks have passed since my car was jolted by those hefty forms, since the front of my car was imploded by the hoofed King of the Skies. In those two weeks, I've done the daily routine, but for some reason, since the sighting of that flock of moose, life just hasn't been quite the same. I suppose there really are no dents in the front of my car.
But, for some reason, I wish there were.
