251. The Call of the Mild

Once, a very long time ago, I was in a bar somewhere. Through sheer luck, the vagaries of the night life and stars aligning, I found myself making out with a pretty girl in the bathroom lines. Out of nowhere, a weird but absolutely swole bodyguard type came up to us and said, "Why this guy? Stop it!" He had a face of consternation, like he was completely depressed that people that weren't him were having fun. We left and had a good laugh about the poor guy and how jelly he was. However, maybe he had a point. 

Why was a pretty girl making out with me, a noodle-armed, balding, pear-shaped homo sapiens? Wouldn't millions of years of biology favor the bulbous hominid with the muscles? I mean I'm not complaining, but should I be worried about the human race? I never wanted to reproduce, I have no actual rhythm (which counts double against me as a Latino), and I have a mental health gestalt that I would call a wee bit below average. It's a miracle I have attracted any female of the species at all!

I wonder if this happens in the animal kingdom at all, like is there a Victoria Riflebird (like the ones I drew) that has cracked the courtship game and can dance like Michael Jackson but has terrible genes, like…. Michael Jackson? I mean, maybe your plumage is nice and all but your nest building, predator evasion and parenting know-how are shite. How can a lady tell?

The birds are based on a picture by Jan Wegener that I found on twitter. The background in the second one is from a picture of the place Rox and I met. While not as romantic as a bathroom line, it led to me actually keeping and marrying the pretty girl, who was not just pretty; but funny, smart, creative and wonderful as well.


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