... come to Elysium.
No, today is neither to Cricket on the Hearth:
nor right-handed Yogi cultures
or totally relaxed Indians in Kaffeeklatsch vor'm Hairdressers
Today is about panties. To woolen pants. What are cotton panties? No, not what one takes as a rational alien under it in winter, but wool pants are hummingbirds. Yes, that is it, and no, I do not know who has missed them these names. During that time we had the shaman now properly reingepfeffert drugs and sent him along with his shamanistic Assistant in the woods to this ominous to see panties, you are now the term just to Google.
These pants, which is at issue today lead a quiet life. It does not interest them that they are just dying out and that some think their eponymous pants were stained dull, as it is good for hummingbirds. No, blessed them fly through the jungle to keep time on here and then on to stick their snorkel deep into any calyxes and are happy to, just to be panties. They think they are quite intelligent and think later, if they do not just fly around in more or less large panties swarms, often over whether there is life outside could enter the jungle. The black panties says, behind the jungle fell the world into a deep ravine, ergo it is there just too late and every wool pants that dares to look to the other side of the jungle for novelty, would inevitably fall into eternal damnation and in the worst sin case the All the people with tear in the fall.
The white breast panties turn believes his fellow doomsayers wrong. Certainly there is much to discover beyond the jungle. Perhaps even intelligent life, that the ever-hungry mind-wool pants could be a lot of input.
"nonsense." says the blue-belly pants. "There is nothing. Only death and destruction. This ugly, fur-less things on two legs come from there, but you are looking for intelligence as vain. They are far below our pants, can not even begin to chirp and have a large hollow skull and completely gloss, and shimmering loose skin. They grunt around just pointless, stumbling over roots begin our panties with nets and pinch ourselves silly rings around the feet. No, these things are certainly not intelligent. You can not even fly yes, and their movements are so clumsy and awkward that every pants if the sight filled with horror. "
" But perhaps, "countered the long-tail panties "We think they just stupid, because we judge intelligence only in the context of our own behavior. Is not that very limited? Just because we discover in the behavior of the two-legged pants no healthy minds, they must therefore not be stupid." Whether these words
rises wild singing and Gezwatscher. Calyx loose, vines fall from the trees, because they load the hundreds, can wear wool pants excited any more.
"Nonsense!" beep the Alpha panties and proudly displays its extremely plush Buxen. "We have seen them. You can not chirp, they can not fly and they do not shimmer. You have to be incredibly stupid. So it is, and so always be. I'm Twittering!
"It's this" Approve all, because they know that the hummingbird with the thickest pants always is right. It had always been and it always will be.
For a while the jungle yet met with wild Gepiepe. But little by little each panty revitalized his existence. Happy buzzing around it, sucking nectar, shimmers in the sun, is happy and satisfied. Only the long-tail panties, lonely and confused, remains at a loss on his Crouching road. Some of his breed him with contempt shitting on his back, and only the sloth from the tree next door is also a covered face on.
"You're a good wool pants." It says with overweight face and scratches his back, throw in the roughly five hundred parasites and caterpillars just a party. "But maybe it will take a while to get it to everyone."
"Amen!" thinks the hummingbird. "I know that God has created me in His own image. Somewhere up there, he watches over me and guide me. This powerful creature with the long Rauschehöschen."
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