Where Can I Get a Pair of Ape-Skin Shoes?

Ape Skin ShoesArtwork: “Ape-Skin Shoes” by The Estrella Moon Workshop ©

“The more intelligent, the less tasty.” – Doctor Sophia Pendix

Life is a wonderful thing. From the primordial puddle, a gooey mess of amino acids stir for millions of years. From out of this puddle climb tiny creatures which scuttle about on the rocks, sniffing things and eating one another. In due course, these little creatures grow, and if they are lucky enough to dodge a few asteroid impacts and volcanoes along the way, they develop rudimentary social habits, such as table manners, and eventually produce something that can ultimately design the recipe for a perfect steak and kidney pie.

Mrs Cholmondeley, next door but one, used to be able to make such a pie.

She now makes a great pair of ape-skin shoes.

Today, I am in London. The hustle and bustle of the city offers a fantastic opportunity to witness a variety of social combobulation.

From the opposite side of the planet, a troop of apes has travelled here to point and take photographs of another troop of apes which is parading outside of a big house whilst balancing the fur of bears upon their heads. It’s a remarkable sight.

One leather-clad spectator seemed totally oblivious to that fact that if she’d travelled just a little further around the globe, she would have been able to see the fur with the bear still inside of it.

It’s quite common to witness this behaviour from Earth apes. It appears that a coat belonging to any species which has yet to develop the art of dining etiquette, is considered available for formal attire.

In fact, one ape had so obviously been in such a hurry this morning that she had inexplicably imagined that covering her feet in the skin of a reptilian was a good idea.

I have several reptilian friends who would find this quite offensive. Of course, not all races in the galaxy would agree.

For example; Ape-skin shoes are very popular in this sector of the galaxy.

A standard pair of ape-skin shoes can fetch over seven hundred cosmic dollars, all of the skin is used, and the meat of the human ape is considered a delicacy.

Traditionally, ape-skin shoes have been a status symbol for many of the wealthy elite of Earth’s nearest neighbour; Proxima Centuri. However, in recent centuries, the Proxima Centuri Group for Ethical Treatment of Humans has protested about the cruel and barbaric slaughter of Earth apes.

A prominent politician has called for an immediate ban on ape-skin shoes, suggesting that artificial materials are used instead. This has gained some support in the system, with student demonstrations, leafleting campaigns, and a renewed interest in the rights of sub-intelligent beings that live in a type 0 civilization.

However, traditionalists argue that a cull is an effective means to stabilize the increasing number of humans in this quadrant of the galaxy.

One hunter explained “The cull takes a conservative approach … so the number of humans harvested would stabilize growing populations while ensuring a continuation of healthy ape numbers in this sector.”

One backer even suggested that the growing number of humans presents a safety hazard. “…If we don’t act now, the entire quadrant could be littered with atomic bombs, nuclear waste and exfoliating plastic microbeads within the next 200 galactic years.”

I guess for some species, old habits are hard to break.

As is the custom, I took a selfie with the ape wearing a bear on his head, then buttoned up my coat, and left to embark on the impossible task of finding somewhere decent to eat.

Until next time, keep evolving!



The Road to Happiness is Always under Construction; Expect Delays

Expect DelaysArtwork: “The Road to Happiness” by The PPC Spectrophonic Studio ©

 “Don’t listen to inanimate objects. They’re all liars.” – Lord Timensely Witt

The rabbit knew it. I returned its expression of utter astonishment with a shake of my head, then watched it hop back into the hedgerow.

“We apologise for any inconvenience caused.” read the sign. I had trouble believing it. I suspected that all other signs were just as insincere.

Further on, the signs stopped apologising and simply became officious. “Expect Delays.” read one, “When the red light shows, wait HERE!” demanded another.

One sign even showed total contempt towards me by stating the obvious. “Road under Construction.” It brazenly declared.

I began to slightly panic by the threatening language used by the next sign “Three Months to Complete.” Surely, they didn’t plan on keeping me here for all that time?

I had just left one assortment of rectangular, cuboid and circular concrete blocks, known locally as London, as was eager to get back to the next.

I looked from my square window at the faces in the square windows of the adjacent geometric vehicles. Their glum, fed-up and frazzled faces stared despondently at the glum, fed-up and frazzled faces of the road workers.

It was strange that the prior knowledge of widening the slip roads, remodelling the junctions, installing traffic signals on approaches to the roundabout and upgrading existing traffic signals, which was essential to relieve rush-hour congestion and help them return to their concrete blocks a fraction earlier each day, was of no comfort.

As I waited for the temporary traffic lights to grant me permission to proceed, I reflected on an old cosmic parable.

There was once a species from the Triangulum Galaxy who had a particular skill for reshaping things.

They could take a tree and reshape it into a picnic table. They could take little bits out of the rocks and reshape them into a 24 piece cutlery set. They even learnt to reshape their reshaping tools into different shaped reshaping tools.

Eventually, this race learnt how to reshape themselves. They reshaped the size of their heads, the length of their legs and the width of their antennae.

They could even reshape their ideas into other ideas, particularly if theirs didn’t fit in with others.

However, try as they might, they just couldn’t find a shape that pleased them.

One day, as the story goes, a member of this race was having trouble sleeping in his reshaped bed and was gazing out of his reshaped window when he was struck by the reflection of his reshaped image.

The reshaped animals he was wearing no longer seemed to be as aesthetically pleasing to him as the unshaped ones. His reshaped plants didn’t appear to do what the unshaped ones did with the same enthusiasm and rigour, and the reshaped house he was living in suddenly appeared to be facing in the wrong direction. This, he concluded, was what was making everybody so unhappy.

Being a member of this particular species, a thought came to him at once. His race had been getting it wrong for all of these years. Everything was misshapen!

He immediately pointed this out to others, who all reshaped their opinions to agree with his, and so the race went on to reshape their entire planet all over again.

They reshaped the circles into squares and the squares into circles. They reshaped their picnic tables into cutlery sets and their cutlery sets into picnic tables. They even reshaped their roads to relieve rush-hour congestion and help them return to their reshaped houses a fraction earlier each day.

The problem with this race was, no matter how many times they reshaped their world, they just could never get anything to fit. Consequently, they became very agitated with each other, and so as a result, they all died out relatively quickly after that.

I was abruptly shaken from my thoughts by a furore of angry toots and honks. I had missed the temporary traffic light’s signal.

The rabbit knew it. It was back, shaking its little head at me.

Until next time, keep evolving!