Why am I here? You’re seriously asking me that? That’s where we’re starting from? You know why I’m here. It’s all in that green folder you have there. Yeah, that one.
It’s not green? Sorry, I’m colorblind.
Anyway, you’ve got my psychological profile and case history in there, and that ought to tell you everything you need to know.
No, I haven’t read the file. Is that meant to be a joke? You know perfectly well I can’t read.
It’s not funny. And if I were representing your species I wouldn’t be the one cracking jokes. You ever notice all those big yellow warning signs, the diamond-shaped ones? The ones with a silhouette that looks something like me? You know why those signs don’t have any words on them? Because so many of you people—the ones that thought up this reading thing in the first place, mind you—either can’t read or don’t bother reading. Now, that’s funny.
Anyway, you open that folder up and the first thing you’re going to see in there is anger. Am I right? Stands to reason. I mean, every year, right about this time, you people—I don’t mean you personally, Doc; you seem like a nice fellow. But, every year, people dress up in those absurd camouflage outfits and go into the woods with high-powered rifles so they can turn me into a trophy for their rec room. Sound like something that might make you angry?
Next thing in there is what—probably childhood trauma? I thought so. Think about it from my perspective. One day, you’re walking around in the forest, grazing, minding your own business, and you lift your head up and see your mother, lying there dead. That’s trauma for you. That’s the kind of thing that leads to …
What? Forest fire?
What are you talking about?
I’ve never been in a forest fire. My mom didn’t die in a forest fire; she got clipped by a blue Honda Accord on Route 206, over toward Lawrenceville. Lay there on the shoulder for three days before one of you people loaded her into a pickup truck and hauled her off to the dump.
Wait, this forest-fire thing, is this out of a movie or something? I knew it. You people, it’s always about some movie or TV show or something. My brother Phil got killed last fall, and the guy who shot him—this 300-pound dumb-ass in a plaid cap—stood over his body and started waving his gun in the air, saying, “Say hello to my little friend,” using this stupid kind of Cuban accent. Turns out it was some line from a movie. Superior intelligence, my left hoof.
So anger, and childhood trauma, and you get antisocial behavior next, right? And that’s why I’m here. I know what your job is, and it doesn’t have anything to do with psychiatry or treatment. Let’s be honest. This is about you trying to convince me I shouldn’t be trampling people’s rosebushes.
OK, fine, but you tell me what I’m supposed to do. First thing you need to understand is that you people are on my turf, not the other way around. There’s a new development starting every other month, it seems like, you people tearing out forests and fields to build mini-mansions with your carefully sculpted landscapes and precious flower beds. And who used to live in these developments? Me, that’s who. Where do you expect me to go? A better question: What do you expect me to eat?
And then—this is the great part—you build these houses where we live, and plant flowers, and expect us not to come around and eat them. I mean, that’s rich. And you plant tulips! I mean, I’m no foodie. I’m happy grazing wherever. But you go out and plant tulips in my neighborhood—I mean, don’t go around blaming me if they’re gone the next morning. Because that’s just what’s going to happen. Ask around.
Tulips? Tulips are the best, especially when you pull on them just right and you get the bulb, too. Not everybody likes that, but I do, can’t get enough. Tulips are great. Tomatoes, a little later in the season, those are good, too. And cucumbers, some people plant them together, and it’s just delicious.
Yeah, there’s stuff I don’t like. Lavender’s one thing, just doesn’t do it for me. Marigolds and zinnias, all those little petals. Why do you ask?
Just curious? I see. I know where this is going. You got a flower bed of your own, is that right? Next to the mini-mansion? Don’t worry about it, Doc. I won’t hold it against you. You do what you need to do, I’ll do what I need to do. But if I find out you drive a blue Honda Accord we’re going to throw down. That’s a promise.