Allergies are killing me slowly. With each sniffle and wipe from my aloe infused Kleenex I feel the life force slowly draining from my body. Pollen floats about brazenly in puffs of dust and even giant cotton balls that take flight from our cottonwood trees. Stupid plant sex. Just seeing this stuff makes me cringe, it’s like living in a motel room illuminated by black lights – mystery spunk everywhere.
What pisses me off though is the supposedly effective theory of evolution. I really don’t understand how allergies slipped through the cracks.
I imagine my cave-dwelling Cro-Magnon doppelganger; we’ll call him Dug (‘cuz that’s how my name reads in cave paintings). Dug is a hunter, not a gatherer, basically because he has a penis so spears make more sense to him. One day Dug is out on the prowl and spots a boar. Dug smiles, baring a nightmare set of teeth that would wake a dentist in a cold sweat. But Dug is happy. He has found dinner.
The boar still has not seen him, so Dug raises his spear, obsidian tip glinting in the sun. Then out of the corner of his eye he sees movement. Dug spins his head and crouches, a sudden spike of adrenalin causes sweat to instantly bead at his temples.
Holy fuck! It’s a saber-tooth tiger.
Dug in trouble, he thinks to him self. The saber-tooth pounces on the boar, sinking its scimitar teeth into the swine’s neck, snapping vertebrae and severing arteries. Dug panics and runs for a rocky outcropping to his right that is riddled with fissures and holes, and he dives into one of the cracks and wriggles his way through a series of openings. But he has already been seen.
The padding of the tiger’s paws is amplified as the beast lopes up to the rocks. Dug obscures himself in a shadow and watches in horror as the tiger enters one of the adjoining fissures. Dug smells something funky and looks down. He has pooped. Dug thinks to him self, perhaps for the first time in all history, “I scared shitless.” He smiles at the thought. Poop is officially funny.
Time passes slowly, with Dug trying to stay as quiet as Cro-magnonly possible. Scraping sounds from claws probing the rock eventually fade away. Dug thinks he is safe.
He scales his way to the top of the fissure, noticing a pretty flower growing out of a crack. Dug is easily distracted and forgets the dangerous beast from before. He notices an appealing smell coming from the flower, bends his head and inhales deeply. Uh-oh. An annoying yet slightly pleasurable tickle forms in his nose. Dug’s face crinkles.
Dug giggles. That was funny, that flower made my nose go boom, he thinks. Then he hears a roar, looks up and sees the sabertooth tiger in front of him. He smells that same funky smell from earlier. He smiles and it’s the last thought he ever has as the tiger’s two massive canine’s plunge into his skull and Dug’s world fades to black.
Now Dug doesn’t have a head. It’s a fucking bowling ball.
This all leads me back to my previous contention. How the hell did allergies make it past evolution? Hundreds of thousands of years to weed out this ridiculous over reaction of the immune system and now we’re stuck with shitty drugs that don’t really work, unless you count the fact that they at least prevent you from gouging out your itchy, watery eyes or cutting off your nose to spite your evolved, flat foreheaded face.
So that’s it. It’s not the simple degrading experience of having a botanical money-shot popped up your nose, it’s the fact that we even have to deal with allergies after all this time.
Oh yeah, and Allegra is way too fucking happy of a name for an allergy cure. Has anyone on the marketing team at Pfizer even had allergies before? How about Pistofftra. I’d buy that.