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SubjectOg dreams of kernels
{pound} {pound} {pound}
Og woke up to the loud noise of the villagers pounding on his cave door.
He stumbled toward it, grabbing the four numbered bags that he knew were
needed at this time.

Opening the door, Og looked at the villagers, all expectant, wondering
where this week's kernels were, what was delaying them, as they needed
their weekly fix.

Reaching into the first bag, quite worn out with a faded "27" on the
outside of it, he grabbed one of the remaining kernels in there and
tossed it into the group. A few small people at the back of the crowd
caught the kernel, and slowly walked off toward the village. Og
wondered about these people, constantly relying on the old kernels to
save them for another day, while resisting the change to move on,
harboring some kind of strange reverence for this specific brand that Og
just could not understand.

Og then reached into a newer bag, with a big "32" on it, grabbed one
kernel from the many remaining in there, and threw it at the group.
Some people dressed in odd clothes, red swirls, green lizards on their
heads, red hats on others, and one remaining group who, despite it being
very unflattering, always wore dull brown clothing, picked up the kernel
and ran away with it back to the village. They were going to use it to
send out to all of their sub-tribe members as they were the ones
responsible for handling this task.

The crowd was smaller now, and Og reached into a bag with a big "34" on
it. It only had one kernel left in it and he threw it at the people,
saying, "this is the last one." This seemed to stun the villagers who
grabbed it, as they had not been paying attention to what happened every
week. The look in their eye ment that they were realizing they had a
long few days ahead of them as they prepared contingency plans due to
the lack of future kernels.

Og looked proudly at the remaining villagers in front of him. These
were the strongest women, the most beautiful men, and the smartest
children around. They had changed over the past few years, becoming
brighter, and more adept and the changes the world was throwing at them.
They were self-reliant, taking whatever Og offered them, providing good
feedback, smart bug reports, and tasty treats of plum pudding during
the holliday season.

Og reached into his bag marked with a big "35" and tossed a plump, jucy
kernel at this final group, who instantly grabbed it up, thanked him for
providing it (unlike those self-absorbed 32 and 27 people) and ran off
to help spread the good news of a new kernel.

Og turned around, threw the empty "34" bag on the heap in the corner of
his cave, and glanced at the calendar. It would be a few more weeks
before Hera provided a new bag for him to distribute to the villagers,
so he would just work with what he had for now.

He stumbled back into the corner of the cave, and layed down, as he was
tired, and drifted off back to sleep, dreaming of tiny sheep on meth.

[This story brought to you by the USA Egg Council, reminding you that
you too can have fever-induced dreams caused by runny eggs eaten at your
favorite local Mexican restaurant if you so desire.]



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