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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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