Imagine you’re a tree in 2014. You lived for nearly 500+ years. As you slowly age you start wondering how your life may eventually end:
Maybe you’ll carry the written word of famous man. Possibly the next Shakespeare, Poe, Hemingway, Orwell, … as a leather-bound hard-cover, spreading poetry and wisdom?
Or you will continue your post-mortal existence serving humanity as a highly priced antique?
Possibly a more modest wildfire?
Well, hopefully not the victim of a property-development project?
Surely it won’t get this bad.
But there are rumors of tabloids which recently spread throughout these woods. You subconsciously know that it can always get worse. Things you’ve seen in your lifetime of 500+ years may be nothing in comparison. Evil things beyond your imagination.
… Like that one time, when an owl raped that poor squirrel on one of your branches, while 2 bats were watching and laughing, and after eating it took a shit on you.
The day comes and they cut you down and turn you into pulp. Your spirit lifts for a last time in hope for that leather bound classic. Maybe a Dr. Suess or some children’s classic?
To your horror they turn your fibers into glossy paper with more color than what is appropriate. You feel like a crack-whore before a gang-bang. Then they violate you with an illustration showing the naked ass of Kim Kardashian.
Your life flashes by you one last time: That young family having a picnic, … that couple making love, under the cooling shadow of your branches. That young boy carving a heart as a declaration of love into your skin.
And you’re glad to be gone and no longer have to witness the headlines of the article getting printed over your dead body:
“Kim Kardashian extending her buttocks”
RIP old tree.