The sole remaining James Carville appears on a talk show, clearly feeling threatened and brandishing a talon.Although the remains of the first James Carville have yet to be excavated, it is widely accepted that it emerged from the ocean somewhere near 30,000,000 B.C. as a crossbreed of the coelacanth and an unidentified form of sentient fungus. Taking its first uncertain steps on the continent now known as Africa, the young creature scampered out of the harsh rays of the sun and into a nearby tree canopy, beginning its long and fascinating trek into history.
For several thousand years, James Carvilles lived in the shadows and sustained themselves on insects and the occasional wounded dinosaur. Masters of stealth and opportunistic attacks with no natural enemies to thin their numbers (Republicans wouldn't come for several millennia), they thrived and were given the luxury of a peaceful era in which they could multiply and evolve. As the end result of this period, they came to resemble velociraptors in many ways (size, general appearance, scaly hide, singing voice). Their razor sharp talons were used to eviscerate prey and straighten their fashionable neckties. Their craniums doubled in size, which served dual purposes. Increased brain capacity improved Carvilles' ability to outsmart enemies and debate the pros and cons of sleeping in tar pits, while the larger forehead allowed Carvilles to temporarily stun prey by reflecting the sun directly into their eyes. Much like the modern day gopher, James Carville was truly the ruler of the animal kingdom.
Then came The Comet, and with it the end of the dinosaur era. Within the span of a few weeks the population of James Carvilles plummeted, and they would have become entirely extinct if not for a small band that wandered into a series of caves in northern Europe. Here they fed on bats, took to inbreeding, and hibernated for decades or even centuries at a time. They developed wings to catch their meals more easily and grew to enormous sizes. In time they forgot about the outside world completely, until the outside world once again discovered them.
It was the middle ages, and humanity had come into power. These curious creatures spent much of their time kidnapping and rescuing princesses, waving weapons of forged steel about, and avoiding the Black Death like the plague. While adventuring for what they called "bling bling", a small party of knights entered a cave full of James Carvilles and awoke the creatures with their screams of terror. The James Carvilles chased the adventurers from their caves and were so enraged by the disruption that they went on a rampage, destroying all that stood in their path and eating whomever was unfortunate enough to face them head on. Soon word of these "dragons" spread, and large bounties were given to knights brave enough to dispatch of the beasts. Though the Carville had enjoyed the luxury and safety that comes with being at the top of the food chain for millions of years and survived the impact that had wiped out the dinosaurs, it was now facing certain extinction. In time only one James Carville remained, a pregnant female hiding in the deep woods of Scotland. The trackers had no problem finding a beast as large as her, and soon she found herself badly injured after an ambush. She swatted her attackers to the ground with her tail, roared a string of profanities denouncing something called "Tort Reform", and fled to nearby Loch Ness lake. It was water that had been the point of her kind's origin, and it was there she would return for safety.
Badly injured, she entered the water and fell into a deep slumber, surfacing for air every thirty years. Between each breath, tales of her appearances spread like wildfire and were extinguished by the fire retardant sands of time. In the 1940's she finally surfaced long enough to gave birth to a white-skinned runt and then succumbed to the wounds that had never quite healed. Her spawn emerged from the lake with his suit uncomfortably wet, but otherwise fine. The sun's harsh rays were irritating to his beady eyes so he scampered into a nearby village, where he grew up learning our customs and the value of earning a living. His first business involved charging an exorbitant amount of money to write dirty limericks for people named Rickhead or Jasshole (he only knew one good limerick). This business was a failure, and only provided him with enough income to live comfortably for seven years. After this he gathered his gold and took a plane to the U.S., embarking on a fruitful career in the world of politics which he picked up rather easily. Though this keen ability to adapt to situations is his kind's greatest trait, he is sadly not adaptable enough to reproduce asexually and further the line of James Carvilles. He may walk among us, but inside he is very much alone.
Although this update may have a different tone than you're accustomed to, I felt it was an important history to document for two reasons. Reason number one is to bring attention to the great peril which James Carvilles are in. Without extensive conservation efforts and major advancements in cloning technology, this may very well be our last look at a beautiful and fascinating creature. Reason number two is to serve as a cautionary tale. No matter how much your friends or spouse may pressure you, do not name your child Jasshole.
Sometimes I dream that I'm sitting in the back of the defunct Weinermobile as it careens driverless down the highway. At first I thought this was symbolic of the powerlessness I feel in life, but then I realized it's actually the Weinermobile's dream of being able to drive again.
Three years ago, when we were burying my uncle, Cleaver and some gross lady dog (Solstice???) showed up at the cemetery and starting going at it really loudly. It ruined everything and we had to have a "re-do" the next day and it cost a fortune. I've hated him ever since for that.
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