Chasing the Invisible Animal: The Continuing saga of the Sombodies -- Part 2

Sweat was beading on my forehead. Inside a rumbling crept up from my small bowel, causing my neck to tighten and strain. My head involuntarily jerked to one side. A sinister smirk appeared on my face, though not one of good feeling. I felt like letting loose with an inarticulate, primal growl that spoke only of the fact that I couldn't speak. I felt like early man. The non-lingual one that would bash his woman on the head while pounding his chest. I am australopythicus.

I had only come across two or three somebodies in my time, face to face that is. They all seemed to have an air, or odor about them. Not a smell, but a sense feeling. The French call it a certain I don't know what. I had tried to be one for awhile, attempting feats of will and strength that most men would crumble when faced with. But that was in the past. Hard work is for suckers. I knew it was time to live it up. It was time to put on those stunna shades and get electric man.

So here I am face to face, only a click away... And it comes... Pictures numbering in the high two figures... Somebodies... Those who chase elusive, the platinum plated-- the Invisible Animal.

But wait...

Wait just one goddamn fucking minute. What the fuck is this? Who the fuck are these fucking people? I know him. I know her. And that guy, I've seen him around before. A feeling of shock was setting in. I was walking among them the whole time? I literally walked the path of the great ones? We shared the same earth? This can't be right. There is no way.

Everything I thought I knew has vanished. Up is now sideways, and sideways doesn't even exist. Its all whats in front of me. Apparently these are the leaders of the new age.

But wait a minute. That guy, a somebody, he doesn't do anything. Why is he a somebody? He isn't particularly intelligent, he is not a great athlete. He doesn't affect the economy in any big or small nations to a noticeable degree. His voice is not heard by those in power. He can't walk into any bar in America and get his drinks paid for out of respect. Come to think of it, the only thing he does, and does well is drink beer. Oh and shots, he can take shots like no other. And that girl right there, yeah the somebody. She doesn't create fashion. She considers herself a beacon of style but she only ingests what was shown to her. She doesn't make the food for the children. She eats fathers givings. Do they have some sort of spiritual awareness that monks search for? That must be it. That dude! That's the one! The guy. He knows it too. When he's fucked up on the chic substances he totally knows that he could probably climb Everest, or write one really awesome movie, or lay down some killer riffs on the Strat' but seriously who has time for that. In between getting fucked up and all the bitches and myspace and the gadgets-- oh the time saving hip and hot gadgets! I mean, achievement is cool but who really has the time?

Now, the sweat is drying. The confusion is starting to wear off. Clouds overhead are moving slowly, almost rhythmically, I'm noticing a pattern here... suddenly my head is very clear. I'm beginning to understand something....