The first human philosopher is not remembered. His pursuits were not appreciated by the other members of his primitive tribe. Sometimes he would wonder to himself why his people did the things they did. This distracted him, made him slower in hunting and skinning, in building a fire, in repairing a shelter. His neighbors thought of him as, "the one who isn't as fast as everyone else" and "the one who isn't always listening when you talk to him." The first human philosopher never mated, and his propensity for distraction died with him. His siblings carried the recessive trait, however, so philosophy was not altogether lost.
When god was a kid sometimes he got so carried away playing in the afternoon that she forgot to make the evening begin. Afternoon would stretch on for what should have been days and days. Eventually people would become afraid and run to their homes and god had no one to play with. Then he would remember the evening and the sun would set. Eventually she fell into a pattern and the afternoons and evening marched in rhythmic succession. When god was a kid, though, sometimes he would forget.
The seventy-first human philosopher was the first to win a mate and pass on his genes. It was late one night, around the fire. He was sharing some of his ideas with the first bohemian chick. One thing led to another and philosophy finally got laid.
Hello, friends. I hope you're well. Are you?
Later. Love.
