On the Origin of Fairies

The forest is a mysterious place. Why, you may ask? Because there are creatures there with which we are not well acquainted. Squirrels, flying squirrels, bats, flying bats, and fairies. Some of you have never seen a fairy, which is fine; I admit that I have never seen a flying squirrel. I will also admit that I've had my doubts about whether or not flying squirrels really exist, but legitimate heresay has convinced me. As for fairies, the evidence has been mounting for centuries. Really, need we deny the many stories and pictures created by our forebears? I would argue for naught, not, knot, and ought not. Obviously nought.
Anywho, many have argued against the existence of the fairy due to her changing form. As a self-certified biological etymologist, I would argue that this is simply another example of evolution. Through the process of natural selection, fairies have undergone an amazing amount of change (thus the nickname "changeling") over the past millenium. In Darwin's On the Origin of Species, there's an entire chapter devoted to fairies. Da Vinci helped him pen the whole thing ambidextrously in invisible ink.
Over the years, months, and moons, fairies have taken many forms. Their evolutionary trajectory has been an intriguing one; from the tall woodland folks as represented in The Lord of the Rings under the pseudonym elves, to the winged thumbelina-type fairies as represented by Julia Roberts in Hook. Of course, these are simply contemporary representations as presented by the media in order to give you an idea. Fairies, scientifically known as Homo faeriensis, did indeed start off not much different from ourselves, but their tendencies toward tree hugging and pacifism didn't coincide well with their Homo sapien neighbors. Pacifist tree huggers are only good at one thing in the face of healthy human violence: dying. Fairies (archaic form: fays) have had to adapt. Today only the smallest and most agile fairies have persisted in the form of miniature hotties with butterfly wings.
Some people confuse our stylish and less-than-masculine brethren as fairies, but in actuality they are not members of the species Homo faeriensis, but are members of a completely different genus: Metro sexualis. Confusion first arose here thanks to Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. Ha, as if Shakespeare knew anything about fairies or etymology! I'm glad we've straightened all of that out (pun intended?).
You've seen the evidence for fairies yourself. What are those weird noises when you're out camping? That's a fairy yelling at you to stop letting your dog take a shit in her yard. Where are your keys? Or your pen? Or your niece? Fairies took them, dude (or dudette). Don't let pessimistic Communists convince you that you're stupid enough to misplace anything. This notion is false. We modern humans (aka Americans) are far too smart to make such petty mistakes. Communist propaganda must be ignored. Nuclear fallout my ass.

Elusive green apple bat orgy

Driving around town, we decide to head north and hit up the closest 7-11. I'm hoping that they'll have green apple in addition to the normal selection of Coca Cola and pina colada-flavored slurpees. The weather has been turning for the past few weeks, so nearly all the leaves now blanket the ground next to the street while only a few cling desperately to their branches. Church's white Ford rumbles down the hill along Mountain Road as the soundtrack of Gladiator blasts out of the speakers. He cracks a joke when we pass the spot where I obliterated a deer one night during the previous summer. Church and I have been friends for years now, for reasons that are as difficult to count as they are to remember. Conversation between us flows back and forth as it always has, varying from politics, to movies, to girls, to sports, and eventually back to how our characters are faring in our favorite video games.
Pulling up to the gas station, I notice that the tree next to the south wall is thrashing and squeaking violently. Not being accustomed to audible trees, I'm determined to investigate. Standing in the overcast dusk overshadowed by the vast face of Ben Lomond peak, shadow clouds my vision as well as my perception of what I could possibly be seeing. Cautiously I tiptoe right up to the trunk of the quivering tree. Peering above my head up into the dark branches, I at last realize that I'm witnessing some kind of orgy between hundreds of bats. So many bats shock me, having expected something... but not this. I can't help but leap backward.
 Suddenly I'm distracted by Church's inquisitive voice, "Dude, what the hell is going on in that tree?"
"Bats. Hundreds of them. Just swarming around. I've never seen anything like this before."
"Weird. Do you have a camera?"
I can't reply to the affirmative. Most cell phones, including mine, aren't readily equipped with cameras yet.
After taking a good long look, we get our slurpees. No green apple. That elusive green apple slurpee never lingers long in one particular place. Mountain Dew will suffice until I find the green apple again.
I pry open the door of the truck and hop in. The cloth seat cover scrunches up as we slide into place, so I arc my back and smooth it out until it's lying evenly as before. Glancing upward, the peaks of the mountains are already blanketed in snow. Before another month has passed, Church and I will be snowboarding again every weekend. Not even a year ago, we skipped out on as many days of our junior year as possible so that I could teach Church how to snowboard on the relatively empty midday slopes. Church and I started off as kids on our elementary school's playground, I pretending to be a jet pilot and he playing Jurassic Park with plastic dinosaur dolls.
"So, basketball game?" I ask.
"Sure, bro. Video games after?"
I nod my head in agreement. Our friendship hasn't changed much in nearly a decade, and that's just the way I like it.