Saying thank you to a person is a difficult thing. How do you subtend to another the feeling of gratitude that is little more than emotion; how do you intuit an intuition? The American Mastodon is accustomed to foraging for tubers and truffles. Those who study the mammal do not expect it to display human affectations.
The American Mastodon wonders. He wanders.
At times, the American Mastodon drinks alcohol, then immediately after sits behind a computer and ponders his existence. Thankfully, he knows that only two people read his blog, and he figures that they're not going to judge him any differently if he posts something slightly more inane than the day before. This puts a wry smile on the Mastodon's face.
Once, when the Mastodon was younger, he had a friend over and together they frolicked in his parent's yard. After some time the friend expressed his desire to ride the Mastodon's old, cumbersome red Trek moped. The Mastodon relented, because he liked his friend and wished for him to have a good time, but before he allowed his friend to ride the motorized bike, he warned him: Around the bend at the bottom of the hill is a patch of gravel; go slowly and be cautious, please.
Needless to say, the friend arrived 20 minutes later with a patch of skin missing from his right leg. "Did you wipe out, man?" the Mastodon inquired. "No, dude, I saw a friend and talked to him for awhile," replied the friend.
Man. The Mastodon always thought that was really weird. Like, really weird.