You'd think that an extinct creature who was once purged from this living earth more than 10,000 years ago at the hands of a band of rogue redskinned hunters, only to return centuries later in the sunny climes of Southern California with a basic understanding of the internet and a tendency to talk about strip clubs and Asians, would be first picked by this group of forward-thinking scientists to be genetically reproduced and let loose in the wilds of Siberia, but nooooooooo, they have to choose the Wooly Mammoth.
Like I really wanted to hang out in "Pleistocene Park" anyway, right? I mean, what am I going to do all day with a bunch of deer, woolly rhinoceroses and saber-toothed tigers? Talk about the old times together, sit up against an ice floe, play a little shuffleboard, maybe squeeze in a quick round of nine par-threes.
Fuck that. Like I really want all that. Give it to the Mammoth. If he needs his glory days back so bad, give it to him. The AM keeps it on the modern tip. No doubt.
I mean, seriously, like I even care. Like not picking me to bring to life is really going to hurt my feelings. Puh-lease. Next.