Subject of a Study

Éiden just bought himself an ENORMOUS pair of 10-inch tongs for feeding Bearded Dragons.

I was lying around in bed reading when he approached me and immediately grasped the fabric of my T-shirt in the tongs, which look like novelty tweezers.

“This species is an anomaly that continues to make for a very interesting study,” he said in David Attenborough’s accent.

“As you can see, the Wild Haddayr has a very interesting anatomy with extra quantities of loose skin that serve no function whatsoever.”

“And another interesting bit of anatomy,” he went on, gripping the flesh of one of my knuckles, “you can see the wrinkled flesh.” He shook it gently, turning my hand over deftly. “The Haddayr also spends great amounts of its time sniffing children with no obvious evolutionary purpose whatsoever.”

“And this evolutionary disadvantage is one that has baffled scientists for centuries,” he intoned, grabbing my earrings with astounding speed and dexterity. “Why would a Haddayr pierce its own flesh with bands of metal?”

He grabbed my sleeve again with the pincers and pulled it up.

“And why would it stab itself over and over with needles dipped in dye, forever marking it so that it stands out in the foliage?”

“This species,” he continued with as much dignity as he could muster as I began to fight back, “is especially difficult to study as it uses its fingers to viciously tickle the scientists.”

“This species spends most of its time peering into a computer screen, typing lies about various computer programs and products, and how good they are,” he concluded. “This also serves no evolutionary advantage whatsoever.”

Scoffing, my observer and social commentator rose from the bed and went downstairs to his dinner.