Son, we called this family meeting -- excuse me, this ZULGPARENTS MAN-HERD (did I say that right?) -- because we need to talk about something serious. It's about your decision to go paleo.
Your mother and I were 100 percent on board when you said you wanted to change your lifestyle. Of course, we were a bit surprised to find you in the gully behind our home, living your new life as Zulg of Clan Bone Fang, eating half-rancid bacon off the shells of scooped out turtles. Still, we said, at least he's finally motivated! You know, getting off the couch, giving up highly processed wheat, corn, and soy products, culling the excess turtle population. Maybe the transition from grad student to meat-obsessed protoperson seemed, I don't know, sudden? Gosh, we sure admired your zeal though.
But now comes this business with the saber-toothed tiger.
Look, your mother and I can be some pretty "hip cats" ourselves. Not like those other parents in Open Acres (A Gated Community.) Not a bunch of square-ents ha ha. It doesn't matter a lick to us whether you're gay, bi, queer, trans, or simply some kind of mindless, rapacious neander-you. Weren't we down to the gully last week to show our Paleo Pride? Didn't we try the grilled opossum after you grunted and leveled your spear at us? We're always open to learning about low-lectin foods - -even when we're not being held at sharpened rockpoint.
Look me in the eyes, Zulg. Focus.
You're our caveson, and we love you. We would never, ever want to undermine your perfectly valid choice to cut carbohydrates from your diet, and then use your advanced doctorate in evolutionary biology to bring back a bloodthirsty apex predator because you think hunting alongside it will give you magical powers. It's just the neighbors, they're getting... upset.
Turns out, and I was surprised about this too, keeping or resurrecting a long-dead super predator violates quite a few provisions of the Open Acres Community Charter. We live with others, Zulg. To put it in your language, ZULGPARENTS IN OPEN ACRES CLAN.
It's unfortunate, but even in a neighborhood as forward-thinking as ours, some small, tiny people will shut their hearts against anyone different -- even those who just want to live healthier, gluten-free, saber-toothed-tiger-riding lives.
We really did fight for you, son. Your mother stood up at that Bi-Monthly Meeting, looked Dorris Miller straight in the eye and told her all about the lovely porch paintings you've been making from goose dung and avocado oil, and how man is meant to worship and revere his saber-toothed feline masters, and how peanuts are not actually nuts, but legumes, and are therefore "poison" to the human digestive track.
No point in beating around the bush, son: we lost the vote. All those ugly rumors going around since the neighborhood pets started disappearing didn't help. You'll have to abandon your research turning big cats into bigger, meaner, toothier ones. What's worse, they revoked your pass to the Open Acres Fun & Aquatics Center because, and I'm quoting here, "it is not a watering hole."
Just want to make sure we're on the same page here: ZULGPARENTS NO HATE DEMON-TOOTHED-ONE. NO BLAME ZULPARENTS. NO CLUB ZULGPARENTS.
I tell you, no one's more disappointed in this than we are. I'm just plain torn up that you're not going to be able to keep a voracious man-eater a few hundred yards from the patio where I grill. Shoot. Darn. That's life, I guess. But just like your mother and I've adjusted to getting clubbed for buying Cheerios, you'll get used to living without a tiger. We promise. I know, it's tough.
We would never tell you what to do, but have you considered, maybe, bringing back a giant sloth? Big claws. Delicious slothy taste. You could still ride it into battle, albeit slowly. You'd probably just have to promise to keep it off people's lawns. Or -- wait. Here's an idea. What if -- this just occurred to me. What if, you know, we started eating pasta once a week? Or a Triscuit. A few Triscuits wouldn't --
Zulg? Wait. Where are you going? Zulg? No reason to be upset! I'm sure it was just the chronic hunger-based fatigue talking! I'm glad we had this talk, son! And if you happen to see the Millers' Fluffy around, could you make sure she gets home? No questions asked!
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