The Vulgarian

THE VULGARIAN

Once a vulgarian decided not to crawl up on dry land and stay there for good.
The vulgarian was fully aware that a pivotal moment in evolution might have arrived and that the future of life on this planet could very well depend upon its decision to leave its marsh and breathe the air of a new world for the rest of its days.
Still, why put out the effort, the vulgarian asked itself with a yawn. What difference did it make whether you were in the vanguard of natural selection or somewhere at the rear? Who was keeping score on the rise and fall of life forms, anyway? More to the point, who even cared these days?
So long as the vulgarian could do whatever it pleased whenever and wherever it pleased, what else mattered? It could already watch anything it pleased online no matter how “crass” or “debased” others might call it. Or maybe bid on a certified replica of George Washington’s false teeth or a signed photo of a more recent president’s sprayed-stiff comb-over catching fire and vote for the most patriotic brewski, all at the same time. There might be something worth improving in society or defending to the death on the other side of the evolutionary dividing line, but all do-gooder types were liars anyways, weren’t they, so why even waste your time trying to find out what was true and what was not? Everything was a conspiracy in any case.
Besides, did today’s vulgarians lack for creature comforts and other wish fulfillments? From the local mall to 5th Avenue to Rodeo Drive, what couldn’t they buy? From Vegas to Miami, what easy pleasures couldn’t they indulge in. From “burgers bigger than your head” to this year’s latest diet craze, what hungers couldn’t they satisfy if they wanted to? Was there anything, for that matter, that wouldn’t offer non-stop self-gratification whenever it might be needed to boost a vulgarian’s sense that all’s right with the half-way life, thank you very much? This one had heard the standard claims that something of more significance was on offer besides the drowsy life it now lounged about in, but it took those claims “with a grain of salt,” as it liked to say.
The vulgarian had weightier reasons as well for hesitating to crawl up on dry land for good. Reasons of a spiritual dimension. Who would willingly give up drive-through churches and evangelical theme parks with cartoon “born-again” snacks for the kids and souvenir “Talking Tablets of Moses” for adults in exchange for boring appeals to help those who suffered in the wider world and those at home who didn’t have it so good neither? Not to be cynical about it, but what did giving strangers a little money now and then really do for your own everlasting spiritual wellbeing, the vulgarian wanted to know.
And what made those who urged it to view the future as a continuous advancement towards a better life for all creatures think they knew what they were talking about anyways? Couldn’t the whole of vulgarian existence be seen not as a mere stage in a long, upward progression but as the high water mark of it already? Vulgarians already knew plenty well what it took not just to survive but to thrive.
“So, why should I ever leave my comforting ooze?” this one declared, up to its eyeballs in the stuff. “Gill-breathin’ forever’s just fine by me.”