Superbug

Scientists have discovered the fossil remains of a hyperintelligent woodlouse.

“No one would have expected such an advanced brain would have evolved so early in the history of multicellular organisms,” said an awestruck professor from Arizona.

The big unanswered question in why this brainy bug became extinct, whereas really stupid ones like the daddy-long-legs have survived to the present, entering buildings of their own free will and then crashing into walls like utter cretins as if someone had imprisoned them there. Could the woodlouse have been too intellectual for life in primeval earth, wasting its time playing chess and solving crossword puzzles instead of working out in the gym? Its brilliant brain wouldn’t have helped it escape from a big hairy spider – instead of running like hell it would have overanalysed the situation, making it an easy target. It reminds me of the nerdy doctors and lawyers who play paintball with regular Joes and get splattered from head to toe.

It’s probably just as well the woodlouse isn’t around today. The complex world of homo sapiens would be an ideal environment for it to thrive as a master criminal. A clever little bug could make its first billion by crawling into a mainframe computer and diverting funds to its offshore account. After that, it could run its criminal empire from a secret headquarters underneath a rock, sending out hit squads of killer cockroaches to eliminate its rivals and blackmail politicians. Pretty soon, all the aspiring hoodlums and gangsters would be paying homage to “The Woodfather”, pledging their loyalty by kissing the ring on its antenna.

Someone in dire need of a woodlouse brain is the man who made a scene at a restaurant because Richard Gere was flirting with his wife. The woman, a stunning blonde with melon-shaped breasts, was apparently “confused” when Gere started whispering sweet nothings into her ear. I don’t blame her. She must have been wondering whether he’d mistaken her for a man.

The husband reacted to the situation by growling at Gere like a cave man and chasing him out of the restaurant. He should have realised that film stars of Gere’s age are impotent – quite incapable of getting it up unless they’re primed with a cocktail of aphrodisiacs and strangled with a leather belt. Gere looks especially burned out to me. My considered assessment is that his libido matches that of an ageing slug. He may still have enough slime to flatter a woman with his well-trained tongue, but a man who has nothing but tongue can only go so far.

If The Woodfather were alive today, it would probably appoint Gere as its palace eunuch. It’s a job that perfectly matches his skill set. He could reprise his role in Pretty Woman by flirting with any prostitutes the woodlouse had hired for its own pleasure. That’s not something the hookers would mind too much. Being sweet-talked by Gere would put them in the perfect frame of mind to have a bug crawl under their skirts. 

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