Cannibal Water

I don’t trust water. It’s the ultimate shape-shifter. It can be an ocean, a raindrop, snow, steam, an ice cube, a form of torture, and since we humans are mostly water, it can be us. That’s when water gets really sneaky. That’s when water tells lies, splashes off with the valuables, drowns your heart, or floods your awards show. 

Which is why I make it a point to drink only MacFuddy pepper elixir. 100% laboratory created. Nothing natural about it. A delicious, manufactured concoction. MacFuddy puts the ART in ARTificial. Crisp. Bubbly. Synthetic as hell. That’s MacFuddy! 

I was enjoying a bottle of this very same, 0% natural, luck-infused MacFuddy pepper elixir the other night while watching the Golden Globes award show. I was tuned in to the only part I ever really care about—the red carpet coverage. Like my pepper elixir, the whole spectacle is completely artificial, which is why I like it. Fake is fashionable these days; whether it’s artificial turf, artificial sweetener, artificial news, artificial limbs, artificial nails, artificial flowers, artificial intelligence, artificial drivers, artificial reefs, or artificial hearts, there’s nothing nature can do that we can’t do better.  

So I was a bit put off when I noticed a coterie of women lingering in the background of the red carpet proceedings, holding trays of water bottles. Some nerve, I thought, flaunting the most natural thing on the planet in an environment of complete superficiality. You can keep your blue planet; I like my globes golden. 

The water is advertised as imported from the islands of Fiji. All-natural. Which isn’t necessarily a good thing. After all, nature is dirty. If a company is harvesting my drinking water out of some volcanic crater in the South Pacific, there’s no telling what may drop into it to contaminate it. No thanks, I’ll stick with my pepper elixir, created in a sterile laboratory by hazmat-suited chemists with icy hearts and no genuine emotion. That’s much safer than an open pool on a deserted island out in the middle of nowhere, or to put it another way, a jungle animal’s big toilet bowl. 

Just because something is all-natural doesn’t necessarily mean I want to go around ingesting it. If some big albatross goes flying by a Fijian ridge, sees the rippling blue waters, spreads its avian butt cheeks and drops a runny, white, all-natural deuce into that pristine crater lake, well, suddenly the whole concept of all-natural isn’t so appealing. 

And it gets worse. Mark Twain wrote about Fiji in his classic travelogue, “Following the Equator.” While interviewing a few of the natives, he learned of some unsettling habits of the indigenous tribes. Specifically, when some of the villagers were out shark-fishing, and their boats overturned, they themselves were eaten by the sharks. Then, when the sharks were caught, they were eaten by the villagers, and then the villagers, in wartime, were caught and eaten by cannibals, who washed it all down with Fiji water, that is, water from Fiji. 

I know, I know, I never realized it was so bad. Once a predator develops a taste for something that same predator will make it a point to go get it. That’s why a bear that eats a person is usually caught and killed. That bear has now added humans to its menu, and we tend to bristle about being anywhere but the top of the food chain. The same stands true for water that has held, for centuries, the microscopic bits of tribal warfare casualties in its springs and rivers. Nothing like a tiny dose of molecular mankind to arouse the bloodlust that causes humans to start feeding on each other. Which, when I think about it, is the perfect water for Hollywood. It’s a sea of carnage out west there. Swim with the strong, devour the weak, and wash it all down with designer water that has been the source of life for generations of cannibals. 

That’s when it hit me, a realization as clear as the bottles of water they were displaying, that the Fiji water models were all cannibals. Their eerie stillness, their predatory patience, that vacant look in their eyes, their disarming smiles, their vulpine ability to get nearer and nearer to their intended movie star prey—beautiful, terrifying vampires! 

It’s classic Baader-Meinhof syndrome, in which something heretofore unrecognized is suddenly identified and then seen everywhere. These blue-clad, cannibal beauties were swarming the awards show, ready to gorge themselves. So obvious, how did I not see it before? 

I tried not to be too hard on myself. After all, it’s difficult to spot a cannibal, unless they are eating. Once a person knows someone is a cannibal, it’s usually too late. The last thing they see is the big open mouth of the person about to consume them, and then everything goes dark. Their ability to blend in with the rest of us is most likely their biggest advantage. Special thanks to the Golden Globes for identifying the menace. I hope they took a head count at the end of the show to make sure no celebrity was fed upon. Actually that wouldn’t work. The heads are largely inedible. 

What have we learned so far: 

They’re camouflaged in blue. 

They hunt in packs. 

They are well hydrated. 

They’re drawn to glamour. 

They have agents. 

They look like us. 

The horror, the horror…

More Alembics…

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