The Boogle Saga

Boogles were creatures of mud. They lived in it, wallowed in it, defecated indiscriminately in it, had sex in it, and ate in it. And about that ...

The female of the species laid hundreds of eggs, which the male fertilized. Then they waited. When the hatchlings emerged, both parents fell upon their young, gobbling down as many as they could without choking. Fortunately, the number of hatchlings typically exceeded the limit of their parents' gorging. Maybe that's unfortunately.

But Boogles were not just gross, slovenly, gluttonous, infanticidal mudsuckers. Not just gross, slovenly, gluttonous, infanticidal mudsuckers. They had a moral sense. Very early on, they realized that there were good and bad boogles. A bad boogle was one who tried to devour your children before you had a chance. Good boogles were ... well, obviously oneself ... and others who kept to their own offspring.

And boogles were intelligent, inventive, innovative, and possibly other things beginning with "in." One clever boogle discovered that pointy sticks could be used to keep the babies from wriggling so much and to punish bad boogles. Before you could croak "Jack Booglinson," all the boogles were using pointy sticks. Of course, they still lived in mud, wallowed in mud, pooped in mud, and all the rest. But they also had pointy sticks.

A few generations after the pointy stick epiphany, another clever boogle discovered that you could hide from bad boogles with pointy sticks if you snuck into some other creature's abandoned shell. And you could defend yourself. In a twinkling, or a glooping, abandoned shells became the rage. So, although boogles lived in mud, wallowed in mud, pooped in mud, and so on, they did so with a bit of shelter, except for the ones too slow to snag a shell, and they tended not to live in mud as long.

The generations passed, and another bright boogle discovered that you could get around a lot faster if you climbed aboard a leaf and propelled it with your tail. This was such a success that, needless to say, all boogles that could afford a leaf adopted this faster mode of travel. This didn't stop them from living in mud, wallowing in mud, pooping in mud, or devouring their young, but they did get around faster.

As you may well imagine, it wasn't long until the next boogle breakthrough. This time, a boogle nerd was playing around, swabbing mud on dead leaves. "What if," it thought, "I let different shapes of mud squiggles stand for different ideas?" And boogle writing was born. This is not to say that they didn't still live in mud, wallow in mud, poop in mud, and devour their children.

After writing, the inventions and innovations followed ... if not thick and fast, at least thin and slowly. One day, a well-to-do boogle was lounging in its large, well-appointed shell with several other good boogles. They were watching a B-movie on booglevision and playing with their booglephones.

"We are the most intelligent, civilized, and moral species ever to inhabit this swamp," pontificated the host expansively. "Just look at all we have accomplished! Architecture, communications, transportation, war, even art! Clearly, Boog has put us here to have sway over all the other creatures of the swamp!"

"Indeed, we are the Chosen of Boog!" agreed one of the guests. "We alone were granted the Mud of Boog."

"Brilliant, self-aware, literate!" added a third. "We are the very authors of civilization."

And so they continued, congratulating themselves for the inventiveness of one-billionth of one per cent of their species. But they were still, after all, just a bunch of slovenly, gluttonous, infanticidal mudsuckers.