Ben Augustine


Ben has a gigantic brain. It hardly fits into his skull. Sometimes he has to let it out, like a badly tailored hemline. Watch out for his brain. It will eat you alive.

When people say to Ben: "Hey, how 'bout some field work?" he begins to convulse. Grass, woodlands, wild animals in the flesh, he'll have none of it. Because he's seen it, done it, poked innocent native children in the eyes. For now, just give him a desk. A computer. Mathematical models. Maybe a Snickers® bar to keep him sane. Don't call his wife for assistance. She will eat you alive.

Gigantic reams of data. Ben wants more. Terabytes of images and UTM coordinates and locations, and Capture/Recapture successes, and he wants more. Excel Spreadsheets. Don't you dare make eye contact.

Ben has some things to say about himself, but he's leaving it all to me. Big mistake.

© tboy 2014