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Sorry, we cannot heed the wilderness call right now, our inner beast is busy. With what? Well, oh, you know, slumbering and stuff.
But if we need to be more accurate, our inner beast feels like a bear in winter, hibernating like there's no tomorrow. Our inner beast is a rolled-up fox, looking like a fluffy cinnamon bun, dreaming of breakfast. Our inner beast is a sloth, hanging on by a thread for dear life, trying to stay awake despite it all. Our inner beast is tired.
How did we get to this situation? By not being beasts at all, just meme humans navigating life's wilderness made of society, civilization, and people.
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Judging by the time on our clock, the sheer volume of the birds outside our window, and the rush of andrenaline the was shot into our bodies once they started screaming their lungs out - we're going to bet the chirpy bois are going to win this.
Onwards to another day, started at 4:49 AM, with the delightful throat capabilities of birds that somehow ignore the fact that your window is closed and are still full volume-like.
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We declare her Dovelisabeth the II, queen of the United Pigeons, great empress of Wingia, and ruler of the seven seas. No need for gold and silver - you may shower her with bread and crumbs.
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