Pissed Off Elephant Headbutts Tour Bus, Becomes #11 in Our Manimals Series (VIDEO)

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The scariest shit you'll see today. Possibly.
He looks a little pissed.

Not just this guy above, although holy shit. Elephants are all renegade badasses from the depths of Lucifer’s nutsack, and they wouldn’t want you to forget it. They adhere to a cardinal rule of nature: the bigger it is, the more dedicated to a lifetime of cast-iron assholeism it’s sure to be. (See also: Jurassic Park, a fine advocate of this theory. That green mutato-chihuahua thing that spat acid in that fat dude’s face notwithstanding.) The African elephant, then, can attain an obscene thirteen-feet-tall, 15,000 lb of leathery evil. Which is, as our resident animal expert concluded after extensive research, ‘pretty mother ‘effing big right there.’

Back in the days of yore (when Elton John hadn’t yet emerged from his delicately-perfumed closet and everybody thought he had merely strayed into a club named Men Men Men! by accident that time. Without his pants on. Which could, surely, happen to anyone), our pachyderm pals were widely-implemented in warfare. The ancient equivalent of a ballistic missile, seemingly, was several tonnes of riled elephant careering toward you; all tusks and Incredible Hulk-esque strength and fury. Oftentimes, these skin-wrinkled-as-a-vast-gray-scrotum behemoths would be outfitted in armor, and have a platform for riders/archers on their backs.

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"Is that shit in my pants? Yes. Yes it is."

The whole scene would, we’d venture, look thoroughly preposterous (elephant… armor?). If you weren’t one of about a hundred poor bastards all simultaneously trying to murder this mother by shoving a spear up its massive asshole, you could almost be amused. As the canny Roman army was upon devising a strategy to defeat these massive mofos: fighting lines would instantaneously splinter into columns, leaving vast spaces for the beasts to lumber harmlessly and half-wittedly through. As anyone that’s cruised about atop an elephant on a tiny, slightly camp little platform can attest (and who the hell hasn’t?), the huge bastards are about as maneuverable as the Chrysler building. In its befuddled where in the name of Satan’s balls did everybody go state, and from behind the lines, they could be stabbed/shot right in the dick/otherwise dispatched with much of the threat-factor mitigated.

Bonus points were -not- accrued by canny commanders that succeeded in sending the hapless war jumbos stampeding in pain/fright/balls-out berserker fury back the other way, into the assholes that unleashed these mothers in the first place. Mr. Elephant, after all, gives no shits whose face he’s trampling into the muddy, muddy ground. Fire was utilized to send them into paroxysms of horror, supposedly, with an (alleged) Roman proclivity for tar-covered pigs. When their porcine gonads were set aflame, the resultant sight/hideous shrieking (nobody thought to record the language of ancient pigs, but it’s safe to venture that their howlings translate roughly into, ARGH! MY BOLLOCKS ARE ON FIRE!) The Romans then proceeded to point and laugh at their pachyderm-pummeled opponents, before retiring to their army camp for many bacon sandwiches and/or a celebratory wank.

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The elephant was scraping flecks of alligator testicle from its stampy feet of mass-stampy for weeks.

Today’s elephants have retained these tendencies for belligerent bastardry. They are prone to spontaneous and often unfathomable acts of aggression, with bands of adolescents capable of razing villages when inebriated (because elephants do indeed get pissed, in both senses of the term). These kind of shenanigans are a stage beyond those of human youths, who are content to indulge in pantsing unwitting passers-by/the occasional drive-by shooting.

In a manner akin to the hippopotamus, their dickishness is exacerbated by their vegetarianism. Did they mistake us for a taste-tacular fatass seal, as a shark might? They did not. They are, in summation, just dicks. As one elephant professed in our exclusive interview, “Do we need a reason? Do we bollocks. I’m enormous, and I’m righteously pissed off. There’s your motive, right there. Besides, with your proclivity for murderizing us to fashion our tusks into piano keys, I feel entirely justified in stamping on your scrote and kicking your entire village in the face. Those tutus you make us wear for circus performances suck ass too.”

Think on, poachers.

Header image source: www.poliarc.com

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