[stately harpsichord music]
October 3rd, 1835.
It is the evening of the one thousand, three hundred, and seventy-first day of my oceanic journey...
... and the second week of my stay on the Galapagos Archipelago.
The day began with my observing of the large, peculiar tortoises found on the south side of this island.
Over the course of four hours...
... I observed them move an estimated sixty yards.
It was super boring.
And in retrospect, I’m not even sure why I spent my time doing that...
... since I still can’t prove that they are a distinct species from the tortoises on my side of the island.
One thing I have been able to prove today...
... is that I’m gaining weight.
Which is not super great...
... because I’m already a big, ugly schlub.
Survival of the fittest? 
More like “survival of the fattest.” 
Good one, Darwin.
After gorging myself on a luncheon of oysters even though I know they’re terrible for me...
I decided I’d get off my fat ass and DO SOME SCIENCE.
I have thus far catalogued twenty-one distinct species of bird on the island -- fifteen of which are unique to Galapagos.
On Thursday, I was heartened to discover what I believed to be yet another species of bird.
So after journeying down a steep and thorny bluff to observe them more closely...
... I discovered that they totally weren’t.
Making my afternoon a total waste of time. 
But at least it gave me the opportunity to rip my pants and stub the shit out of my toe on the way back up.
Though today did not provide many satisfying answers...
... because that would of course bring me way too close to actually accomplishing something with my life...
... it did provide a number of questions for further inquiry.
One...
... are the tortoises on the south side of the island related to the tortoises on the mainland?
Two...
... if so, what is the source of their variation?
Three...
... why am I even here?
Four...
... is everybody back in England totally having a great time without me?
Five...
... why do I keep eating oysters that make me super fat?
Six... 
... why would someone of the opposite sex ever like me?
Seven... 
... why would anyone EVER choose to be a NATURALIST?
Here’s a list of jobs that are better than naturalist.
Chimney sweep.
Scullery maid.
Child prostitute.
Guy who eats shit for a living. 
Guy who works for the guy who eats shit for a living.
Gravedigger.
Apprentice gravedigger.
Slave.
ANY OTHER KIND OF SCIENTIST.
Well...
... as much as I’d like to keep doing this...
... I’d best retire so that I can get an early start tomorrow...
... watching more fucking turtles...
... and doing nothing with my life ...
... in a place nobody cares about.
Yours truly...
... Charles Darwin...
... Professional Asshole.
