Six wild elephants fell over a treacherous waterfall in Thailand and died after one of the herd, a 3-year-old, was swept away by the river and the others tried to save it, national park officials said on Sunday. (NYT)

It's difficult writing about elephants, because you need a permit to do so. And getting an elephant writing permit is no easy thing.
I went down to the Elephant Writing Permit Bureau last week, because I wanted to write something about elephants for my blog. You don't mess around with these people, not even online. If you don't get a permit they can come into your home and garnish your cheeses and meats. They can also have your car towed away and embarrass you at work by making you wear a bucket hat. They are serious people.
So first of all I had to wait in an outer office for three hours, just to get into an inner office to register for a Permit interview. After I registered (which costs twenty dollars, by the way) I was told to wait in Room 21 down the hallway. The clerk said this in such a peculiar way, his eyebrows raised and his pencil tapping nervously on the counter, that I asked if there was something about Room 21 that I should know.
"Well . . . " he began, looking around to make sure we were alone, "Room 21 is usually where they send the troublemakers. I had orders to send you there the minute you walked in -- have you been sticking your nose where it doesn't belong or anything?"
"Not I" I affirmed. "I just want to write about cute baby elephants on my blog, which doesn't even have much of a following. It's more of a hobby than anything else." 
He shook his head. 
"Well, it looks bad for you. Here's my advice -- tell the interviewer you really don't want to write about elephants at all. You just need permission to mention elephants while you rip members of Congress a new one. They may let you have a permit that way."
I followed his advice down in Room 21 and it worked like a charm. My interviewer, a withered old hag who could no longer even get her alarming red lipstick on straight, nodded her head in approval and stamped my Permit with a loud 'clang!' 
Then I went home and wrote my blog about cute baby elephants. I had barely pushed 'Publish' when there was a thunderous knocking on my front door. I answered it to find the old hag, her lipstick even more smeared than before, glaring at me. She stabbed me with a bony forefinger.
"You didn't attack Congress!" she snarled at me. "I'm revoking your permit and placing you on the Do Not Save From Zombies list!" As she walked down the front porch steps I noticed that one of her nylon stockings was falling down and that she wore a prosthetic. 
This was looking bad, so I applied for asylum to Norway. I talked to their ambassador a week ago and she is finding me a houseboat in Trondheim, where I can write my blogs in peace.
Of course in Norway you have to get a permit to write about walruses. But who ever writes about those big blubbery things? 

@RCPaddock  @bonimygi