Dear Farmers and Black Market Animal Traders of 2300 BCE:
My name is Noah, son of Lamech and ninth descendent of Adam. I am six hundred years old and I need to look at your animals’ pee-pees. Long story short, God’s sending a colossal wall of water to cleanse creation of wickedness, which means I’ll for sure need to take a peek at basically every species of animals’ nuggins and noodles within the next, like, two or three weeks.
To be clear: this isn’t something I want to do or have dreamed of doing ever since I was a tiny prophet in my mother’s arms and first laid eyes upon the sumptuous underbelly of our neighbor Jehoshabeath’s prized meat hog, and I’m definitely not making this whole flood thing up so I can go around the lands of Ararat and score a gander at a bunch of titillating animal down-unders.