Yes, it was Spring time in the mountain forests. Old Noah was still rocking around, one of the identities and well-respected characters. He lived in the back woods of the rustic small village of Good Blubbering. Old Noah and his family had built their own enclave, way off in the hills.

It was all very secluded. To get around, Old Noah had two big motor cycles, always there for his mid-life critical moments. He was now the President of Good Blubbering's garden society. He and his wives convened weekly meetings, to share their propagation stories, listening to guest speakers. They enjoyed munching on chocolate gateaux, or best rhubarb crumble.

Old Noah was by now a more than slightly chunky figure of a male. He thought he looked good, squishing his beer belly into his leathers. As well as his gardening hobby, Old Noah was also the local community mystic medium. He was regarded as the Good Blubbering's leader of the good ole God Squad. His sons and their wives fully participated in prayer revivals, beseeching God on his throne for better ways for all God's creatures, especially humans.

Unfortunately the teeming billions of the human race were feeding each other racism, armed conflict, and discrimination as they lived among the global flood plains. Half the world could not even afford malnutrition. Most of the global villages had forgotten to bow their heads and pray.

Even more catastrophically, Old Noah had a mysterious effect on the weather. His senior wife rolled her eyes, gazing through the kitchen window at her husband planting his Spring seedlings, among the hundred foot high weeds in their hillside back garden. Noah turned around, saying to himself, "I think someone's watching, apart from God." Yep, it was his array of ageing wives.

Old Noah was so old now, but still experiencing his male menopause. All his wives could recall that fateful day, many long years ago. Old Noah had planted forth his winter vegetable seedlings. Being such a mystic medium, he had caused a global flood, teeming rain for forty days and nights. In all that drowned world, God had sort of floated all those planned winter vegetables away. They had been washed down the slope to be drowned in the vast lower reaches of the mighty river at the back of Good Blubbering.

So, the rain set in that night, many years later. His wives rolled their eyes, and started packing their spare underwear and mega multi packets of Valium. "If you leave me, I'm coming too!" Old Noah sang, as he hastily constructed his new God Squad Ark.

That global flood, Old Noah was going to use his smarts. He was going to be the salvation of all that was best in human civilization. It took his mind off the first night of global rain, but he was still a capable, ageing, practical kind of mystic. The God Squad were all over this.

Old Noah listened to the sage wisdom of his almighty God, Yahweh the Divine. Old Noah used electrical wiring on the new Ark, for those long lonely male menopause nights, while his wives were hooked on Valium, not the least bit interested in his desires.

For true civilization revival, post the latest flood, Old Noah built two liquor cabinets, full of real hard liquor. Yes, hard liquor. He took both his motor cycles, all his leathers, and some favorite porno books. At his age, geldings were doing it for themselves.

The new Ark was wired for sound, Old Noah had definitely changed his priorities for this drowned world. Failing fresh vegetables, he added a junk food dispenser, with music. The theme song was, "I was made for loving you, burgers, I was made for loving you, fries." Old Noah was getting well prepared.

His sons could take all the critters, if they so wished. Enough said. Old Noah, for this revival and salvation, was ditching the mosquitoes, along with the black rats and bubonic plague fleas. The only wildlife he wanted on his personal Ark was that breeding couple of mystic, mythical unicorns. Old Noah found them foraging and splashing around in the rising waters, as all the rivers ran and rose.

Yes, those unicorns had made it to the survival. Not like last time, no indeedy. Those unicorns, and two dung beetles, were planning to make it through, for a new dawn of the mortals on Earth. Unicorns were so pleasing to both God and Old Noah.

They were quiet, easy to maintain, liked a sing along. They had hides of gleaming white, creamy foaming milky manes and tales. The unicorns were mystic medium healers, and blessed all who passed with their unique golden tingling horns.

Unicorns were always there for those long days and nights, listening to the rain. They let Old Noah cuddle them, always there for that mid-life critical moment. That did not say much about Old Noah's marital relationships with his wives. Really, there was nothing to discuss at the stage, as the rain tumbled down.

Yes, God did promise Old Noah the first time, that there would never again be a global deluge, no more drowning of the human race. What was left of human civilization did blame Old Noah, especially his wives. He had felt the need to plant more seedlings, all gone, disappeared.

Eventually, after those days spent revving his motor cycles, God turned off the great taps in the skies above the world restored. Old Noah and his God Squad had survived. It was a new dawn for what life forms had survived on their planet.

Land was sighted, all was good as old gold. Old Noah, full of hard liquor in all his best leathers, roared off to create a burger bar, with music. His wives tailed along, completely over Old Noah and his leaky boat. They were totally planning to suggest that their ageing male in his full menopause abandon his gardening pursuits. Strangely, peering around, the good wives found some underwater pumpkins, the remnants of the long gone winter seedlings. Vegetables were saved from this apocalyptic flood. It was a true alleluia moment. Older women do care about healthy, well balanced and nutritious meals.

And as for those magical, slightly mystical unicorns? Once again, they galloped off, splashing through the receding flood waters. Mr. Unicorn had his goals and objectives, he was after his manly oats with little Ms. Unicorn. The happy dances of the unicorns were back in a world God had saved from drowning again.

The unicorns raced off, fully delighted. They are still here somewhere, only a neuron away from the new God Squad. They leave only hoof prints in the emerald turf of time.

Well done, Old Noah. All the reprobates and munitions had been floated away. A fresh start was in order. Please ditch that garden club. Oh, Old Noah, you've done it again. It was male menopause, after all.