Throughout the history of the internet, one absolute, indisputable truth has prevailed: No group has been as unanimously reviled as the geese. Always floating in the peripheral of meme culture, never quite becoming mainstream or dying out, “goosophobia” has survived for generations. It has ascended from a meme to become an axiom, a beacon of goose-hating light to turn to when everything else seems broken.

So, when I heard the idea for this page, it seemed only natural to me to pitch a goose-fighting oriented angle. This plan held for about a week in my head until a quick Google search revealed that most geese had legal protections under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act and California Fish and Game Code. The only possible way I could fight a goose is if one happened to be in a position to damage any private property associated with me. Convinced that the geese had bribed their way into the government, I settled for provoking a goose instead.

To find a goose, I had to think like a goose. Thus, over spring break, I spent a few days communicating with honks and being extremely annoying. I floated on my back in a lake from noon to 6 p.m. each day and built a nest for a store-bought egg just to see what it felt like. By the end of the week, I had lost a large portion of my dignity and gained a sharp intuition for the inner workings of waterfowl.

The next step would be locating a target. After a quick rehab period I returned to school and received a tip from an editor about a goose sighting near campus. I spent about an hour wandering around the neighborhood looking for a goose instead of studying for the APUSH final.

A few days of fruitless goose hunting passed until I finally caved and sent out an announcement on Facebook. Within days, a flood of two sources came in with images of geese. Why, I thought, why can they find geese when I can’t? At this point I realized that the geese had somehow discovered that I was hunting them and were actively avoiding me. The only possible explanation was that there was a mole (goose, actually) in newspaper! I couldn’t even trust my coworkers.

In desperation, I brought the project into deep cover, putting together a small team of trusted members and censoring any other information. I left the post on Facebook up because, as everyone knows, geese only use MySpace.

Over the next two days, I went on two organized hunts with two separate teams of three, once at Wildwood Park, and once around campus. Unfortunately, both these hunts were also unsuccessful. I simply couldn’t find any geese; they were hiding too well.

After these failures, I gave up on writing the story. My appetite plummeted, my motivation dropped and everything seemed trivial in the face of my defeat to the geese. On the second day, a vision came to me in my dreams. I saw a goose descend from heaven, enshrouded in light, wings drifting slowly. It was my inner goose, the embodiment of my suffering. It spoke in Idris Elba’s voice, telling me to go to Vasona Park. This was a clear challenge. On the morning of the third day, I opened my eyes, thoroughly terrified and confused. It was time to head to Los Gatos.

It was a Sunday when I finally stood on the grassy fields of Vasona Park, staring down an army of Canadian waterfowl. The geese stood scattered, occasionally bending down to chew at the grass. The wind carried the sound of distant intermittent honks. I picked a target, and slowly approached a goose, terrifying visions of beaks and talons running through my mind. But to my surprise, the goose slowly backed away from me. Huh, I thought. Maybe this one’s just shy.

I turned to another, and it also backed away as I approached it. I tried startling one into aggression by suddenly running at it, honking loudly. Although I did get many strange looks from passersby, the goose seemed ambivalent, only flapping a few feet away and continuing to chew grass. This was wrong. Geese were meant to be aggressive monsters, lashing out without warning. These geese were more docile than my pet cat, actively avoiding me instead of looking for conflict.

In the end, I may have unearthed a terrible truth about meme culture. The seeming axiom of goose hatred, the one constant that has persisted through the years of chaos, might all be a lie. I don’t know what to believe anymore. I may not have much time before they come for me.

This is a warning, and a plea, to all the citizens of the meme community, do not trust the system, they have lied about the geese. I am doubting the validity of the goose wars themselves. What I met today were not terrifying creatures of chaos: They were serene, quiet animals who avoided conflict. We have been fooled.

Be careful out there; now that you know the truth, they will come after you. Support your local geese — the revolution is coming.