The beer bottles fly over the land, watching cattle being propelled too; they fly for what seems like forever, past London and Madrid, Rome and Paris. As they fly, the bottles begin to feel something strange. That's right, feel. Due to Darwinian evolution, the bottles begin to see, as it seemed necessary to enhance their flying skills. Whilst some crashed into trees, those that could identify the obstacles moved out of the way and survived, continuing their flight-tour of the world.
Soon, the bottles evolved so much that the collection began to have their own personalities, and, as a necessity of that: mouths, to help them spread the cheer of their personalities. For a strange reason, they seemed to have Irish accents too.
"Ooh, ma friend, what is this weird sensashion?"
"We're beer bottles, ya know. We don't fly."
"Ahh, but ma intellect says that we're no ordinary beer bottles."
"Ohh, I'm worried that we're not bottles no more!"