mercury
Fledgling Freddie
- Joined
- Jun 27, 2004
- Messages
- 1,044
Once, in the time we call the dim and distant past (or last-week if you have the shorter memory span) there lived in a lush valley on a fertile peninsula, two tribes of Homo not-quite-sapiens, which is to say humans who had not yet become civilized enough to kill or maim each other for sport. This made for a peaceful and harmonious existence in which inter-tribal fraternization was treated with amused tolerance, and provided you'd clubbed and dragged off one of your own tribe's maidens first, you could keep the second one for the week-ends (once the calendar had been invented). Game was plentiful, if rather shy, and the weather fine, apart from a little rain round the edges, and the odd frost which was good for the rhubarb anyway.
One of the groups had for its big chief a grizzled male with a name that translates into our tongue as Rocks-for-Brains. Now this guy got where he was by the utmost ruthlessness and cunning - which is to say he was originally a cheap hoodlum - but anybody who had expressed this truth recently had disappeared under more than mysterious circumstances. Just lately though, his cunning had deserted him and he had become one greedy son-of-a-warthog (as bitches hadn't yet been domesticated and so couldn't be used in colourful epithets). Many a father looked askance as he would snatch the tastier morsels from their babies' mouths, which was all very well until the ear-bending they got from their females in the dark of the night. The tribe's morale began to slide into despair. Hunting slowed to a crawl, which is not a good speed to chase your antelope at, though it might do for mammoths and tortoises.
Old Rocks would drag his hunting pack out into the forest and take up his usual position at the back, well away from anything that looked like exertion. One day, the rest decided they'd had enough, and crept away silently leaving him alone. Well, almost alone, for on ambling into a sunny clearing looking for his gang, and too lazy to tote even a spear, he came muzzle-to-muzzle with a large grey wolf. Now wolves in those days were not restricted to the colder regions of the planetary surface. In fact, they were not resticted at all, and wandered everywhere at will, except perhaps into the view of one of the larger felines. Although he was quite unaware of it, this particular wolf had most of his genetic material in common with what would much later become the Rottweiler, though the tedious matter of domestication had not yet taken place (see s.o.w above). Therefore he had no hesitation or qualms at launching himself at Rocks-for-Brains and crushing his windpipe in massive jaws.
"Bugger," thought Rocks as a couple of canines pierced his trachea, "I was just beginning to enjoy my alpha position in that particular evolutionary experiment in social order." He was not quite dead when his entrails were torn out, but not long after his essence shifted in to what is still uncharted territory.
The second tribe had for its head honcho an amiable old female we can call Momma-who-lubs-ya. She was extremely popular, as her interpretation of 'lub' was rather generous to say the least. Her idea of discipline was to have the culprit stand naked under a waterfall for an hour. Hardly painful, you might think, but the effects on the male tackle of so much cold water was a source of much public amusement when he came out. Girls were not considered suitable material for disciplinary proceedings, and a verbal warning always did the trick. Even in those days, girls had the sense to suck up to authority when it mattered.
After a hunt, young men would vie to see who could give Momma the best bits of the animal, though it has to be said that her reward may have been the root cause of this particualr quaint habit. This varied from a swift feel, to free nookie if it was a cold night. These people were in no way sexually repressed.
This tribe flourished. Art and commerce abounded. The cave paintings had to be seen to be believed. Spears and bows changed hands at a brisk pace. Due to the aforementioned inter-tribal communication many of the resulting offspring had parents from the two tribes, and soon it made sense to get together even more than just on the odd Sunday afternoon.
The two merged to everybody's satisfaction and to great rejoicing. And of course, as they hadn't fathomed yeast yet, there were no hangovers (or bread come to think of it).
Everything in the garden was coming up roses, which was a surprise as there wasn't much call for flowers. At this time about the only plants they cultivated were spinach (for the iron) and rhubarb (for no good reason anyone has been able to determine). And, to be truthful, gardens only came in much later - but you get my drift.
And the moral?
nn
:england:
One of the groups had for its big chief a grizzled male with a name that translates into our tongue as Rocks-for-Brains. Now this guy got where he was by the utmost ruthlessness and cunning - which is to say he was originally a cheap hoodlum - but anybody who had expressed this truth recently had disappeared under more than mysterious circumstances. Just lately though, his cunning had deserted him and he had become one greedy son-of-a-warthog (as bitches hadn't yet been domesticated and so couldn't be used in colourful epithets). Many a father looked askance as he would snatch the tastier morsels from their babies' mouths, which was all very well until the ear-bending they got from their females in the dark of the night. The tribe's morale began to slide into despair. Hunting slowed to a crawl, which is not a good speed to chase your antelope at, though it might do for mammoths and tortoises.
Old Rocks would drag his hunting pack out into the forest and take up his usual position at the back, well away from anything that looked like exertion. One day, the rest decided they'd had enough, and crept away silently leaving him alone. Well, almost alone, for on ambling into a sunny clearing looking for his gang, and too lazy to tote even a spear, he came muzzle-to-muzzle with a large grey wolf. Now wolves in those days were not restricted to the colder regions of the planetary surface. In fact, they were not resticted at all, and wandered everywhere at will, except perhaps into the view of one of the larger felines. Although he was quite unaware of it, this particular wolf had most of his genetic material in common with what would much later become the Rottweiler, though the tedious matter of domestication had not yet taken place (see s.o.w above). Therefore he had no hesitation or qualms at launching himself at Rocks-for-Brains and crushing his windpipe in massive jaws.
"Bugger," thought Rocks as a couple of canines pierced his trachea, "I was just beginning to enjoy my alpha position in that particular evolutionary experiment in social order." He was not quite dead when his entrails were torn out, but not long after his essence shifted in to what is still uncharted territory.
The second tribe had for its head honcho an amiable old female we can call Momma-who-lubs-ya. She was extremely popular, as her interpretation of 'lub' was rather generous to say the least. Her idea of discipline was to have the culprit stand naked under a waterfall for an hour. Hardly painful, you might think, but the effects on the male tackle of so much cold water was a source of much public amusement when he came out. Girls were not considered suitable material for disciplinary proceedings, and a verbal warning always did the trick. Even in those days, girls had the sense to suck up to authority when it mattered.
After a hunt, young men would vie to see who could give Momma the best bits of the animal, though it has to be said that her reward may have been the root cause of this particualr quaint habit. This varied from a swift feel, to free nookie if it was a cold night. These people were in no way sexually repressed.
This tribe flourished. Art and commerce abounded. The cave paintings had to be seen to be believed. Spears and bows changed hands at a brisk pace. Due to the aforementioned inter-tribal communication many of the resulting offspring had parents from the two tribes, and soon it made sense to get together even more than just on the odd Sunday afternoon.
The two merged to everybody's satisfaction and to great rejoicing. And of course, as they hadn't fathomed yeast yet, there were no hangovers (or bread come to think of it).
Everything in the garden was coming up roses, which was a surprise as there wasn't much call for flowers. At this time about the only plants they cultivated were spinach (for the iron) and rhubarb (for no good reason anyone has been able to determine). And, to be truthful, gardens only came in much later - but you get my drift.
And the moral?
'If you had Rocks-for-Brains, keep Momma sweet and she'll do the business for you'
nn
:england:
