March 23rd, 20,000 B.C.
Dear Cave Wall Blog, †
Word on the path is that a new eligible young man has been seen on the savanah. But he's not a man at all - he's a Neanderthal! Not like my ex, Larry, who seemed like a homo neanderthalis but turned out to be a homo douchebag.
Why would a nice human girl like me want to date outside my own species, especially when that fling with the chimp ended so badly?
The problem is these "modernĒ human guys have evolved into bipedal pansies. Sure, they can talk all night about the latest technology (fire) or show off their latest handheld device (fire on a stick), but would they ever risk their perfect nails to dig a decent poop hole?
The bigger question: Would a unibrowed beefcake like Grog ever be attracted to an over-educated, relatively hair-less chick from the Upper East Side of the Rift Valley?
I hope so, because I would kill to have his babies. Specifically, I would kill his Neanderthal babies so he'd be more open to making babies with me. And yes, our offspring would be half-breeds and crazy good-looking.
I met Grog. I wasnít sure if he wanted to date me or eat me. He hit. I gauged. He clubbed. I fainted. When I awoke he was gone and my body smelled of urine.
Suffice it to say, heís into me!
We went back to my place and mated like crazy. Sexually there's a raw animal magnetism between us that I never felt with the chimp.
Weíre having communication issues. I knew Grog was the strong and silent type, but somehow missed the fact that he lacks the mental capacity for language.
To make matters worse, the cave is starting to smell. I think Grogís developed an allergy to gluten, which is weird as our clan still hasnít mastered cultivating crops.
Tonight Grog revealed he's been destabilizing a beaver dam above our village! Tomorrow a wall of water, wood and baby beavers will wipe out the entire clan. Iím upset, but proud. At least my human genes will carry on through my twin boys. Yes, I bore them last month, and no, I didnít blog about it because theyíre butt ugly.
Grog is dead.
This morning he and his 17 I.Q. points followed a wild turkey off a cliff. He seemed to realize his mistake, turning and signing "Bird" "sky" "Grog" "rock."†
Suddenly Iím a single mother with no provider and two rat-faced babies.
I asked Douchebag Larry to move back in. He said he would on one condition: I must first slaughter my two half-breed kids.
I agreed, though I knew it would make a mess of the front stoop and become a huge time suck.
As for Grog, I still miss the big lug. He was loyal and kind. But the cave does smell a lot better.