12-018
Carbon Dating
by
Dave
Boerger
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 "modern” 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.
March 25th,
I met Grog. I wasn’t 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, he’s into me!
March 27th
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.
April 12th
We’re 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 Grog’s developed an allergy to gluten, which is weird as our
clan still hasn’t mastered cultivating crops.
May 31st
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. I’m upset, but proud. At least my human genes
will carry on through my twin boys. Yes, I bore them last month, and no, I
didn’t blog about it because they’re butt ugly.
June 21st
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 I’m a single mother with no provider and
two rat-faced babies.
September 20th
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.