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Thag not talk much!

By on August 13, 2009 in Hinky History, Odd Science, Thag

Mammoth by ThagThag’s year with the Drunka Grunka was drawing to a close, and he was almost ready to head back to his own tribe, the Thunka Grunkas.

His relationship with the slender and beautiful Twigla was blossoming, and his artwork was a major triumph, despite the many critics within the Elder’s council of the Drunka Grunkas. They even liked the cow, though they were most excited about Thag’s surrealistic depiction of a mammoth stomping a shaman to death. At first, the Drunka Grunka shaman, Cave-Bear-Bite-Leg-Brother, had objected to the depiction, but then Thag explained:

“Him not good shaman. Him shaman of Thunka Grunkas, Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother.”

“Why don’t you like your shaman, Thag?”

“Him seduce Thag’s mate. Him demote Thag from leading hunters. Many hunters die without Thag lead them,” Thag amplified. “Him big phallus with ears.”

“Ah,” Cave-Bear-Bite-Leg-Brother said. “I grok.”

When the mural was finished, the Drunka Grunkas planned a festival to celebrate the artwork. A special brewing of the Drunka Grunka specialty, a delectable potage they called ‘beer’.

Thag had noticed that many of the Drunka Grunkas got quite chatty once they’d had a few bowls of their “beer”; in his experience, Thag was used to men not talking much, while the women of the tribe did most of the gossiping, gabbing, and generally keeping the lines of communication open within the tribe.

Because they had beer to supply calories, the Drunka Grunka men didn’t need to spend quite as much time hunting; in fact, they seemed to spend as much time hanging out talking as the women did.

On the other hand, the people of the Drunka Grunkas had noticed that Thag was laconic at best, and positively taciturn at worst. The Elders sent the shaman to find out why.

“You don’t talk much, do you Thag? But from your artwork, it’s clear you have a rich inner life. Why don’t you share it more?”

“Thag say something once, why say again?”

“But it would be nice if you could explain your artwork to some of the Grunkas that don’t get your art.”

Thag shrugged. “They not grok, Thag not make them grok.”

“But it would be –”

“Thag let art speak for itself,” Thag interrupted. “Besides, Thag go back Thunka Grunkas soon. He not be here to explain.”

“Fair enough Thag. When do you think you’ll be leaving?”

“Ah, soon. But now, Thag have something he do want talk about.”

“Oh, really?”

“Twigla,” Thag said, raising his eyebrows. “Her come with Thag?”

“Does she want to?”

“Yes. Her grok Thag.”

“Well, that will get tongues wagging around here; even more than usual,” said Cave-Bear-Bite-Leg-Brother. “Let’s have a beer and we can discuss it with the other Elders.”

“Thag talk on this. Yes!”

New Scientist story: Men talk just as freely as women. Mammoth pic by The Bucky Hermit. Other talkers and jabberers. Originally published 2007.

Thag grok cow!

By on August 10, 2009 in Odd Science, Thag

Thag grok cowThag’s sabbatical with the Drunka Grunka tribe was not as idyllic as he thought it was going to be, but on the whole, he was quite enjoying his stay.

First of all, the Drunka Grunkas had invented a delectable potage they called “beer” and it was good stuff. He’d already learned all he could about making it himself, and had even come up with the innovation of adding a plant to the mix that gave the “beer” an extra something. (The Drunka headman in charge of the beer called it “hops”.)

Then there was Twigla, who was beautiful and clearly was falling in love with Thag. Sure, she didn’t have the impressive bottom that the Drunka Grunkas valued so much in their women, but Thag was a Thunka Grunka, and they valued size in the top and the front.

But the Elders were driving him crazy.

In exchange for learning the secrets of making beer, Thag had agreed to paint the Drunka Grunkas a mural (and show his artistic techniques to anyone who was interested).

“You should make the next bull bigger,” Cave-Bear-Bite-Leg-Brother told him. On the whole, the Drunka shaman was much nicer than Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother, but he still had his own theories on art.

“And it should have an extra set of horns,” insisted Critarg, one of the Elders.

“Yes. Extra horns!” the shaman said enthusiastically.

“I think six sets would be appropriate,” suggested Critarg.

Thag sighed and continued painting. He drew the outline of a very small cow.

“That’s a cow!” Critarg shouted in horror.

“Cow good,” Thag said. “Some Grunkas drink its milk.”

“Not Drunka Grunkas. We only drink beer and water,” explained the shaman. “We don’t need pictures of cows.”

“Cows good,” Thag said, “me grok cow. Cow stay.”

Critarg threw up his arms and said, “I’m going to get the council.”

Just then Twigla walked by, waggling her firm, tiny bottom. Thag smiled at her, and continued smiling, even when the shaman, Cave-Bear-Bite-Leg-Brother said, “what if we draw a representation of the Sky God as a kind of super-sized Cave Bear with a lightning bolt-shaped phallus?”

Here’s the science of Reactance. And here are two other groups who might not know art, but who know what they like. Originally published 2006.

Thag not grok big bottoms!

By on August 7, 2009 in Odd Science, Thag

Grok big bottomed goddess?The trip back to the Drunka Grunka’s lands would be a long one — of all the Grunka tribes, the Drunkas lived the farthest away from the place of the Great Gathering.

But Thag was happy. For at least one season he would be free of his mate’s incessant nagging, not to mention her infidelities. And he wasn’t only leaving the frustrations of Onga behind — for many turnings of the moon, Thag would be free of the annoying shaman, Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother.

He was traveling back to the Drunka Grunka homelands to learn the art of making the delectable new beverage, beer. In exchange, Thag was going to paint a magnificent cave mural for them. So while he might be leaving his own tribe, the Thunka Grunkas behind, he was starting to see that there would be no shortage of behinds.

For some reason, the Drunka Grunka women were blessed with an overabundance of fundament — they looked like a herd of mammoth from the back — and it wasn’t until their second week on the trail that he learned why.

Twigla was a beautiful young Drunka Grunka woman, who was without a mate, and one evening as the Drunkas bedded down in their sleeping furs — most of them were paired off — Thag noticed that Twigla was unmated, and sad. In fact, she sat on a boulder at the edge of their campsite, watching the moon rise, a few tears glistening in the silvery light.

“Why Twigla sad?” he asked her as he joined her on the boulder.

“Twigla not have mate. Twigla lonely.”

Thag was intrigued, especially to hear that she had the same command of the Grunka tongue as he did.

“Why Twigla not have mate?” he asked. “Twigla beauty.”

“Thag nice caveman. But not true. Twigla have small bottom.”

“But shapely,” Thag observed, hoping he did not overstep his place as a guest of the Drunka Grunkas.

“Thag think so?”

“Shapely!” he grunted.

“But much junk admired by Drunka Grunkas. Big butts men get!” she wailed.

“Not grok,” Thag grunted. “Twigla beauty.”

She stopped sniffling and wrapped her arm around his. “Me glad Thag learn make beer,” she sighed.

The sabbatical was looking better and better.

Based on New Scientist Story: Stone Age junk. Humor-blogs.com and Alltop have junk too. Originally published in 2006.

Thag not wear hair gel!

By on July 24, 2009 in Odd Science, Skwibby fiction, Thag

Thag not wear hair gelIf he were honest, Thag would say that his affair with the nubile Vunga, the half-daughter of the shaman, could not last forever.

Not only was she was at least ten years younger, but eventually the Thunka Grunka clan would demand that he and Onga — his actual mate — start warming sleeping furs together lest the delicate sexual balance of the cave be upset.

He did NOT anticipate that the clan would adopt a knew beau for Vunga, but then again, her half-father, that foreskin with a forehead, Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother was in a position to smooth the way for a new hunter to join the clan, and he did.

Not that Thag was upset with Fonzag himself. Though he was quite short, he was a competent hunter; the rest of the hunting party got along with him too, though he occasionally worried them with the way he would celebrate a hunting victory, by turning his thumbs upward and issuing his trademark cry: “heyyyyyy!” And apart from this quirk, Fonzag’s only other failing (as far as Thag could tell) was an affectation he had with his hair, which he wore in a strange fashion.

The diminutive Fonzag liked to shave the sides of his head, and he made the remaining hair stick up like the spikes of a porcupine by using some kind of noxious combination of tree resin and animal fat. After a few hours in the sun, it gave off quite the stench, but so far it hadn’t scared off any prey.

On the contrary, it had captured the delectable, if fickle, attentions of Vunga, who had been sharing slappies with Thag because she enjoyed his cave art. But no more, now that she had Fonzag’s bristly locks to capture her attention.

Briefly, Thag thought about styling his hair the same way, but then he noticed the wayward look in Blodja’s eye. It seemed that she too was an “admirer” of cave art.

The fact that she was Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother’s younger sister had no impact on Thag asking her for a “walk” in the woods to discuss his work. Oh no, none at all.

More details about a prehistoric bog man who liked to slick back his with hair gel. Some of these people also have questionable grooming habits. Originally published January 2006.

Thag do art!

By on July 22, 2009 in But is it art?, Hinky History, Thag

horse cave paintingEver since he’d started making the cave paintings, Thag had noticed that the women in the Thunka Grunka clan had been looking at him differently.

Perhaps it was his position as the leader of the hunting party, but he thought it had more to do with his artwork.

Whatever the case, he was gettin’ some on a regular basis.

Nominally, he was still mated to Onga, but she had all but deserted him for that scrotum-with-eyes shaman, Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother. In fact, it had been Onga’s desertion, and his ensuing depression, which had spurred Thag into creating more artwork for the cave.

The younger unmated women of the clan seemed to like his deft representations of the animals they hunted, particularly Vunga, the half-daughter of the Shaman.

“It looks so spiritual,” Vunga would say whenever he completed a painting.

“Thag suffer for art,” he confided, looking pained, unsure, filled with angst.

“Oh, poor Thag,” Vunga would say, and then take him by the hand so that they could go for a “walk” in the forest.

On such occasions, Thag could swear he could hear the sound of Weasel’s teeth grinding from his shaman’s perch outside the cave.

“Thag do art for Vunga tomorrow,” he would promise as they walked into the shaded trees, her hips swaying like the boughs in the breeze.

You can discover more about Sex and the single artist here. Other sexy beasts here. Originally published 2005

Thag not like cut his toenails!

By on July 10, 2009 in But is it art?, Hinky History, Skwibby fiction, Thag

aurochOnga was always asking him to cut his toenails, and it made Thag crazy.

If he cut them too close, then he had nothing to protect the end of his toes. Good nails were especially important when you jumped on the back of an auroch during a hunt. If you didn’t have long enough nails, you might not be able to hold on.

Then again, he had to admit it was not auroch hunting season.

She could get really insistent, making veiled references to how well-groomed Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother’s toenails were. (The shaman was always trying to one-up Thag in any way he could.)

In fact, it was the shaman’s adroitness with cave art that got Thag started on it.

He couldn’t help it that all he could draw well were aurochs — which were an important religious symbol, of course, and the representation of which got under Weasel’s skin — and toenails.

Actually, it had taken him a while to perfect the representation of toenails, but eventually he got it down, and filled an entire cave with them (and aurochs).

“What?” he asked Onga. “I cut them off; I can’t paint them either?”

Modern long-nailed auroch-lovers exist too.

More about the discovery of Lascaux cave paintings. Originally published in 2005.