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Thag make sex toy!

By on July 6, 2009 in Hinky History, Odd Science, Skwibby fiction, Thag

That invents the first sex toyThag was preparing himself for a long hunting trip.

He’d already sharpened his fire-hardened spear, and collected fresh grasses for insulating his clothes and moccasins. The last thing he needed to do was cut himself a fresh set of knives for skinning the many mammoth that he would no doubt catch. (Well, him and the other guys.)

But he was worried. As he knapped a piece of shalli — the name they gave to their local flint — slowly breaking off flakes to create a sharp knife, he thought about the problem.

He’d seen the way that his mate, Onga, had been eyeballing the shaman, Weasel-Scratch-Face Brother.

He wasn’t supposed to think of Onga as his, per se, but there was just something so creepy about Weasel. The thought of Onga doing it with the gimpy medicine man made him itch with annoyance.

“Shit,” he said as he broke his skinning knife in two.

He looked at the siltstone he’d been using to knap the knife. It was long, tubular, polished smooth. He took the shard of knife and etched a ring around the top of it.

Yes, that looked about right. He would give it to Onga as a Parting Gift. Perhaps that would keep her distracted enough to forget the dubious pleasures of Weasel-Scratch-Face Brother.

And if it didn’t work out, it would still be a tremendous shalli whacker.

The archaeological evidence: ancient phallus unearthed in cave. You may also enjoy the primitive humor-knapping of these folks. The next chapter in the Thag Saga.

Originally published in 2005.

Thag grok free will!

By on August 7, 2008 in Odd Science, Thag

Thag grok free will!The journey back to the Thunka Grunkas had been a long and difficult one, but Thag had finally returned from his sabbatical with the Drunka Grunkas, learning how to make beer.

Along with this new technology, Thag also returned with the willowy and beautiful Twigla, his new mate.

Naturally, Thag had been somewhat concerned with how his old mate, Onga, was going to take this news. But he needn’t have worried. She had already moved on, mating with one of the most ancient Elders, Methusalag. This was a mating of convenience, really. Methusalag needed someone to take care of him in his dotage, and Onga was still making grunties with the Shaman, Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother.

So at first, all was well. He and Twigla settled in quickly — Thag returned to his post as leader of the hunters, and at the same time, started his first batch of beer. Twigla quickly befriended the luscious Vonga, and her mate, Fonzag, who had become a decent hunter; Thag thought he could someday lead the others when he was too old. With Thag leading the hunters and providing beer, the tribe prospered.

But in his absence, the Shaman had solidified his hold on the tribe’s religious development.

“It is the will of the gods that Thag has returned to the Thunka Grunkas, and their divine wisdom makes him brew us beer. They lead him to the mammoth,” Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother told the assembled tribe the night when everyone enjoyed the first batch of Thag’s beer.

“What?” Thag asked.

“It is not your own will, but that of the gods, that brings these good things to us.”

“You not want me go to Drunka tribe. Thag convince Elders.”

“This too was the will of the gods.”

“Where be gods?”

“All around us, Thag. Do you not see their work when the wind blows, when the rain falls? This too is their will.”

“Thag see wind. Rain. Grok no gods.”

Thag had enjoyed perhaps too many bowls of his first brew, and was feeling less inhibited than normal.

Fonzag who had also had quite a few: “Aaay! Let’s be cool.”

“What mean?” Thag asked.

“Not sure, but he is the Shaman,” Fonzag said.

“You should listen to your best hunter,” the Shaman said, “he understands it is the will of the gods that rules, not our own mortal desires.”

“Thag make own decisions,” Thag insisted as he stood up.

“No, it is an illusion. You just feel like you make your own decisions. See, you think that you made yourself stand, when in fact it was an impulse sent to you by the gods. But don’t feel down about it, Thag. A man of limited perception cannot see the will of the gods around him. That is why the Grunkas need the Shaman. Otherwise, we’d be guided by idiots like yourself.”

Thag looked thoughtful for a moment, and pretended to move away from the shaman. Then he hauled back his hunter’s fist, and punched Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother in the nose (with enough force to break said proboscis, and knock the smug Shaman off his feet).

Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother moaned in pain, and Methusalag said, “Thag, how could you?”

“Not Thag’s fault,” Thag explained. “It will of gods.”

New Scientist Story: Determining free will . Humor-blogs.com and Alltop also have free will, at least as far as the feeds allow. Originally published 2007.

Thag do art!

By on March 18, 2008 in But is it art?, Odd Science, Skwibby fiction, Thag

cave paintingsEver 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.