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Thag Go Grunka Gathering!

By on August 5, 2009 in Skwibby fiction, Thag

Barley under prehistoric blue skiesEveryone at the Grunka Gathering was in good spirits, except Thag.

Every fifth or sixth summer, depending on the position of the stars, all of the Grunka clans would gather and share their stories, swap items (sometimes mates too) and have a bit of a prehistoric party.

It was a grand affair, and luckily for Thag’s tribe, the Thunka Grunkas, they only had to travel five or six days to join in the festivities.

But Thag was not having as much fun as he hoped. First of all, nobody was willing to swap for Onga, despite her beauty and physical charms. Her affair with the Thunka Grunka shaman, Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother, had become somewhat of a Grunka legend, and nobody wanted that kind of trouble. (Even though there were lots of mates willing to be swapped to Thag, despite his lack of physical beauty and charm. His cleverness as a hunter, and even more importantly, as an avant-garde cave painter was also something of a legend.)

Worse than all of this though, was the new respect shamans had for Weasel-Scratch-Face Brother. They were all quite taken with the idea that there were supernatural beings who controlled the element, and that only they had the magic to communicate with them. In fact, they had spent most of the Gathering eating mushrooms that made them act quite strange, and coming up with a list of these new “gods”.

Thag had taken to heckling them during these psychedelic meetings.

“Where god? Thag see no god. Show Thag god!” he demanded. Eventually the shamans had had enough and the Grunka elders told Thag to desist.

Then the Drunka Grunkas arrived to the Gathering with a new invention they were very excited about sharing with the clan.

“What be?” Thag asked his colleague, the leader of the hunters from the Drunka tribe, Barga.

“We drop barley in water, let sit sun. Good. Try. Make you feel all squiffy.”

Thag took the proffered skin, filled with this new drink Barga and his tribe had invented. It WAS good. A bit bitter, but there was something nice about it. And what was that delightful feeling in his head?

Suddenly, the shamans and their invisible gods didn’t seem so important.

“You show Thag how make? What called?” he asked Barga.

Barga nodded. “We show all Grunkas how make. We call beer.”

Barley and blue sky by illum123. More things that will make you feel squiffy can be found at humor-blogs.com and Alltop. Originally published in 2006.

Thag do revolution!

By on August 3, 2009 in Odd Science, Thag

wooly rhino -- dubyag had never been especially bright, but he was much worse after it kicked him in the headSomething was rotten within the Thunka Glunka Clan, and the putrid stench swirled around the vortex that was Thag.

The previously unassuming Thag.

Thag was a competent hunter, a low-key leader, once a loving partner (before his mate Onga had left him for the clan’s shaman, Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother) and a burgeoning artist.

It was Thag’s art that had caused the stench storm; in particular, a satirical painting showing how Dubyag — the leader imposed on the tribe’s hunters — had screwed the mammoth, so to speak. Thag just didn’t blame Dubyag, who was ambitious beyond his abilities. He blamed Bushenor, an influential Elder who had foisted the incompetent Dubyag on the hunters.

It had been a political decision that had caused the hunters dearly, and would, in turn, cause much hardship over the coming winter for the whole tribe. Some would die for lack of food. Just like the hunters who had met their demise in a poorly conceived hunt of a rutting (and enraged) wooly mammoth.

Since Thag’s painting had raised the issue, he was asked by the surviving hunters to speak to the Elders before a gathering of the tribe. Thag had reluctantly agreed, but he was nervous. Never before had he spoken to so many at once:

“Thag not like being center attraction,” he began, “but Thag speak must!”

The Elders were silent, though others of the Thunka Grunka Clan grumbled in the background.

“Elders make Dubyag leader of hunters. Dubyag not wise. Not Dubyag’s fault — him kicked in head by wooly rhino. Him bad leader of hunters. Some die. Mrogak learn fly when mammoth throw him from cliff. Not learn land. New Thunka Grunka with strange hairdo, Fonzag, get turned to jelly. Bad. Many hunters hurt. No meat to cure for winter. Many be hungry. Bad.”

Words were failing Thag quite seriously, but when he saw the others nodding their head — even some of the Elders — he plunged on: “all because Bushenor want me to take back Onga. All because phallus-with-ears shaman not want her any more. Bad. Not Thunka Grunka way. Thunka Grunka be not selfish!”

More grunting in agreement. It was true; for the clan to survive, everyone had to play their part. Everyone had to cooperate and sometimes, put their personal wants aside.

“Thag take Onga back, but only if Elders make him leader hunters. Only if Bushenor leave clan.”

Dead silence. It was a serious demand, for Bushenor was an old man. He would not live very long outside of the clan. But he had caused two hunters to die, and most of the others to be injured beyond the point where they could hunt big game. Many nodded when they saw the wisdom of punishing Bushenor, not his incompetent son, Dubyag.

And not a few took note that Thag did not ask for the shaman to leave, though much of this originated with his own selfishness around stealing Onga from Thag.

The Elders argued into the night, but finally agreed. Bushenor would leave the clan. But Thag would have to take Onga back, for the good of the tribe. And he would take Bushenor’s place on the council.

Both of which displeased Thag, but he acquiesced: “sometimes Thag have take one for team.”

Scientific explanation of why people need a push to cooperate. And these folks always play well with others. Originally published in 2006.

Thag do meditation!

By on July 20, 2009 in Odd Science, Skwibby fiction, Thag

Cave lions. The only good thing about was that they didn't hunt in groups. Usually ...Every morning before they started the hunt, Thag would sit down away from the others, close his eyes, and listen to the wind. It was more than that, but that is what he told the other hunters. Really what he did was sit, and let his mind go blank.

At first it would be filled with thoughts and concerns — mostly about Onga, his mate, and his running feud with that phallus-with-ears shaman, Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother. He would not concentrate on those thoughts, but let them wash away, and eventually, his mind would loosen, and he could hear the wind distinctly; its whooshes and gusts, its whispers, and then the smells would come to him.

This morning ritual heightened his ability to sense the prey.

In stark contrast to Thag, Gnock had another way of preparing for the hunt. This ritual involved a lot of shouting, and banging the shaft of his wooden spear against his head, numbing himself to pain, and more importantly, fear.

Gnock had been doing this since his brother Grunk had been killed by the wooly rhino.

One morning, Thag came back from his meditation earlier than usual, and told the other hunters: “go higher ground, upwind. Smell cave lions. Many.”

“Many hunting us?” asked Vlog, one of the sharpest hunters.

“Un,” Thag confirmed.

This was bad news indeed. Cave lions did not normally travel in groups, and they would not fear the humans if they had numbers on their side.

“Much goodly!” Gnock, who had stopped bashing his melon long enough to hear this news, said.

“You mammoth gas sniffing?” Vlog asked Gnock.

Gnock just grinned insanely, and said, “hunt us cave lion!” Then he started shouting: “here cave lion. Lion, lion, liiiiiii-on!”

“Gnock be quiet,” Vlog hissed.

Gnock ignored the sensible suggested: “Lion, lion, liiiiiii-on!”

Thag had been meditating, but if anything it made his reaction quicker. He used his own spear to whack Gnock on the back of the head, much harder than Gnock had been doing to himself.

The shouting stopped, but the trouble was just starting. The wind stopped blowing for a moment, and Thag heard something. He told the others: “they come. Climb trees.”

Vlog looked at Gnock and said, “what him?”

Thag looked down sadly at Gnock, and just shook his head. “Not time carry up tree.”

Scientific evidence: Meditation builds up the brain | Gene turnoff makes meek mice fearless. Other head-knockers and skull bangers here. Originally published 2005.

Thag want be millionaire!

By on July 9, 2009 in Odd Science, Skwibby fiction, Thag

Grunk's career had been cut short by the business end of a woolly rhinoIt had been an unlucky hunting season.

First of all, their big man, Grunk, got himself gored by a woolly rhinoceros in the first week of the expedition.

Grunk — always the big swinging dick that Grunk — had tried to stab it in the eye instead of dodging to the side. Still, if he’d been successful, that would have been sweet. They could have ended the trip right there. The jackpot. Instead they had to chase the rhino until Grunk’s massive bulk finally fell off the horn.

After Grunk’s wipe out, morale was low. Their youngest and cockiest hunter, Mrog, made the somewhat risky decision to prove to the others that the Thunka Grunka clan still had the moxy to take down any prey they wanted. Including cave lions.

Yep, Mrog had been an idiot. It was probably best that he hadn’t had a chance to mate before he became cat food.

That just left Thag as the only other hunter with an ounce of creativity or ambition. After all, if they came back to the Grunka village without a shitload of meat, his mate Onga would be sharing slappies with that bastard shaman, Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother the next time he went out hunting for sure. Especially since their last fight and the total failure of the shalli whacker.

So when they saw it, Thag knew they just had to take it down. It was the fabled unicorn — basically a tall woolly rhino with twice the speed, and twice the horn.

Remembering Grunk, the other hunters were keen to just let it go on its way, but Thag said no, they should risk it, but no hot-dogging. They would work as a team.

Later, Thag would remember that as the defining moment of his life, and always told the youngsters to take risks, but calculated risks.

It didn’t solve the problem with Onga though.

Inspired by:
Elasmotherium | Too scared to be a millionaire?. Originally published in 2005.

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