Hinky History

Human societies existed long before the written word, but luckily for us, not before PowerPoint technology. This makes it much easier for anthropologists, historians and people who enjoy humor to understand how humans developed as a species — from a sort of limited ape with no concept of how to style facial hair or take to the high seas and become a pirate, to the fully bearded, eye-patch wearing civilization we are all familiar with today.

Continued from Prehistory 1.1…

But being eaten was not the only worry. It was the major worry (apart from starving to
death), but eventually the weather started to get a bit cooler, and early humans started to think about
other things …

At this point, Homo erectus had finally achieved their goal of a much less amusing species name, and they became two different species, Homo neanderthalensis (or Neanderthals) and Homo sapiens.

The Neanderthals immediately started to improve on Ahk-ahk’s early “thing” technology, coming up with all kinds of intriguing designs, including a tool that “slices, dices and makes julienne mammoth!” Though the Neanderthals have been characterized as squat, hairy and unsophisticated, they greatly improved tool technology with what paleontologists now call the Mousterian Tradition. How such squat and hairy humans came up with the unsophisticated idea of using mice in the
creation of stone tools, we may never know; those paleontologists are a secretive group.

The Neanderthals were out-competed by Homo sapiens, and though their final fate remains a mystery, it appears as though they disappeared about 30,000-25,000 years ago. It has been suggested that Neanderthals did breed with Homo sapiens, the proof of which is the existence of otherwise modern humans with uni-brows.

While the unfortunate and soon-to-be extinct Neanderthals were happy with their mousedriven stone technology, modern humans continued to tinker with things, coming up with greater and more creative inventions. They made fine blades, harpoons, fish hooks, needles, and even created oil lamps. Paleontologists believe modern humans were forced to improve their technology because of the increasingly severe Ice Age. This is only partially true. Certainly, it was getting much colder, but much of the technological innovation was driven by a lack of beard-grooming implements.

Humans also started to create art at this time:

This flourishing of culture had unfortunate consequences too, leading the new species to experiment with drugs, find religion and start objectifying women, sometimes all in one go:

Next: The New Rock Age: Your Era at Work!

Also posted at humor-blogs.com and alltop.

Human societies existed long before the written word, but luckily for us, not before PowerPoint technology. This makes it much easier for anthropologists, historians and people who enjoy humor to understand how humans developed as a species — from a sort of limited ape with no concept of how to style facial hair or take to the high seas and become a pirate, to the fully bearded, eye-patch wearing civilization we are all familiar with today.

Roughly speaking, human prehistory is divided into three ages: The Stone Age, The Bronze Age, and The Iron Age (although amongst golfers this is known as The Difficult Short Game Age).

1. The Stone Age — Thag Do Invention!

The Paleolithic

In a similar fashion, The Stone Age is usually subdivided into three eras — the Paleolithic, the Esoteric and the Neolithic. Some paleontologists call the Esoteric the Mesolithic, or Middle Stone Age; like all middle children it is usually overlooked, but it was nevertheless the period after the Paleolithic and before the Neolithic.

The Paleolithic Age, or literally Old Age of the Stone, is the period we usually now associate with Disco, but actually predates the Seventies by up to a million years. (Though hairy chests were fashionable in both eras.)

In the Paleolithic, early humans were hominids we now call Homo erectus, and had few tools (apart from PowerPoint). In addition to inventing tools, these primitive ancestors worked hard to evolve into the species we are today, not only because their lives were unpleasant, dangerous, and filled with nasty smells, but also because they couldn’t stand it when other animals made fun of their name.

The first major achievement of Homo erectus (stop that) was stone tools. At first, the tools they used were really no more than rocks they found lying around the mosh pit (few paleontologists are willing to admit that Homo erectus were committed slam dancers), but soon they discovered that rock could be shaped.

Homo erectus continued in this upright fashion for some time, slowly improving their “whacking” technique until they could fashion all kinds of tools — stone axes, knives and eventually arrow points. They became proficient hunters, but even with sharp “things” they found eating raw meat a major challenge to their erectness. (It’s tough to stand up straight when you’re experiencing abdominal cramping.)

Luckily, the precocious great-great-great-great-great-great-(imagine 22850 more “greats” in this phrase) grandson of Ahk-ahk, Unk-ook, made a major discovery:

Yes, being eaten by lions and other predators was a constant problem in early human society, and
so, a method for dealing with the challenge was implemented, and it had some side benefits:

Next: Clothes, Art & The Advent of the Uni-Brow

Also appearing at humor-blogs.com and alltop.

Thag’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.

Thag really was starting to enjoy the Grunka gathering. His mate, Onga, was behaving herself, and even the new religion of his tribe’s shaman, Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother wasn’t bothering him anymore.

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.

As part of the swapping, Thag hoped to learn to make a new drink invented by the Drunka Grunkas; a delectable potage they called “beer”. He had tried to exchange his mate, Onga, for this training, but alas, even the most inebriated tribe in the Grunka clan had heard of her infidelities and general shrewishness. Instead, he agreed to travel home with the Drunka Grunkas and do a special cave painting for them.

He just had to get the Elders of his tribe, the Thunka Grunkas, to agree.

“So why do you want to return with the Drunka tribe when the Gathering ends?” their most ancient and wise Elder, Methusalag, asked him.

“Thag want learn make beer.”

“What is beer?”

Thag had brought a skin of it around, and shared it with the Elder Council. Methusalag drank first.

“But Thag, you are the leader of our hunters. You will be gone for turning of many seasons,” said Frettag, the Elder’s biggest worrier. “You best hunter. Thunka needs you.”

The skin came to Frettag, and he smiled. “Perhaps this is worth the effort. We think on it.”

The next day they met again, intending to let Thag leave.

“No! Thag should not leave!” Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother told the assembled Elders. “I have a new drink too, given to me in exchange for the wisdom I have learned about the Gods.”

Thag was surprised to see the Shaman. He had spent most of the Gathering in conference with the other “wise” ones of the Grunka clan, talking about the new idea of “gods” –supernatural beings who controlled the elements, and who, naturally, could only communicate with a shaman. When not discussing this nonsense, they spent the rest of the time drumming, chanting and eating mushrooms that made them act even sillier than this new drink, “beer”.

Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother passed around a skin filled with a white substance, that didn’t taste as good as the beer, but did have its own appeal.

“It comes from an animal that can be tamed and even eaten,” the Shaman said. “It called cow.”

“This drink does not have the same effect on your head,” Methusalag said as he sampled the milk.

“But cow-juice can come all year. All you have to feed the cow is grass,” the Shaman said.

“Hmm. That could be good,” the ancient Elder agreed.

“Beer come from grass too!” Thag interjected. “Need no cow, just how make it!”

“We understand Thag. We will think on it another night, and tell you our answer tomorrow.”

Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother crossed his arms and grinned smugly at Thag. The hunter didn’t even understand why the Shaman wanted him around. He’d been trying to get rid of him for years, so that he could breed with Onga. Of course, he’d had to live with her constant complaints too.

That night, most of the Elder’s Council was struck down by horrific fits of gas and diarrhea; it was later known in Grunka legend as the Night of Many Pongs.

“Thag not like milk!” Thag groaned to Onga as he clutched his bloated belly. “Me drink only beer.”

In the morning, the Elders told Thag he could go.

Based on New Scientist story: Early Europeans Unable to Stomach Milk. You will definitely be able to stomach humor-blogs.com.

Read the early Thag stories here…>

It had finally happened. No, the Thunka Grunka Clan was not about to finally get rid of that walking meat stick, the shaman Weasel-Scratch-Face Brother. It was not nearly such good news.

His ex-mate, Onga, had finally got on the shaman’s nerves.

Onga had left Thag for the shaman nearly a season ago, and in a strange way, they had been good times for Thag. He’d become the leader of the hunters. He’d discovered art — in the form of cave painting — and this artistic flowering had garnered him even more respect. (And nookie.)

But now the shaman was demanding that Thag take Onga back. This was a problematic request. First of all, Onga was pretty sure that she didn’t want Thag back. (She had, after all, left Thag of her own accord, even after he did everything he could to make her happy.) Secondly, Thag was absolutely sure that he didn’t want Onga back, even if he had to admit that his dalliances with some of the eligible women of the tribe were not as sexually satisfying as his long-term relationship with Onga.

A further complication was that in the summer the Thunka Grunka Clan were going to the Gathering, a conclave of clans that only happened once every few years. This was an excellent time to procure a new mate, or if nothing else, really party down.

On the other hand, Onga’s father, Bushenior, was one of the Elders, and he carried a lot of sway with the tribe. Things might get uncomfortable if the Elder decided to take a stand against Thag. There was already talk that he’d have the hunters accept his son Dubyag as the new leader of the hunters. This would be a disaster, as Dubyag was a cretin even before he got kicked in the head by a wooly rhino. So, there was the other hunters to consider — would he consign them to poor leadership, injury and possibly death, just because he didn’t want Onga back?

It made Thag’s head hurt, and there was no easy way to make the decision. Even his art was suffering, he noted, as the horse he was trying to draw ended up having five legs.

He would sleep on it. Ever since he was little, he always made better decisions after a good night’s sleep.

But first, perhaps that nubile Blodja would like to go for another “walk” in the forest.

Did you know that it was best to sleeping on it for making the best of complex decisions? Sleeping by fatal cleopatra. And humor-blogs.com is anything but sleepy.

Ever 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.

When he awoke, his mate Onga was less than a hand away from his face, smiling her most dazzling smile.

Somewhere, out in the forest, birds were chirping; bright light streamed through the canopy, illuminating the mossy forest floor with dappled patterns. Steam rose from the stream nearby.

“It’s morning!” Onga sang.

“Unh.” Thag said.

“Time to get ups sleepy-head!” Onga chirped.

“Mwarghh,” Thag mumbled, and buried his face in his sleeping furs.

“Let’s get this day going,” Onga burbled, her voice dripping with joy and happiness.

“Let me sleep woman,” Thag mumbled. “Had late watch last night.”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s time to get up and go hunt something.”

“Ahhhhh,” Thag groaned. It didn’t help that she was right. If he didn’t get up with the morning sun, he would feel off all day. But did she have to be so chipper about it?

“Grumpy,” Onga said as he sat up. She kissed him on his massive brow ridge, sashaying down towards the stream, where the shaman Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother was chatting with some other early risers.

Thag caught the meaningful glance between the shaman and Onga, and he groaned, pulling his covers over his head. Some mornings it just didn’t seem worth getting out of the furs.

The rhythm and blues of Monday. More moody bloggers here. Thanks to geinkin for the photo.

Onga 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?”

More about the discovery of Lascaux cave paintings. Other long-nailed auroch-lovers.

Thag 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.

Anaxagoras of Ionia presents “Hot metal, man” (circa 450 BC) –>slide 6

• sun is not Helios riding a chariot in the sky
• it is a blazing ball of metal
• hot metal, man, hot metal
• hey, it makes as much sense!

Diagoras the Atheist presents “Miracle, my ass” (circa 415 BC) –> slide 3

• so this wooden statue prevented ship from sinking?
• throw it (Herakles) on fire
• if it can perform miracles, then it should have no problem
• otherwise, his thirteenth labour shall be to boil my turnips!

Democritus presents “Ungulate theory” (circa 400 BC) –> slide two

• all things made of atoma (atoms)
• soul is just an exceedingly fine and spherical kind of atom
• or perhaps superstition
• in any case, it’s not that different from a goat.

Socrates presents “Method to my madness” (circa 399 BC) –> last slide

• you have accused me of atheos (refusing to acknowledge the state gods) and corrupting the youth of Athens
• it’s a fair cop
• you should know I’ve been inspired by divine voice, Daemon
• also, enjoy a nice pint of hemlock.

Epicurus presents “It’s all good — not God — baby” (circa 300 BC) –>slide 12

• if gods exist (if!) then they’re not interested in humans
• death is the end of body and soul (if it exists)
• not to be feared
• what is good is pleasure, baby, but not too much pleasure
• why I let women into my philosophy school.

More about the History of Atheism here [wiki] and more ungodly humor here. The disembodied floating head of Epicurus (who rocked) is based on a photo by dithie.

There’s no business like show business, even when you’re the Bard. I love this sketch about the creative process at work:

Less temperamental: humor-blogs.com. HT to Jennifer Rahn.

Germanicus presents “On Campaign with My Three-Year-Old Son” (circa 15 AD) –> slide 4

• Put him in miniature set of armor
• Army mascot
• They call him “Little soldier’s boots” (Caligula)
• Isn’t he adorable?

Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus (Caligula) presents “A normal childhood” (circa 35 AD) –> Slide 3

After father Germanicus died:

• lived with mother until the Emperor Tiberius (adoptive grandfather) banished her
• lived with adoptive great-grandmother (Livia) until she died
• brother Nero died in exile
• brother Drussus died in prison (either from eating bedding or starvation)
• went to live with Tiberius on Capri
• good times!

Pullox the fishmonger presents “A good start” (circa 37 AD) –> Only slide

• Lots of gladiatorial games
• Animals sacrificed
• He’s the son Germanicus (great general that)
• And let’s face it, after Tiberius anyone looks good!

Lollia Paulina presents “Something’s not right with that man” (circa 38 AD) –> Slide 12

• My husband the Emperor has been acting odd since he got sick
• I can live with the whoring
• Excessive killings
• But I really wish he’d stop insisting I call him “Hercules”.

Julia Agrippina (the younger) presents “My brother is a mad, mad pig” (circa 40 AD) –> Slide 2

• Has sex with me, Drusilla and Livilla
• Then declared us Vestal Virgins
• Also, he thinks he’s a god
• Dresses up like Hercules, Apollo and Venus.

Caligula presents “I’m not crazy” (circa 40 AD) –> Last slide

• I only kill people when they upset me
• Like, when they call me “little boots”
• I really