The Saga She Continues, Like An Asshole on Speed

The Primitive Way (continued)

Ho, ho, ho. Mine relative he teach at university, 225 square feet of hut space, all for we learn to be less barbaric, ho, ho, ho, we not completely stupid. We not so fucking stupid we beat our spears into mop handles. Uncle Bogopurchase, he teach-ums how a mon have one Glock and only three bullets, how he keep assholes from fucking us completely over. "Three times bang," I say to him, "then we throw-um spears. We all laughed."

"But milkhead bastard he have-ums four rounds in his pistol. Perhaps he kill you." Again, peels of laughter.

We conduct funerals all day everyday. We don't get too fucking worked up. Sometimes you knit the woolly mastadon's cardigan sweater, some times the beast escapes extinction long enough to crush you to death. We are alive. We love. We laugh. As we learn at the madrassa, long ago the existentialists all say we be fucked. We say, "You fuckin' right, Frog Bastard." A