There was a headline over an article I saw on the Internet the other day, which said the following:
"Neanderthals had sex with humans, says DNA".
According to the article, which I briefly scanned, a scientific study done by researchers at some snooty college someplace had determined, through the study of DNA from very early humans, that it's likely that these early humans had sex with Neanderthals, as the two strains of the human evolutionary chain passed each other coming and going, like ships in the night. The article contained all sorts of facts and graphs and such, all aimed at showing that, even in the early stages of their tribal development, humans (guys) were basically the same hopeless horndogs back then as they are today, tens of thousands of years later.
And I have a feeling that most of the woman in America would tell you that the headline is still applicable today as well.
Sadly, women have no appreciation for how difficult it is for guys to be proper "gentlemen", and the really sad thing is that, even if women walked around without makeup, without doing their hair, with shapeless clothing that revealed no hint of gender or voluptuousness, men would still be the disgusting, drooling reprobates that we've always been, going all the way back to Neanderthal days.
Slaves to your libido, man, thy name is hopeless.
According to a report in the newspaper The West Australian, the Registrar of Births, Deaths and Marriages for the region has effectively "banned" residents from using the name "Lucifer" for their newborn children, as well as other proposed names such as Messiah, 89 and King, by refusing to register any birth of a child with those names. (The report did note however, that in 2008, the agency allowed one couple to name their newborn twin baby boys "Bensen" and "Hedges", but Lucifer, sorry, folks, that's a no go.)
I just thought you guys would want to know that. (Hey, you New Zealanders, you guys rock. "Lucifer"? "Bensen & Hedges"? Cool.)
For you loyal and faithful followers of His Popeness, John The Tall of the All John All The Time World Church, you will recall that the Harley Dog and I were recently sent by the Bored Of Elders of the AJATTWC on one of our frequent "missionary" trips to the Pines Of Phillip, down near New Zealand, to interview both the director of their national health organization, Dr. Gary Indiana, to learn more about the ban that he has placed on the sale of geckos, the small, green lizard that has become the symbol of Geico Insurance, over the Internet to be used as a treatment for impotency, as well as the owner of a three-legged pig that was allegedly involved in a miracle. (The pig, not the owner. See my post from 7/19, for these stories, as well as a brief discussion as to why "Flaming Iguanas" would be a great name for a rock band.)
After we had completed all of our assigned duties, (including having dinner with Petras Moss, the Filipino farmer who owned the miraculous pig; Mrs. Petras served a delicious ham, with fresh vegetables and homemade biscuits, and there's still two to go, and unless you read the post from 7/19, that won't make any sense to you), we packed up our gear and boarded my atomic powered rocket ship, the Royal Unionship Kidding (RU Kidding for short) for what should have been a quick return trip to the headquarters of the AJATTWC, located in the bucolic and mostly confused San Fernando Valley area of LA (pronounced LAH). Given that LA and the Pines Of Phillip are fairly close for a vessel equipped with HyperAromaDrive (it's only about six inches on my world map), it was supposed to be a quick trip, no more than an hour and a half or so, or about the same amount of time it took Justin Bieber to become a non-issue.
(Oh, and speaking of the music industry, using the term "music" in Justin Bieber's case very loosely, what a shame about Amy Winehouse. I thought her music interesting, but did not particularly like her as a person. Nevertheless, what a waste, and how sad for her family.)
Anyway, we were just passing over the Sargasso Sea (yeah, Pope, and you can't tell this is all made up or anything; the Sargasso Sea is in the North Atlantic, you doofus, and we were returning over the South Pacific, which, by the way, was the name of a really great musical from back in the late 50's..."some enchanted evening..."; thank you, Rogers and Hammerstein), when the voice of our pilot, Captain Art Sencrafts, came over the intercom.
"Pope, you, Mike and Harley might want to buckle in now, it looks like we're going to run into some unusual turbulence as we make our reentry," he said.
I turned to my consigliore, the Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan (no, not the one who does all the Hanes underwear commercials), who looked back at me with what I suppose was the same quizzical look I had on my face on his face. Harley looked puzzled too, but then, Harley always looks a little puzzled.
"What's this all about?" I said, as we buckled into our "boost" seats.
"Beats me, maybe there's some weather thing over LA," Mike responded, as he turned to help Harley with his special harness.
""Weather thing over LA"? Since when are there "weather things" over LA in July?"
"Yeah, well, who knows, may..." Mike's sentence was cutoff, mid-word, when the ship suddenly lurched to the starboard side and then made a steep drop, like the floor had fallen out from under us.
We came to an abrupt halt at the bottom of the drop, and then lurched again, this time to port, and then the ship seemed to right itself and level off; problem was, looking out the portholes, we weren't in upper stratosphere of Earth, where we should have been. Instead, we were cruising right along, with a dark, starless night outside, and no planet below us. In fact, it didn't look like there was ANYTHING outside the windows.
It was as if the Earth, all the stars, all the planets, all the nebulae, and the platypuseses, everything was gone. Then I blinked, and everything dropped back into "normal" mode.
Just then, Captain Sencrafts burst into the passenger cabin. "Is everyone all right?" he asked us, a little wild-eyed.
I looked over at Mike and at Harley, and they both nodded. "Yeah, Art, we're fine. What happened?"
"Well," he says, "I calibrated the freem generator to 36.89 prions, and I think I should have been 36.87 instead, so when we came out of HyperAromaDrive, we were "skewed" a little."
I looked at him skeptically. "Skewed?"
"Well, off slightly. Anyway, when we reentered, it caused a drop in the liquid kanooten pressure, which resulted in an unequal zolar level, and that caused the ship to yaw to the side, then down. Sorry, guys, my bad."
Considering how shaken he looked, we all just nodded and went about picking up ourselves and our things, which were all over the cabin.
Art laughed a nervous laugh, as he started to help us clean up. "You guys ever read that story by Stephen King, "The Langoliers", or maybe see the movie?" he asked.
Mike and I both nodded. "Yeah," Mike said, "I've read the book. So what?"
"Remember the part where they first saw the "time rip" and King describes it as kind of like the "aurora borealis"?
"Yeah."
"Well, just before we made reentry, I thought I saw something, like a wavery, rainbow-kind of thing, just off to the south. I tell you, for a moment, it was real spooky. That whole "Langoliers" thing crossed my mind right then, and all I could think was, boy, I sure hope we don't end up in prehistoric times." He ended with a nervous laugh, and rubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Back to the time of the cavemen and the Neanderthals, huh, Art?" Mike said, laughing.
"Yeah, bottom of the 4th, two out, Cavemen leading the Neanderthals 3-1, with Aaron Watershow due to bat next...".
I waited until everyone was finished laughing, and then I asked them a question.
"Seriously, have you guys ever known or dated a woman who didn't think all men were Neanderthals?"
Mike looked at Art, and Art looked back at Mike and I looked at Mike, and he looked back at me, and Harley looked at the pantry where we kept the Girl Scout cookies, and to a man, we all shook our heads.
"Nope."
Love and archeology,
PJTT
copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.
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