The Cavewomen and The Storyteller

Hblurg has all the women

Hanging out in his cave

Every single one of them

The rest of us

Have no wives

The women have agreed

To mate with us

At some point

So that the tribe doesn’t dissolve

But all the children

Are going to be raised by Hblurg

And they’re all going to be named

Either Hblurg Jr. or Hblurgina

I’m not sure

How we got here

I think it all started

When we designated

Hblurg as the tribal storyteller

Hblurg is not very strong

Or good at hunting

Or gathering

In the olden days

When we were more barbaric

We would simply feed him

To Big Teeth, Little Hands

But we’ve evolved since then

And also, we don’t like feeding

Big Teeth, Little Hands very often

Because then he never leaves our camp

So instead

We made Hblurg the person in charge

Of entertaining us each night

With stories and songs

It all started innocently enough

And, in fact, it seemed to be

A huge success

Hblurg really took to his new position

And it turns out

He had a penchant for it

He was a great singer

And his stories were so funny

And he had such charm

Even though he was, by far,

The most hideous man in the tribe

And the filthiest

The smell of him was so bad

We had to invent rudimentary microphones

Just so he could stand far enough back

While performing

Without causing any of us to pass out

Within a few days, Stinga had come

To the elders of the tribe

And told us

That she would like to marry Hblurg

We were shocked

No woman had ever shown interest

In Hblurg before

But she told us that she was won over

By his brilliant reenactment the previous evening

Of Big Teeth, Little Hands eating our former chief

And O, the way he impersonated the former chief’s body

Going down the gullet of that dinosaur

Screaming and begging for his life

The entire time

We just laughed and laughed

O the flailing, o the gore!

We could see how Stinga was won over

And we agreed to the marriage

But then more women

In the tribe came to us

Wanting to wed Hblurg

We allow men to have as many wives

As they like in this tribe

But soon, all the women

Were flocking to Hblurg

Despite the fact that his smell

Only got worse by the day

And his outward appearance

Even more slovenly

The women didn’t seem to mind

Because they were so pulled in

By his talent

And the way he makes a Flying Thing omelet

We began banning any other women

From marrying him

But they would move into his cave anyway

And refuse to leave

Soon we were forced

To cancel all performances

By Hblurg at night

And instead we had Rtiz

Doing cave drawings

Of humorous things

That had happened during the day

But Rtiz is a terrible artist

And his drawing of me

Was particularly inaccurate

Now we have no women

And no art

And no omelets

And things have never been worse

And it’s getting colder lately

I don’t know if you’ve noticed

But the temperature has definitely dropped

Over the last few nights

And we don’t even have

A good story

To keep us warm