I thought this might be a good time to inquire about Stone Age healthcare, so I asked, “Do you have a doctor or medicine man in your neighborhood?” He answered, “Huh?” I countered, “What do you do when you’re sick or injured?” He answered, “Sacrifice virgin.”
Moving on, I noticed a scruffy, somewhat dimwitted looking fellow dragging the carcass of a giant tortoise. I asked Primitive Pinkey who this might be. He said, “That new clan. They Neanderthals. They stupid too. Bad hunters. Stink. Can’t fish. Eat turtle. No work. Will become liberals.”
“Really, but he looks like a friendly enough guy. Does he have a name?” I said. Primitive Pinkey answered, “He Bud.”
Ripping off a rib from the Mastodon, Primitive Pinkey asked, “Eat?” I said, “Ew! No, thank you! My, ah, cave woman is cooking tacos, and I don’t want to spoil my appetite.” “What taco?” he asked. “Well? Ah? It’s a shell filled with meat.” I explained.
He cried, “You eat turtle too? Like Bud? Bad hunter! You Neanderthal?” I quickly answered, “No, no, no, a taco is filled with beef. You know, a cow. You know, ‘Moo’.”
“Mm? What is cow?” he questioned. Scratching my head, I continued, “Cows are like a … baby … mastodon!” “You bad hunter like Bud. Hunt baby mastodons.” he chided. “No! We don’t hunt cows!” I stated. “They come to Pinkey to be killed?” he asked.
This isn’t going at all well. I tried to explain, “No! We raise them like a … a … cave dog!!!” “You worse than Bud. Eat cave dog! Too lazy to hunt, or fish? You sit in cave all day and puxel?” he screamed. “Wish I could, but when I could, I didn’t, and now that I can’t, I wish I could. You know what I mean?” I asked. “You stupid. Liberal too!” he yelled.