boy.

those caveman days were brutish, nasty, short and rough.

     ear splitting cacophony felt like listening to partying beastie boys with smashed face on a vampire weekend competing with deafening leopards roar rin n rush shin version of hells bells, inxs of pulp fiction sung backwards by cold play, or a brutally nasty yet thankfully short version per youtube video drowning out beach boys winking in the hood.

     loud quiet rioting !@#$ growls shook bats overhead when this grizzled papa bear disturbed (like twittering angry birds), and forced to wake prematurely from hibernation set his seething animal anger to boil, and smoke to issue from his jack rabbit *** nine looking don Quixote ears.

     argh.

     the gumption from this then profoundly gap toothed, high browed, red necked ursine, viperous spouse getting  one swiftly tailored kick in the bony **** sent me flying like a twisted sister careening forward into out of the summer time sadness air back to the future.
     right then n tha hair, earth, wind and fire convinced this **** sapiens he became gratefully dead.

     upon immediate and most unwelcome exposure therapy to the arctic blast, this mama’s and papa’s boy (by george) was in no mood to tangle nor play footsie with mother nature.

    i  wanted to whip the hide when needles of miniature aeroplane shaped snow white slippery buckshot elements of style kissed, pierced and smashed against his face from those shoddily made flimsy animal clothes that barely kept him warm. lucky for that vat of midnight oil, which shrouded me in n wispy pearl jam pelt.

     tears for fears spilt like pearl jam (like 10,000 maniacs bursting from a soundgarden or highly revved motorhead during a black sabbath)
     stop crying bellowed.

     wah.

     without a shadow of a doubt, these beatle browed monkeys (strewn by denim dog gone hooligans), who cawed like sum Cajun gumbo baboons for a banana split Sunday.

     anyway, i practically froze off mine scrawny ****.
     dang! ooh!
     how purty!
     my oh my!
     a cute deer!
     out came the bow and arrow.

      the feathered lancet described a nike arc with a nike swoosh.
      bulls’ eye!

     upon uttering "hey lucy i am home", the little beasts tore their sharp nine inch long nails into the soft raw doe!

     now compare the above paragraphs to this technological age.

     no way, no how does this domesticated simian relish expending any ounce of energy.

     without the need to leave the comfort of my warm bed, a click of the remote can provide immediate needs at these fingertips.

     why dress (perhaps just a coat of armor), when breakfast, lunch or dinner delivered via robot.

     bathe?
     this waterbed doubles up as a washbasin.

     ah.

     how in the name of judas priest could our ancestors enjoy feeling like a beast of burden? who says you cannot always get what you want? alice cooper in chains? beastie boy george cinderella? eddie money? freddy mercury? iron maiden? lana del rey? madonna? pink floyd? quiet riot? soundgarden? yes! the entire motley crue!

     yeah! obvious, I aint no luddite period! this creature of habit would never give up his pad (shaped like an oversize ipod) and forego any of his labor saving devices the only way to take away these cherished, idolized, prized possessions? you would have to pry these buzzing, flying, whirring gizmos loose from my cold dead fingers!

     don’t get your doggies with dimples hopes up!
     i aint planning to cross the river styx anytime soon.
     maybe not even in this lifetime!
     ha!
     so there!
     nor best ye *** any ideas to boot me from this tear rest trial plane, and put me six feet under.
     capisce?
     comprende?