Og

Og's Blog, Part 12

part of: Og's Blog

by J. Marshall Craig

Was greatly disturbed by news ’round the campfire that Igleenax and Frig have been up to no good: especially heartbroken that they had lanced my favorite lizard on a stick … whose name – I expect not coincidentally, was named Lance and had alternative dreams of wiring every cave for some sort of “cable” communication but also fantasized of robbing a “camera store.”

Rage being the order of the day … come to think of it, every day I can recall since that bastard Gyros started waving around the scrolls he found, proclaiming them the answer to life, the universe and why garlic tastes so good. I had it in mind to toss Igleenax into the raging rapids of the mountain creek with the hopes that all which remained would be several yards of finely shredded skin that we could dry in the sun and then use to blow our noses – maybe even trade with companion tribes with an invention we call “Gleenax”; the better part of me looked beyond, however, and realized it would not be a reusable resource like the thin skins of exploded squirrels which we often find on the ground under pine trees and which, if one is careful, can be cleansed and used many times over.

I have no explanation and would probably prefer it that way … but exploded squirrels we do encounter often.

I have resisted the Google, with limited success, ever since donning one of the exploded squirrel skins to cover my most intimate of parts and rubbing pomegranate juice on my lips for a little added color and, in the heat of the moment, learning a new dance that seemed to make Frig look at me in a new light: A new, frightening light that wills me to create an overstuffed pillow in case I end up, in his words, “facing the wall.”

I remain haunted by the case of a young man we now call “Eunice” who was, at the age of 13, horrifically injured in a sling-shot accident which left him, well, two pebbles short of a handful, (as it were) and who has, since exhibited some very unmasculine traits, such as rationality, clear thinking, ego-free pursuit of the best for the tribe and, most notably, a lack of interest in nipples… not to mention a spectacular soprano voice reaching far above those of his endowed peers.

It’s all too much for today but I feel compelled, in the light of plight, fright – and, frankly, penetration – to Google tomorrow despite the inherent dangers of truth, reality and a new tribe we encountered on a hunt today who call themselves “republicans” who told us we needed to seize control of our tribe, promise it the world while clandestinely stripping away personal freedoms.

All this is a particular fright for me, what with the chest hair and pomegranate lip gloss.