Og's Blog, Part 8

part of: Og's Blog

by J. Marshall Craig

UNENDING SUN: I may be having some difficulty with what’s going on in my own little mind, but at least my predictions are as hard as iron, whatever that is. This lasting good weather made my time up the tree not altogether unpleasant – aside from what I tell friends was the “Lizard Incident.” The higher temperatures were less kind to the Jumpbalya Vrol came up with, however; the cave smells horrible … sort of like when one of the women first tried to make cheese out of mastodon milk. Anyway, I’m down from the tree free of what ailed me, inadvertently circumcised … something I presume to be a first and will henceforth recommend highly if only to irritate those of the more stubborn set among us. To take my mind off that haunting nipple Google search I did, I’ve put opposing thumbs to constructive and creative use for the first time: I took the lizard, stretched it out and let it dry in the sun before threading its skin onto a stick. May give it to Vrol’s son and tell him it’s a lollipop.

PRE-DAWN: Awoke from a vivid dream about the future and was once again lured to “Google,” having drunk the still, cool morning air and considered the sparse plain before our cave. In my dream I was shaken by images of futuristic people wearing clothing made almost entirely from man-made poisons and spending at least half of their daylight hours sitting in strange contraptions burning man-made poisons and eating greasier-than-seal-blubber food also filled with man-made poisons – all the while surrounded by a number of identical people who would fill the valley before us to the horizon. Instinct alone told me that finally there was a food that didn’t need more salt, although most of these strange generations we’re destined to spawn – just as Vrol is at this moment attempting quite disgustingly over in the corner near the wall with the big wild-boar motif – will add salt anyway. And to the “Google” – I typed sloppily but ended up with something called “double Oreos” and something else called “Cheese- crust-stuffed pizza.” Puzzled, I’ve again started hitting myself in the forehead with a bone … well, while I’m not using the bone to stir some stinging nettle broth. I thought this “Google” was meant to explain and educate. So far, it’s made me think only of another big rock falling from the sky and killing most things in sight … and also, incessantly, no matter how cold the mountain streams, of nipples. Without hair, thankfully. I know there’s a solution to this frustration but my sunburned skin is still healing. If I remember correctly from my accidental “nipple” search on “Google,” I could still at least play a rather kinky Rudolph at a Playboy Mansion Christmas orgy. I understand nothing of what this all means, which is probably just as well. Guess I’ll just keep hitting myself in the head with a bone… though, disturbingly, even that practice came up during the inadvertent nipple query.

LATER THE SAME DAY: Fully embracing the trauma of my disturbing dreams I wandered into the desert for absolutely no reason, tripping several times and having my skins rise above my head as if I were a drunk and shock-seeking Scotsman on parade. (I found out about Scotsmen on one of my “Googles.” Apparently they like to get drunk, wear garments wound from the hair of sheep once they’ve otherwise finished with them, and throw enormous tree trunks at each other. All this led me to my sojourn into the desert, where I’ve just found a brilliant red bud growing out of a prickly green plant that we normally ignore, and decided to eat it. The sun has moved a hand- width across the sky and I’m beginning to feel a deep tingle and escalating paranoia that I’ve just consumed some plant’s nipple and that my bnsoiesn, doihsokn, growenal wmdiiwoiew – shwoeng odmwoodn thwodnone …..