Nuts and Bolts of the Mordant Mind

A Collection of Pictures, Prose, Poetry, and Plays

Love on a Limb
(A Prehistoric Romance Story)

I hadn't been a man very long, and I even had the fleas to prove it. To this day I can remember back to an era only a scant couple of hundred million years ago when I still lived in a tree and robbed ripe muskmelons from a patch owned by a kindly old brontosaurus couple that lived down the road. Jeepers, it seems like only yesterday. I was a lot furrier then and fiercely independent.

I was into mutating for a hobby in those days. One day, as I was sitting around splitting chromosomes, a side of me appeared that changed all that. It was softer, prettier, and built funny. This new thing seemed to have interesting possibilities.

I thought back to the days when I was a mere amoeba slinking through the protoplasmic ooze snacking on single-celled organisms for brunch. Life was simpler them. Anyway, one time after an especially sumptuous feast of protozoa, I was looking for something to do to pass the time until my next meal, so I started mitosising and meiosising all over the place! To tell the truth, I guess I got a little carried away. When the dividing was done, that other part of me swam away and headed for land! I was too wasted from all the metamorphosing to give chase. Well, the ungrateful, little wretch crawled out of the water, sprouted legs, and scurried off to parts unknown. I never saw cell or cilium of him again. After that, things remained pretty mundane. That is--until last Saturday!

Sure, I hadn't invented the wheel, yet; and I was just beginning to get the hang of making and using fire, but I wasn't stupid! I'd learned quite a bit since the days when I was a only a reptile. I was growing tired of evolving all alone; therefore, I wasn't about to let this transistional form get away like the earlier one did. What happened to all of the other transistional forms you may ask? Let's just say I've got a big appetite and leave it at that.

First, I tried to woo this new prototype with small talk, but language hadn't been invented, yet, so that didn't work. Next, I decided to try and win it over with gifts. I went to try and round up a mess of Kentucky Fried Pterodactyl Nuggets; however, the search proved to be fruitless, because I hadn't seen one of them cruising the area for at least thirty thousand years or so. The birds around here still hadn't transformed into chickens, as of yet, so that idea went belly up. Then I hit upon a plan . . . .

Going down to a nearby pond, I spotted a weeping willow tree. It would be perfect! Lightweight and supple, it was just what I was looking for. One mighty swing of my stone axe brought it crashing to the ground. Amazing what you can do a sharp rock, a few strips of sabre-toothed tiger hide, and a piece of strong oak these days.

Taking the trunk back to my split-level, A-frame cave, I began to get down to the serious business of turning this crude hunk of lumber into a top-notch implement for stalking and capturing the weird creature with. I had a strange, puzzling, new hunger inside me now, but it wasn't for meat!

My fancy flint lathe did an excellent job of honing this hunting instrument into finely balanced perfection. Still, it's the man behind the tool that makes all the difference.

I waited patiently behind a cozy outcropping of boulders by the pond for my prey. The thing usually came down to the water in the cool of the evening to bathe, prune its head fuzz while looking at its reflection in the pool, and even sniff the nearby wildflowers. You know, dumb stuff like that .

I heard a slight rustling of the bullrushes, which caused my fingers to tense on the grip of my new invention. I peeked over the top of my hidey-hole to confirm what I already knew. It was there all right--as alluring as ever. I had to wait for the right moment, though.

Just as the homo erectus curvaceous (Hey! I classify 'em as I see 'em, so give me a break.) stuck its cute, little proboscis into a boquet of sweet peas, I struck! I cracked its gourd soundly with a broadside whack from my club. I noticed that the critter's cranium didn't give off and empty resonance when I klonked its bean, so there must have been something worthwhile inside. The creature just kind of slumped over into the bed of colorful flowers with a sigh, and these little, pink, heart-shaped bubbles floated ever so softly up from it into the atmosphere where they proceeded to burst one by one.

Well, several hours have passed, now, and I wonder if the varmint is going to come around. There's a few things I'm anxious to try, and I'm starting to grow impatient. Wait just an eon . . . I think I heard the thing groan. Yep, it seems to definitely be coming around. The look of daze has been replaced with a goofy grin. I guess I'd better go over and check the binding on this one. The critter appears to be a tad on the frisky side, and I wouldn't want this one to get away, too. I like the look and feel of her far too much. Hmmm, you know, this could be the start of something BIG!

Moral: Listen up guys. Join the club. When it comes to romance, the old-fashioned ways are still the best.

THE END
(or Is It Only the Beginning?)

Entire contents copyright 1992 by Ron Ferguson

Home Page/Dr. Conundrum/Comix Corner/Adam of Arcturus/What Stinks?/Magic Hairball/
Quarter Note Corral/Head Cheese/More Elbow Room