Howdy-ho, kiddos! Gotta warn you, this is probably gonna be a silly night. For those of you who were scared like cavemen in a lightning storm by our horror story two weeks ago, this may come as something of a relief. For those of you who enjoyed the horror story and are looking for yet another entry of some substance, depth, or at the very least a little seriousness… Well, tough noogies. I’m feeling fluffy tonight.
I think we all know where an introduction like that is going to lead.
THE STORY OF MARVIN, THE FLUFFY CAVEMAN
Once upon a time, when all the countries of the world were one great super-continent called Pangaea, there lived a dude named Marvin. He was pretty evolved for his family and was the only one who had more than one syllable in his name. Now, I’m not gonna perpetuate the myth that cavemen all had names like “Ug” and, um, “Ug.” Sure, they were always one syllable, but they were names like “Sue” and “Bark” and “Spit.” But Marvin, he was different. Not only did he have a two-syllable name, he was fluffy. Not hairy, mind you. All the cavemen were hairy little beasts, even the girls. But Marvin was fluffy. Like a stuffed animal. Pink and fluffy.
One day, as Marvin was wandering around wondering how he and his family even existed in the Paleozoic era, he had an idea. He decided to make himself the mayor of Pangaea. He was, after all, the only one around who had a two-syllable name. Just like the word “Mayor” had two syllables. And “Marvin” started with the same two letters as “Mayor.” And also he had just invented the title of Mayor, so why not give it to himself? It was almost hellishly perfect.
“What?” said his sister, Spit, when he told her he was the mayor of Pangaea.
“The mayor,” he repeated. “I’m the mayor.”
“What does that mean?” Spit asked.
“It means you have to do what I say,” Marvin replied.
“Why?” Spit asked.
“Because I’m the mayor,” he said again. “Duh.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” she said.
“Well, what do you know?” he asked. “You only have one syllable in your name.”
Spit couldn’t argue with this, so she just pouted. She was a hairy little cry-baby.
Before long, Marvin saw his best friend, Kite, walking by dragging a dinosaur carcass.
“Hey,” said Marvin, “you know dinosaurs and cavemen didn’t exist at the same time, right?”
“So?” asked Kite. “Neither of us existed in the Paleozoic era anyway.”
“Say, that’s right,” said Marvin. “I was just thinking about that earlier today.”
“Want a Brontosaurus burger?” Kite asked.
“Wait a minute,” said Marvin. “Brontosaurus never existed at all.”
“Does it really matter?” Kite asked. “At this point, we can pretty much get away with anything. I mean, we’re a bunch of talking cavemen living on a theoretical super-continent that existed millions of years before the continental drift created the places we would eventually call home. You’re pink and fluffy and have the outlandishly long name ‘Marvin.’ I’m going to kill and eat a non-existent Brontosaurus if I feel like it.”
“Well, okay,” said Marvin. “I guess I’ll allow it.”
“Allow it?” said Kite. “What are you doing going around allowing things? Who do you think you are?”
“I’m the mayor of Pangaea,” Marvin said.
Kite stared at him for a few moments before saying, “but I can have my Brontosaurus burger?”
“Yeah, sure,” said Marvin.
“Sounds fair to me,” said Kite, and the first political dinner ever was held. Marvin and Kite invited all their friends and family over for Brontosaurus burgers and they all wore pilgrim outfits and sat at picnic tables and ate with utensils. They talked all day about movies and stock portfolios and how Kite had given them permission to do any anachronistic thing they wanted. But mostly they just marveled at how smart Marvin must have been to make himself the mayor.
“I always knew he’d amount to something,” said Marvin’s mother, Truck, as she patted her pet Labrador Retriever, Cow, on the head. “When he was born, he was nothing but a little pink fuzzball, but I knew he had potential.”
“Nonsense,” laughed Marvin’s father, Blood. “She screamed like a ninny when he popped out. She thought she’d invented cotton candy.”
Truck blushed. “It’s a good thing Blood didn’t let me eat him, though,” she said. “That would have been gross. Obviously.”
“Well,” said Pill, a beautiful (but still hairy) girl from the nice Craftsman style house down the street, “I was friends with Marvin when he was just a little kid and I always thought there was something special about him.”
“Like the fact that you thought he was a girl wearing a sweater the first time you saw him at Caveman School?” asked an annoying little boy named Burp.
“You shut up, Burp!” Pill hissed as Marvin came walking over. “He doesn’t need to now about that. Or I’ll tell him about how you stole his G.I. Joe doll in the fifth grade!”
Burp was shocked. “I’ll be good!” he said. But it was too late. Marvin had overheard what Pill said, and he was not happy.
“Off with his head!” Marvin cried, pointing to Burp.
“Whoa, that seems a bit harsh,” said the local newsman, Claude.
“That’s okay,” Kite whispered, “he hasn’t invented police or really public servants of any kind. There’s no one to do his bidding yet.”
“What was that?” said Marvin. “Police? Public servants? What are these things you speak of?”
“Nothing, oh great and powerful mayor,” Kite replied, eating another burger.
“I see you’ve invented sarcasm,” Marvin said.
“Yeah, isn’t it neat?” Kite replied.
“I must admit I’m impressed,” Marvin said, “but I’m not very happy. And it doesn’t do to piss off the new mayor.”
“Oo, I’m scared,” Kite said.
“There it is again!” shouted Marvin. “Off with his head!”
“Marvin, dear,” said Truck, “I think we’ve already established that no one is gonna do it when you shout an order like that.”
“But, I’m the mayor,” Marvin said weakly.
“And I’m the Queen of America!” said Kite.
“It’s not that we’re not proud of you, son,” said Blood, “it’s just that the food’s all gone and no one really wants to hang around and listen to your crap anymore.”
Marvin, with quivering lip, turned to Pill and said, “even you?”
Pill’s eyes lit up. “Oh, Marvin,” she sobbed, “I’ve waited so long for you to notice me! I’ve dreamed of this moment! You want me to stay? I’ll stay! I’ll do anything for you!”
“Anything?” he asked.
“Anything!” she affirmed.
“Okay,” said Mayor Marvin. “Cut off everybody’s head.”
“Well, all right, then,” said Pill, and pulled out a shiny new 3-speed John Deere chainsaw.
“Eek!” everyone screamed. And, before you ask, yes they all said the word “eek” when they screamed. They all ran in different directions and, in an effort to save themselves, carved off huge pieces of land and floated away, leaving Marvin and Pill all alone.
And that’s how we got all the different continents. Thank you and good night.
Geez Louise, when I say “silly,” I mean “silly.” But at least I managed to get some actual historical facts in there. No seriously. Read it again. I’m sure there’s something correct at some point.
That’s right kids; the Story of the Week Club is here to provide you with a good education. Provided you can read between the lines.
See you soon,