My first conclusion was that I’d be great at it. The House on the Hill has become something of a giant man cave where I hide from the rest of civilization. I wear a toga, which isn’t much of a step up from a loincloth and animal pelt. And while I don’t draw on the walls, I do post strange writings on the internet, which will one day befuddle and amaze future generations.
That all sounds well and good, but once I got to pondering about it a little more, I realized I would be a horrible caveman.
And not just because I’d refuse to be a spokesman for Geico…
Earlier, I was thinking about what I should do for dinner. The simple solution was to either drive to the grocery store for something, or hit some fast food drive through.
But Captain Caveman over here didn’t feel like summoning up the energy to do that. So if I can’t handle driving for a burger, how would I ever manage to survive when hunting and gathering were my only meal plan options?
Once we get past heating up frozen pizza, browning some beef, baking chicken breasts that have been cleaned and cut up for me, and tossing something into the microwave or onto the grill, I’m pretty much lost on how to prepare a meal.
If I had to build my own weapon and then go out and hunt down my own food, I would starve to death well before the elements would claim this city slicker.
Speaking of the elements, I don’t even want to think about how cavemen survived a long, cold, snowy winter. Me start a fire without a lighter? Yeah, right!
Let’s say I borrowed a weapon and followed the other cavedudes to the perfect hunting spot, there is no way I could kill an animal. If anything, I’d run out into the clearing and scare all the animals away before the other guys could kill them.
So I’d probably be beaten to death by my fellow hunters before I ever had a chance to starve to death.
I’d be too much of a coward to face those beasts. We all know how much I hate running, so I’d probably start to run away, but then just say “Screw it” and let the Dinosaur eat me.
Hopefully, I’d go down in one gulp.
Do I even need to mention my monumental problems with dating? Back in prehistoric days, cavemen picked a mate by clubbing a cavelady over the head, and then dragging her back to the cave.
If I can’t even get someone to go on a second date with me, how am I ever going to get an initial clubbing? I really don’t like my chances there!
The last reason I think I’d be a horrible caveman is because of the Sleestaks.
You know what I’m talking about, right, Modern Philosophers?
They scared the crap out of me when I was a young boy foolishly watching Land of the Lost reruns all by myself down in the dark, scary basement. They scared the crap out of me as an adult, when I foolishly watched the Land of Lost movie (did I really think it was going to be funny???).
So even if I imagined I could be the most kick ass caveman this planet has ever known, the second I remembered that the Sleestaks might be my neighbors, I would hang up my club and spear and evolve immediately.
I’ll ponder on this all again later, but first I’ve got to make an offering to the microwave god because my stomach will not stop rumbling…