A segment in which marginally experienced webeditor and novice blogger Ryan Grim describes what he would like various movies, television programs and books to be about.
The year is 10,002 BCE. Dinosaurs have long since gone the way of the dodo. Dodos, however, are thriving. 90% of people on Earth, while they don’t realize it, are very ugly and not all that clever. They live in dirty shanty towns alongside woolly mammoths, which they use mainly for transportation but also for food and as an occasional antidote for a sexual dry spell. The woolly mammoths only like to be used for transportation.
One teenage human, whom I’ll call Human because his parents didn’t know what names are, has fallen truly, madly and deeply in love with the woolly mammoth his father gave him. This particular woolly mammoth (name: WM) is a male, but no matter. (Could you tell the difference between a male woolly mammoth’s butthole and a female woolly mammoth’s genitalia?) I should also note that Human is deaf and remarkably weak so the other humans consider him to be a useless lump of skin that’s sucking up resources.
There isn’t much to do in 10,002 BCE, so Human and WM spend their days swimming, eating oatmeal, sharing each other’s bodies and moseying around. Human will climb a tree to get on WM’s back, and then straddle that bony spine and dig his heels into that brown fur for balance. They’ll mosey to the meadow where the dodos kick it. They’ll mosey to the watering hole and watch the prairie dogs drown their young. After dark, they’ll mosey back to the shanty town where Human and his family live. WM sleeps outside the shanty in the mud, but he’s cool with it—woolly mammoths have M&M-sized brains and rarely have any idea what’s happening.
One morning Human and WM decide to mosey for hours, slowly and aimlessly. They mosey passed the watering hole, then passed the thicket. They mosey into an unknown clearing, then up an unknown mountain. It gets dark, so they start moseying back to the shanty town. They mosey for a while, only to end up back in the clearing. They mosey even more, only to end up back atop the mountain. If either of them could talk, they’d say, “We’re lost.”
The wind is fast and cold up there on the mountain. Human buries his head in WM’s neck fur to stay warm. WM becomes aroused but doesn’t act on it; this is no time for that.
They mosey down the other side of the mountain and come upon a slow-flowing, mammoth-wide river. WM sucks water into his trunk and carefully releases a small stream near Human so he can drink with ease. Human creates a loofah out of palm leaves and sweet-smelling flowers and diligently bathes WM until they’re both exhausted. Contrary to logic, Human, not WM, is always the big spoon.
They’re woken up by the sound of angry hunters and a rambunctious woolly mammoth convoy. Ten naked men with stretched sling shots surround WM and Human. The naked men shout “Stand up!” at the sleepy lovers, but it falls on, literally, deaf ears. And mammoth ears. Even with all the hubbub, WM still carries out the morning routine: giving Human a thorough back rub.
The naked men put a metal bit in WM’s mouth and rope him in with the convoy. They force Human into a captive-propelled wicker cage on wheels. Though it has two holes for his legs, it’s still very hard to operate. Human is displeased with the way this moseying session has turned out.
The naked men, who ride saber-toothed tigers, lead the mammoth convoy along the river and through the gates of a city. It’s about the same size as Human’s shanty town, but much handsomer: brick houses line brick roads; open-air markets bustle with commerce; a bronze statue of a warrior glistens in the middle of a palm tree-filled courtyard. The people here, all naked, sit on benches and talk about things people in the shanty town have never heard of, like music and cunnilingus. Human is most confused by the lack of public punishment rapes for convicts and the fact that every woolly mammoth is kept outside the city, bound in chains.
This is how the other 10% lives.
The convoy stops in front a stone temple. A civic leader of some sort opens Human’s wicker cage and says, “Where did he come from?”
“We’re not positive,” says a naked guy, “but probably from one of the backward shanty towns on the other side of the mountain.”
“Hmm, so we should…?”
“Well, sir. I propose we feed him, bathe him and then take him home.”
“Sounds fair. Make it so.”
“Also, he seems to be in love with his woolly mammoth. Thoughts?”
The civic leader has no thoughts on the matter except that they should add the mammoth to the city’s woolly mammoth supply, which by 10,002 BCE had grown to be quite impressive. (5,000 mammoths!)
So Human is given figs and wine. Then he’s bathed by two naked adolescent girls, but, being into male woolly mammoths, he doesn’t react in a way one would assume. “I wish these two girls were one male woolly mammoth instead,” he thinks.
For dinner, they pamper Human with an outdoor feast—boar roasted on a spit; a chocolate fondue fountain; and a half-decent band. The feast happens to take place adjacent to the mammoth pen and once Human sees WM bound to other mammoths, he breaks down in tears. The civic leader guy, who’s covered in chocolate and semen (feast=orgy in this town), asks him what’s wrong.
“You love him, don’t you?” he asks Human. “Here, look at this,” and the civic leader gets some charcoal and papyrus. He draws a human and a mammoth having sex, which excites Human.
“No!” he says, shaking his head. He draws more diagrams. Each one gives a logical reason why people shouldn’t be penetrating (or being penetrated by) woolly mammoths.
“It really makes perfect sense.”
Human doesn’t understand.
“Fuck it,” he says, and dives into the chocolate fountain.
The next day, the still-drunk Human is taken back to his shanty town. The crew of hunters are appalled by the filth in the streets and the mammoth-human copulation taking place in most of the alleys.
Human’s parents are relieved he’s still alive, but disappointed that he’d lost WM. Using his family’s version of rudimentary sign language, Human tells them the whole story. He tells them about the moseying, and about the river. Then the hunters and the strange town.
“They’re naked all the time?” his mother says.
“Simply disgusting,” his father says.
Human explains that woolly mammoths are not allowed in the town and that WM is being held hostage.
“Hold on, go back to these so-called benches,” says the father. “They’re just all over the place, in case someone wants to sit down? Reeeediculous.”
It only takes an hour for word to spread around the shanty town. No one has any idea a weird town full of naked people exists less than a day’s walk away. Then word spreads to the other shanty towns. By nightfall, news has spread to all ten of the known shanty towns on Earth (this all takes place near modern-day Destin, Florida, by the way).
The council chiefs, or whatever, from each shanty town get together and plan an attack. They use reason to justify it:
“We can’t have people not letting people make love to woolly mammoths.”
“We’re trying to progress as a civilization here, not sit idly by all day on bainches, or whatever those heathens call them.”
So ten armies from the ten shanty towns attack the backward naked town and burn it to the ground. They start early in the morning and finish before lunch. Everything is lost; all are dead.
Every woolly mammoth in the woolly mammoth supply is burned alive, including WM. When Human learns this, he is quite the unhappy camper, but it’s explained to him that certain causes are worth dying for. And that death is a pretty big slice in the pie chart of life. His father buys him a new woolly mammoth, which Human immediately caresses and mounts. He convinces himself this new woolly mammoth is a reincarnated WM, and they start moseying around.
“That seems like healthy behavior,” his father says.
The council chiefs, or whatever, of each shanty town get together once again, this time to celebrate the swift destruction of the weird town. They drink and eat and think of ways to commemorate the victory.
“We should make a plaque. People like plaques,” someone says.
“Sure, let’s do that.”
“It should say In Honor of The Defeat Over The Weird Naked Town In The Year… Anyone know what year it is?”
“Let’s say it’s year one.”
“Naw, it’s probably somewhere around 10,000 something something.”
“Let’s go with that. Nice and clean.”
“Yeah. Good number. Nice and clean.”