Tuesday, December 10, 2013

This Book Is Funny and Cavemen, a Blog Post Combo Extraordinaire

It is true, all the hubbub you've been hearing: I have published my first ebook, This Book Is Funny. It's a collection of humorous shorts, satire, and scripty sorts of things. As to avoid getting all advertisement-like, I'm instead sharing one of the short stories here, A Cave With a View. I hope you'll enjoy it. I hope you'll enjoy it, become a huge fan, purchase all my further works, and talk about me all the time. But I hope you won't stalk me. Please don't.

Okay, maybe a little.

A Cave With a View

“And this is the great room. As you can see, it offers plenty of living space, what with the fire pit in the middle and the ample seating area.”
John did a 360 in the middle of the room and took it all in. It was the twelfth cave he’d viewed that week, and quite frankly, he was getting tired. The agent his wife had insisted on choosing was a forceful woman who leaned toward leopard print and seemed determined to shove every dwelling they viewed down their throats, thus ridding herself of what she said were their “impossible desires, considering today’s housing market” and pocketing her tidy sum, which appeared would be at least half a mastodon.
“Yes. Yes, this is a fantastic room. But the view…” He gestured through the opening, his frustration building. The last cave she suggested faced due east, and the rising sun would surely wake the baby, whose early dawn cries might alarm the nearby animals, thereby severely limiting their breakfast options. This one faced a neighboring cave, and the inhabitants appeared messy. The front yard was littered with discarded stone tools and half a rotted short-faced bear carcass. Every now and then, he caught a whiff of their cooking. Neolithic. He hated foreign food.
“There’s nothing wrong with that view, Mr. Rockwell. It would do you a world of good to have neighbors. Just think of the hunting buddies. And they have kids! I assure you, they’re longterm renters so there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, don’t be a snob. Did you check out the interior design? The last couple did a fantastic job on the paintings, don’t you think? Just look at that graceful buffalo herd. You can almost smell the barbecue.”
John did like the cave paintings. They were a bit rustic for his taste, but a vast improvement on the series of hand prints where they lived now. His wife, Lydia, considered herself an aspiring artist, but she’d been stuck in what she called her “hand print period” for over five years, and he yearned for something new. Perhaps with the walls already decorated, he could break her habit. Besides, he was tired of having to explain his wife’s blood red palms to everyone.
“Well… I don’t know. The bathroom is a bit close to the cave opening. I mean, look at that.” He waved toward the stand of brush not 50 feet from them, where a man he supposed was from the rental was squatting, his face scrunched and red. “And you know I’m not keen on a community toilet.”
“Oh, that.” The agent waved it off. “You must understand, Mr. Rockwell, the population is exploding. Why, just yesterday during our department meeting, my boss was telling us that they fully expect the world population to hit 8,500 people by the end of the year! Do you know how many caves we need to house all those people? And don’t even get me started on private bathrooms. If you want a private bathroom, an extended fire pit, quality cave paintings, and that vaulted ceiling Lydia’s dreaming about, you’re talking at least an increase in price of about….” here, she reached up and scratched her lice, “a half dozen antelope.”
“Yes, that’s right. Although there is something on the other side of the ridge within your range that has a private bath and vaulted ceilings. And it does have a southern exposure, but. …”
John’s unibrow shot up. “Well, why aren’t you showing me that?”
She shuffled her feet and hesitated. “It’s a bit of a fixer-upper, and it’s been empty awhile. The last inhabitants met, shall we say, an early demise.”
“Neighboring tribe?”
“Saber tooth.”
John cringed and felt the hair on his back stand up. “Saber tooth!”
“Yes, but that was at least seven or eight moons ago, and there haven’t been any sightings since then.”
“Still, I’d have a hard time convincing Lydia. Her mother lost her left foot to a saber tooth and we’ve been dragging her around ever since. It’s been a real inconvenience.”
“As I can well imagine.” She paused. “You’d like to see it, wouldn’t you?”
“Would you think I was crazy?”
“No, I wouldn’t. Now that I think of it, it could be just the place for your little family. There’s a sandpit out back and some great vines for swinging. And the walls are done in a lovely wild horse motif. Fire pit is large but could use a few more rocks. Let me just grab my club and we’ll walk over. We’ll be there and back before sundown.”
“Do you mind if I quick whittle a spear or something? Maybe we’ll be able to squeeze in a little dinner after.”
“Sounds good to me. I spotted a sloth out back a few days ago. I’m sure he’s still there.”
“Great. My baby loves sloth. The toes are a special treat, as he is teething.”
The agent grabbed her trendy bog lemming skin satchel bag and swung it over her shoulder. “Then let’s get going. If this location works for you, perhaps we can get in an offer and have you settled in before the holidays. Lydia tells me her whole family is coming this year!”

“She did, did she? Would the cave happen to come with a tar pit?”


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