Yeah, right? What's the polesmoking deal with the fucking Bog People? Thor Hayerdahl discovered them in the Peat Feilds of Norway and ever since it's been this whole thing, man. I just happened to remember them because I read something on
Ned's blig about being "kerned tighter" and it sounded like maybe something that would be involved in just
garrotting someone's sorry, wrinkled, Bronze Age ass.
What the fuck is the story with the Bog People though? Did they call
themselves "The Bog People"? Otherwise where did it come from? And don't tell me it wouldn't be the coolest fucking band name since I-just-don't-know-when-all?
So, was it some religious thing that made these people fucking throw each other into swamps and shit? Because, man, I'd have to really be in some sort of trance to strangle someone and throw them in a fucking peat bog like a total a-hole. I mean, I'm not judging or anything, there is sort of a punk element to it.
So, did they have some fucking contest or some crap for who got to jump into th' mud and croak? Did they play mumbledee-peg for who got to get choked and tossed? Was it that bad back then? I've had days when I sort of wished someone would strangle me and throw me in a deep swamp of shit. Today wasn't entirely without moments of faint desire regarding this activity.
Were they Bronze Age Autoerotic Asphixiators? Another not-unlaudable band name if I dare say so myself. That would be funny. "Fuckin' Lasse choked himself jerking off" "Fuck it, throw him in the fucking bog".
Plus, you know, they found all this millet seed in their stomachs. The Bog People. So, the way I see it, these people fucking ate a bunch of raw grain, jacked off, strangled themselves and fell into peat bogs!
Which, while being pretty fucking punk rock, suggests an era of somewhat uninterrupted crappiness.
What would motivate one to behave thus? What the fuck would make you do that? I think one must confront the mystery by wrapping it in a modern paradigm! Definitely! O.K., so let's picture this dude fucking playing Xbox and then eating a large order of McNuggets, jerking off and strangling himself and throwing himself in a fucking swamp. Put in this context it continues to elude easy classification I'd fucking say.
I suppose the possibility also exists that the town all got together and just picked the biggest asshole and did the foul deed with them. I could see how that would make sense because I can easily think of several people in my town that I'd like to force a bag of fucking bird seed down their throat and choke them and throw them in a pit. And maybe, just maybe, if a consensus could be reached that included local law enforcement and such, we could all rid ourselves of a great deal of worry.
And then, in 3000 years, someone could dig them up and laugh at them as hard as we laugh at th' Bog People. I hope it wouldn't be me! I try to get along with folks. Plus I'd never wear a fucking babushka like the Bog Dude in th' picture. If some dude walked around our town that way, well, he just
might wind up face-fucking-down in a six-foot-deep mud puddle. Jesus, we don't countenance that sort of fucked up shit here.
The other thing is that these are some ugly motherfuckers to be sure. Look how wrinkled and off-kilter they are. Dude, look at his fucking guy- he looks like the fucking Tin Man. Huh? Right? Jesus, all fucked up like that? His own
mom probably rigged the drawing-of-straws so she'd never again have to confront what nature and a right rodgering by Olaf next to the Shitting Place on Pigsperm Night had wrought below her millet-filled guts. Ha ha ha ha. Jeez, he looks like an asshole. He looks like this drummer I knew who shall remain, Frankly, nameless. I bet this fucking guy
never got off the hi-hat either.
Chhk chhhk chhkk chhkk until the rest of th' band couldn't take it anymore and they carried him to the moonlit solitude of the peat bog and there rid the world of another crap drummer. A drummer who Frankly could never get off th' hi-hat.
Fuckin' Bog People. They're all rotten and dead and fucked up and I'm laughing and drinking delicious espresso because I'm ALIVE, fuckers. God damn it if I don't have something up on
some motherfucker, right? Ha! And the odds that I'll be alive tomorrow and eatin' something good for brek and IT WON'T INVOLVE YOUR BORING SHIT GRAINS THAT YOU PAID SO DEARLY FOR. DEAD BOG FUCKERS. LYING ALL DEAD AND PRUNEY IN YOUR HOLES. With your
adorable head gear. Dead fuckers. You're all so fucking B.C. You're not where it's at at
all, man. Not even Paris Hilton would fuck you.
I mean, there's lots of talk out there about
this generation or
that generation being the Greatest Generation but let me tell you you mudsuckers aren't even on th' ballot. You're LONG FORGOTTEN, swampies. You're washed up. This is the most that's been written about your bony asses since some bored interns dug you up indifferently in 1962 and commented chucklingly on the wrinkled teeniness of your prehistoric pizzlers over cigarettes which they ashed on your gross, rotten prune nuts.
The fucking Bog People! Rock the bog, Bog Dudes. I don't really hate you. Tell you this, though- you ever track that shit in my clean kitchen I'll give you what for. Bog fucks.
So, who wants to hear a riveting first-hand tale about guns and drugs in th' third world?
Thor Heyerdahl
People this very autumn. We will be re-opening the excavation sites at Assholenburgh and Cumshottenhammer and I would be honored if you would join us as a consultant.
