Ugg and Lugg on Mammoth Day morning…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s rattlesnake is the one that plays percussion in a salsa band.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

‘Ah, Ugg.’
‘Oh, hello Lugg.’
‘Ugg…’
‘Yes?’
‘Are you feeling alright?’
‘Yes, Lugg, why do you ask?’
‘Well, the sun is hardly over the hill. Look, its glow is only just creeping into the cave entrance.’
‘So?…’
‘So, you don’t usually get up this early – I wondered if you were alright.’
‘Yes, I’m fine thanks.’
‘So, why did you get your great fat lazy arse up so early?’
‘Hm…’
‘What do you mean, “Hm,”?’
‘Did you know that Fugg is collecting reeds – thick ones?’
‘No, I didn’t, and I’m not interested. Fugg’s an idiot!… So why are you up so early Ugg?’
‘The lads will be cutting up Tuesday’s mammoth this morning.’
‘But Ugg, you hate all that blood and guts and stuff, you say it makes you feel queasy, and you always try to get out of doing it…’
‘Well today I’m going, with my new flint axe, to help them. It’s the ribs and legs you know.’
‘What?’
‘The ribs and legs, they are the best.’
‘What? The taste of the meat?’
‘No Lugg, you know I only have fruit and vegetables these days.’
‘Ugg! What the hell are you going on about?’
‘It’s all to do with Fugg and his reeds – oh, and his girlfriend Bugg and her pebbles.’
‘Her pebbles?…’
‘Yes.’
‘Carry on…’
‘Carry on?… What?… Ouch! That hurt!…’
‘Just tell me what you are babbling on about! You… you… useless plant-eater!’
‘Plant-eater?’
‘Ugg, why are you going to the mammoth chopping?’
‘It’s the bones.’
‘The bones?’
‘Yes.’
‘You can’t eat the bones Ugg.’
‘I don’t want to eat them, I take them down to the stream and wash them and trim them to different lengths with my trusty axe.’
‘You are an idiot Ugg!’
‘Hm, so they say…’
‘Go on then, what do you do with these bones of yours?’
‘I take them round to Fugg and Bugg’s cave, it’s that nice spacious one, up the valley…’
‘And?’
‘…and I make various noises by hitting the bones with a small rock…’
‘Oh?’
‘…and Fugg blows across the ends of his reeds, and Bugg rattles her pebbles in an old skunk skull.’
‘A skunk skull?’
‘Yes, it sounds great!’
‘You think so Ugg?’
‘Yes, and it’s not just me, we get lots of people coming in to listen.’
‘Which people?’
‘Oh, there’s Zugg our leader, and his wife Pugg, and Nugg the mystic beardy wise man, there’s Dugg, Shugg the spear-maker, Barry, Rugg and Chugg and the children…’
‘Alright, alright… Hang on, did you say “Barry”?…’
‘Yes, Barry’s a bit strange, he’s from that tribe the other side of the hill.’
‘Ah, right…’

And so, music was invented.

About Dave Whatt

Grumpy old surrealist artist, musician, postcard maker, bluesman, theatre set designer, and debonair man-about-town. My favourite tools are the plectrum and the pencil...
This entry was posted in archeology, art, brain, conversation, drama, history, humour, learning, music, serendipity, story, surrealism, thinking and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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