Wednesday, May 31, 2006

Greetings weary Cromagdudes and welcome to my E-Cave.

Right off, I bet you're wondering, what in the world is a Troglodad?

Well, it's a contrived attempt at humor. Oh, and a made-up word.

See, I'm a regular Cromagdude, a modern caveman, married with a wife and kids. I don't have a cave to shelter in, but I do have a basement. And basements are the modern caveman, or Cromagdude's, 21st century cave. Alternatively the garage would work as well.

Taking a note from some brainy book I once read, I remembered that a "cave dweller" is a Troglodyte. Were I a single man, I would no doubt be a Troglodude. But I have those kids, and as this blog will show you, having kids really alters your life.

So what am I going to talk about? Why, Cromagdude topics of course. Like food. Food is good. Food is important. Cavemen probably worried more about food than anything else. So it's as good a place as any to start.

First though, I think we need to lay some ground rules. Like, what makes you a cromagdude- a modern caveman?

Well, caveman replies you're a dinosaur- a throwback to more primordial times. Someone with beliefs that don't fit into the modern, pencil-neck geek world of metrosexual goofiness so prevalent today.

Cromagdudes like food. Not cuisine. Cuisine is for sissies. It's nothing more than fashion for your tongue. Cromagdudes eat what they want and damn the consequences. Just remember though, if you get too fat, you'll be the slow. And we all know what happened to the slowest cavemen. They got eaten.

Hey, I'm a dad, so by modern chick standards I shouldn't be interested in this. Moreover, if my wife finds out I am, I'll end up with a club upside my head.


Yeah, I said Chicks. Babes, Girls and gals are okay terms as well. "Hotties" is not. That sounds too metrosexual. So where do Chicks fit in the cave? Well, cavemen had to endure spending all their time hunting and gathering or listening to the nattering of their women. Cromagdudes have the advantage- we can retreat to our caves to escape the henpecking. Not that there's not a place for chicks in one's life. Keeping it G-Rated, I'll just say that men and women are partners, teammates, but as marriage will prove to anyone, you simply CANNOT spend all your time with your partner. You'll go nuts.

Face it, TV has replaced hunting in the Cromagdude's daily life. Where once we might have roamed the savannah, searching for tasty animals to devour, now we just drive to the market or a fast food restaurant and get some chow. The thrill is gone, and we have lots of spare time. And we have these caves to loiter in. TV is perfect. We can sit on our butts, away from the womenfolk, eating and watching whatever the hell we want.

I'll try to avoid this subject in respect for the Freedom of Choice God gave you. Even if you are a numbskull, Darwin-worshipping nitwit. Hey, you wanna burn in Hell for all eternity, go right ahead. Just means more space at the dinner table in Heaven for me and the other Saved Cromagdudes.

Come on! We're Cromagdudes! If it isn't on TV, why should we care? A lot of the busybody pencil necks might be obsessed with politics, but really, what difference does it make? Go out and vote twice a year, but otherwise, does it really matter which politician is stealing from whom?

I just don't get music. It's like TV with no picture. My cavebabe enjoys her music, and who doesn't get a good laugh out of the antics of Ted Nugent on VH1, but really, I can do without it.

I suppose that I could sit down every night for an hour and a half of news, like my dad did, but it seems like a waste of time. I have DSL in my cave, so I can read all the day's news in about 5 minutes. And what of the news? Most of it is politically spun, pushing someone's agenda. If I wanted to hear some pencil-neck geek's opinions, I'd go to a Star Trek convention.

The Military.
Well what Cromagdude is not interested in this? I'm going to lump guns and other weapons into this category, because blowing things up and shooting things is just so damned much fun. Oh, and I'm a veteran, so all you tree-hugging, veggie-worshipping hippies can kiss my arse. I did my four years of indentured servitude to preserve your right to whine, but that doesn't mean I have to listen to it, or condemnation of our troops now.

So there you have it. This is a manly, man's site. A place to ramble in cromagdudish fashion on whatever floats my boat. Oh, and I do have an ulterior motive: It's a book I'm going to be hawking in future months.

In the words of Stan Lee, "'Nuff Said."