Two (2) (II) renowned universities have offered Ralphie a grant to come and show their students his ever newer and more creative ways of being obtuse, but they had to be turned down...
The departments of paleontology of both Comebridge and Bullford are interested in studying my unusual brain squiggly bits or in other words, the annoying itch I sometimes get between my ears, when not napping. They have a sneaky suspicion that I might be related to a branch of the Neanderthal species or some other cave dweller from a yester-millenium.
The reports that their coffee was of excremental quality and that their crumpets were stale, could possibly have been overlooked. However, apparently the smoking of doobies is highly frowned upon and when I inquired whether it would be permissible to drag off the occasional female to a private cave, after proper clobbering of course, I was told that this was considered illegal!
I was also informed that no proper facilities were in situ to practice my grunting and wolf calls for attracting the opposite sex. They told me that in this day and age men were supposed to woo women and engage them in intelligent conversation. I of course promptly replied that in the first instance I had always thought that wooing was an old Chinese torture technique and secondly, how was one to have intelligent conversation, if at least one and probably both subjects proved to be obtuse? Which was actually rather sensible of me, I thought! It will come as no surprise to anyone that I decided to decline their ungracious offer.
Oh woe is me! What is a romantic troglodyte to do, one wonders, when his gonads are bursting? Is he supposed to join his brethren, the wolves, in howling at the Moon or headbutt his cave wall repeatedly when the urge grabs him? Does this mean that there will be no more little cave children in the future? Are the stone-age ways truly doomed?
Only the other day, I went for a stroll with my trusted club and showed it to some portly lady, with a grunt and a wink(as one should) and she took out her taser. Modern women are dangerous, I tells ye. Someone should explain to them the proper role-playing procedures. They're supposed to whimper softly and acquiesce and not chase poor old cavemen around the block for an hour!
Bertha, wherefore art thou, Bertha(*)? WOOOoooooohhh!!!
P.S.: One of the Butt-sisters!