The following is a translation from the original cave art discovered on September 13, 1952 by archeologists Dr. Timothy Banter and Dr. Julia Serrazo in Obzor, Romania. After painstakingly analyzing and cataloging 836 Paleolithic-era cave specimens, a "Rosetta Stone" (R.S.) was developed by linguist Dr. Adriana Neacsu and anthropologist Dr. Teo Cernea (University of Prostii, Bucharest) in 2016. This R.S. was not a perfect device by any means, but an academic tool used to help interpret "Grunting". In instances where Drs. Neascu and Cernea lacked firm evidence or clarity in their translation, they used their own terms which were created by triangulating several different cave paintings into one harmonious concept. These triangulated words and phrases are in [brackets] throughout the story.
While reading this story, it becomes apparent that early written language was based heavily on onomatopoeia and extremely literal representations. For example, the word "hand" in the story is commonly represented as "rock thrower" and is drawn as a grouping of three small paintings contained within a circle - a hand, a rock, and three wavy, parallel lines). "Rock thrower" is an interesting concept and is reserved for referring to a hand in motion whereas a static hand is painted as a hominid hand with an arrow pointing to it, revealing a certain pedantry in early hominid writing.
Where possible, these literal and onomatopoeia terms have been retained to preserve the story's authenticity. With a careful reading, most people should be able to translate the majority of the unorthodox text to its corresponding English, however, several pictorials have proven difficult for many and are provided here so as not to distract the reader:
- "crunchies" are insects, specifically thought to be grasshoppers (the "squeaky" noise coming from the stridulations produced when the grasshopper rubs its leg against its wing). It's pictorial representation is three small green circles next to each other (eg: an ellipsis) with an upside down "V" superimposed the middle.
- "waaahhh!" is a very clearly a baby. It's pictorial representation is that of a tiny stick figure with very large wavy lines protruding from a small circle ("eathole") in its circle top (head).
- "chunky yellow squirt squirt" is believed to be vomitus. It's pictorial representation is of several yellow blobs and lines mixed together seemingly ejected from a small circle ("eathole") contained within a larger circle ("circle top").
* "white squirter" is a female breast. It's pictorial representation is a circle with a centrally located dot with three long white lines drawn from the dot out beyond the perimeter of the circle.
Translation nuances aside, the resulting story is an amazing glimpse into the mind of early hominid. This specific story is an account of a young male (Rock Charmer) attempting to court a young female (Unnamed) prior to the arrival of spoken language. However, some linguists are skeptical about the story's meaning (a meaning shaped by Drs. Neascu and Cernea), believing the cave art may in fact be the earliest example of a crude, albeit elaborate dick joke.
GRUNTING (A HOMINIAN LOVE STORY)
I banged my circle top on the head rock again today [Infinite] Blue. She did too. We laughed at the pain, traded regretful smiles, wet sticky trickling down between our lookers and across the bridges of our sniffsniffs. Pressure relieved, treatment a success, problem solved. She's [so cute] the way she sucks the red in, sprays it in misty pattern on the leaves covering the ground. Red rain. She will be Red Rain and she will follow me and if she doesn't I will hit her in the back with the wood pole until she follows me. Follows me into happy sick. Together we will [replicate] and make a waaahhh!
And last week, her complaints about a painful leg, she cut open a little slit above her knee and the wet sticky flowed down into a little pool collecting in the dirt. A need for [levity], I stirred it into the dirt, made mud patty, applied it like [war paint] then attacked Flower Crusher, stompers and rock throwers to his circle top. Flower Crusher rolled on the ground laughing, she smiled through pain, I [scored a long fought point] for humor. She laughed, not the scared laugh, the funny laugh. She laughed at the attack, not at Flower Crusher laughing and not at Flower Crusher's [silly antics] but at my attack. It was funny, not funny like when Goat Fucker threw the deathstick that passed through both ears of the big furry, but funny [nonetheless]. Blue, give me sign, am I on the path? Will I conquer the sick madness before the next white circle? Or, should I get wood pole and make happy sick come into her?
Out walking in the forest near Water Bird Pond, we came upon dead bird. Fresh dead, recent bashbash or maybe feather body quit because your air no longer fit inside it. Your tricks Blue. [Mischievous] look, she approached it, knelt for a closer look. All of a sudden dead bird took flight, up, up it went its feathers chomping at the wind. Her pickers beneath its flappers, thrusting them upward, downwards, up again. Around the pond she ran, dead bird riding on outstretched rock thrower, her pickers [acting like] the bird's go-go. [Lithe] legs making shadows around the pond. Hilarious, [absolutely classic]. She [clearly] won a [formidable point]in the [humor category]. Was she trying to reciprocate my humor, establish a sort of common link between us?] Did she do this funny [act] for your [jealous] happiness or mine? I now have confusion between a wood pole and two rock throwers full of berries. Which is needed to create happy sick in her? Blue, why don't you visit on the days of the unknown? I will turn the liquid in the small furry body into black smoke, inhale and blow in your direction, for your [glory].
Maybe humor isn't the way to make her happy sick. Many sun-falls spent collecting rocks. [Perfectly] smooth, [flawless] rocks in [varying] colors. Each, a picker wide, round, and placed in a little satchel. Uniformity. In white circle's light, in the wide open space between the groves, satchel given to her. A [curious] look, [guarded], she accepted the [preternaturalism] with the softest [guttural] I've ever heard. Satchel tipped, out poured [feigned] rocks, shimmering like a [violation of all known order]. Fear! Very loud [guttural] noises, [cacophonous] and equally unnatural, and the heavy thud of closed rock throwers upon my circle top. Again, again, again. Blows continued and the wet sticky flowed to home. Confusion. But, [with the] white circle still high in the sky, she returned. She poked at the rocks with a tiny stomper, squatted, sniffed, rolled them between her pickers, smiled with wonder, eathole pointing at you Infinite Blue. Into the satchel they went, and the wet sticky drying on my circle top ending up on her wiping picker. Looker contact, tense, [sustained]. Her lookers and mine, stuck. A rush of wind, not yours, and two black sticks alternating in a white shower of circle light. Quiet, only the little crunchies squeaking [stochastically].
The flapping light in the cave cast a yellow glow across Bark Muncher's big circle top as he moved [toward her]. One huge, angry rock thrower collected both of hers, the other [encompassed the entirety] of her small waaahhh!carry. Me, basking in the warmth of dancing yellow-hot-death, but, [for all intents and purposes entirely not present, socially irrelevant]. [Succumbing to inevitability] she went no go-go, then went [limp] Infinite Blue, she knew time of waaahhh! had come. Fist-sized rock in rock thrower, I [crept] to cold yellowless [part of cave], [breathed deep] and threw the rock with bangbang into Muncher's big circle top. Beautiful wet sticky, [pulsing] squirts of it, as she went go-go and [moved away from] the red. Together, by the [warm hug] of the dancing yellow-hot-death, we sat making [war paint] with Bark Muncher's wet sticky, [aware of something]. Happy sick? Cracking logs. Yellow black dancing. Flashboom in your cloudless blackblack. Just open up your eathole Rock Charmer, [do something other than] search your chompchomps with fat, hot worm. (ACADEMIC NOTE: The majority of anthropologists believe this to be the first instance of an internal dialog written in a story) But, nothing [materialized] Blue. I was ready to get a big furry, [drain] the muddy green, rub [it] on my circle top and yellow-hot-death [my] stompers. No wood pole. Wood pole for bashbash on Bark Muncher's big circle top. Wood pole hasn't seen sick happy. Wood pole [doesn't know how to make] happy sick.
Then [just] yesterday [Infinite] Blue, one of those moments again. Out painting [we were], back and forth searching for [common link. Note: This is believed to be the concept of compatibility, some nonverbal connection that serendipitously occurs between to individuals]. Her white squirter, [unbeknownst] to her, hanging out of her warm-warm like huge drop of muddy water. A thing like fear in the air, a happy fear with [confusion] and the sickness. Chunky yellow squirt squirt [bubbling] in my eathole. Wanting to hunt and sleep [simultaneously]. Break rocks then put them back together [somehow]. Lots of [confusion] in my circle top. Your air like mud, Blue, no breath in it. I cleared my throat, pointed at her white squirter, [alerting her with my squeaky grunt], to the [breach of decorum]. No correction of the [clothing malfuction], her white squirter still hanging there. Her lookers like chasing big, big furry after no eat for many white circles. She [plunked] her rock thrower into the blueberry mash, wiped it on the rock wall. Her blue line go skyward and she [stretched up] on her ten tiny stompers, pickers go high. The line curved nicely back to home, [parallel] to the line stretching to you [Infinite] Blue. A blue wood pole!
Into the moist, mushy berries went my rock thrower, my lookers on hers searching for her happy sick. Dripping blue, my rock thrower reached for the blue wood pole, [applied] two big blue circles to the [base] of her blue wood pole. [Common link?] Her eathole opened, then closed. Opened, closed. Finally she looked happy sick! I felt happy sick. Her eathole noise, [guttural], [tapering] to the squeak of the crunchies. Again. Her lookers on me, bigbig lookers. Again, her [guttural noise transitioning into] squeaky crunchies, quiet noise like tiny furry, [strange] noise, new noise! Her rock throwers, slowly [taking mine], her pickers searching my pickers. [Guttural] to squeaky crunchies again, her eathole [beckoning] mine. Her meatcircle dancing around her eathole noise, pulling at me. Me? My small grunt, no response. Bigger grunt and her happy meatcircle came out. Her biggest lookers and a slow [guttural] to squeaky crunchies. Her big lookers [intent]. Just me at the end of her big lookers. She touched my meatcircle, gently, with the end of her pickers. Happy sick. Much much happy sick. My [guttural], low, rumbling like Flashboom, then, squeaky crunchies; her noise from my eathole. Happiness like fall of big, big, furry. A [common link] found.
~end
*all images in short story are taken from pixabay and are free to use under creative commons