A Caveman Walks Into A Bar

Hey there, buddy, nice sabre-toothed tiger.
   It not alive, now it coat.
I can see. Very snappy. What'll you have?
   Fermented goat's milk.
Sorry, fresh out.
   Maybe have steppe berry in spring water?
Never heard of it.
   Then light beer.
I'm Harvey.
   Me Og.
Good to meet you, Og. What brings a man like you into a place like this?
   Me feeling lonely. Me last of kind.
No wonder you need company.
   They all gone. Friends, family, even enemies. Gone like mastadon. Never come back.
Here's your beer.
   Me left alone with newspaper.
You read newspapers?
   What left of them. Me think Garfield funny, him like sabre-tooth who eat lasagna.
You could just read that online.
   No have internet. Og still use rotary telephone.
Rotary? Jeez...
   No have computer either.
What? Seriously?
   Me think typewriter just fine. It work for Hemingway, it work for Og too.
Holy crap. I'm guessing you don't have a cell phone?
   Me not need electronic leash. Me free like eagle.
What do you drive, an AMC Javelin?
   Me love planet so me take public transportation.
Well, whatever floats your boat.
   Me not like boats. Og no swim.
You're really dedicated to the lifestyle.
   It not choice, Og born this way.
So you've never heard of Facebook, Twitter, YouTube?
   Og not ignorant, Og just not interested in following herd. Unless herd is tasty bison, then Og all over that action.
Maybe you could re-think your position on this. Because you're gonna get left behind. Further than you already are, I mean.
   Hey, you not Og's mother. Or therapist. Leave Og to drown sorrows and eat bowls of pretzels.
All right. But you should know barflies are a dying breed too.
   Og want you to shut up now.

Unexpected Ecologist

I was in the convenience store today, buying a Lotto ticket - you can't win if you don't play - behind a homeless guy who was talking to himself as he bought a quart of Miller. I couldn't make heads or tails of his dialogue, he was muttering and not finishing sentences, but I did notice that his clothes were too big. And not like he'd lost a lot of weight, like they were someone else's once upon a time. Which they most likely were. The guy got his quart of Miller in a paper sack and shuffled off to his wheeled basket piled high with soiled treasures picked from others' cast-offs. And a notion suddenly struck me.
   That homeless guy is a grass-roots ecologist.
   Think about it. Almost everything he owns, wears, or consumes is recycled or recyclable. The paper bag wrapped around his beer is probably made from recycled paper, the bottle almost certainly is, his clothes are recycled, and the collection of things in his wheeled basket is recycled.
   He may not know it, but that man is providing the example for the rest of us. Reduce, reuse, recycle. Talk to yourself, forget to bathe, argue with floating dandelion seeds.
   Well, maybe not those last few, but you get the idea.