Darwin was a Crackpot

To my fellow bloggers:
Should you have the need to attend to something of greater importance such as doing your taxes, coddling a laughing child, or masturbating I encourage you to do so now because this is the result of two consecutive long boring nights at Assrape Incorporated where the mind was allowed to wander for extended periods of time. Be forewarned that this rant could take you a minute to read and time is one thing you’ll never get back.

Since the dawn of recorded time man has questioned many things. The greatest of these unanswered quandaries would have to be “where did we come from”. Now, While I do not suggest to know, first hand, the answer to this question I submit to you, the happy reader, that I am capable of disproving, and expounding upon, one such long standing theory.

Darwinism. The foundation of Darwinism is summed up with the statement “survival of the fittest”. The theory being that the strongest, fastest, and the smartest would survive the test of time and rise to the top. The slower, both mentally and physically, would sink into the abyss of nothingness, like David Hassellhoff, and be forgotten. While at face value this all seems a safe assumption life is not without its little surprises like phone solicitors, TV evangelists, and Captain Charisma.

To further illustrate the Darwin theory we will, temporarily of course, travel back to the stone age. A time in our history where the human courtship process consisted of beating the woman with a club and dragging her home with you. I realize this seems remarkably close to the modern process; the subtle difference being that the male was not forced to incur the costs of getting the female drunk beforehand.

Our stonage city is made up of three families. Each family is headed up by the bread winner, we will refer to them as Unga, Bunga, and Cunga. Well, one day, while admiring each others lepard print togas the boys realized that the food supply was running low so they set about the task of a hunt. Many days and nights passed but the fruits of their labors turned out to be a mammoth; A hearty meal indeed, which can be supported by anyone that has ever seen an episode of the Flintstones.

Now, with a food supply to last till the next ice age the three are allowed to go their own ways and pass the time in leisure. Unga, the brute he is, came to love the thrill of the hunt while out and decides to go track himself down some more game. Bunga, whose wife had the biggest boobies a potbellied cromagnan could ever want, chose to waste away his days sitting on his caveman ass in his caveman home looking up at the caveman ceiling pondering caveman thoughts. Cunga, however, created for himself a little game. He would balance a stick on a big rock and try to knock it off by throwing smaller rocks at it. He called the game “knock the stick off the big rock with small rocks”. Many archaeologists to date blame Cunga’s poor naming scheme for the lack of popularity the game acrued.

Now lets evaluate the situation for our over sized and under brained friends.

Unga runs the risk of being eaten, getting lost, and running out of food for himself while on his “hunt”. Should he succeed, however, he will have improved his own hunting skills, and therefore his survival likelihood, as well his own fitness. His genes will pass on to create a small margin of the individuals that are more physical than most. A small percentage only because most of the Ungas of the world ended up as somethings toothpick. It has been argued, however, that this “Unga gene” must be cyclic among humans as it has been known to pop up from time to time in our society in individuals like Joseph Stalin, Adolphe Hitler, and Bill Gates.

Bunga, much like Unga, has drastically narrowed his array of activities by staring at his caveman ceiling and thinking his caveman thoughts. Many Bungas of the world could no longer keep up with the others, due to lack of physical abilities, and as such in hard times were probably eaten. Every now and again, however, a Bunga would have a caveman thought. A good caveman thought. The kind of caveman thought that makes you want to think it. A tool, perhaps, the wheel. It would appear in a vision to him much like the flux capacitor appeared to Dr. Brown. The Bunga with such a thought would survive to spread his seed. Examples of Bunga inventions include, but are not limited to, silly putty, edible underwear, and that sticky tack used to put up posters.

Most of us are Cungas. Cunga passed his time throwing that rock, which kept him physically fit to an extent. He also explored his ingenuity to expand his pile of games to include “jump the log”, “kick the rock”, and my personal favorite “hit the rock with the stick”. Cunga became the fittest, so to speak, through possessing a broader base of skills than both Unga and Bunga. He also allowed himself proper leisure time, enjoying his games, to rest and relax.

At this point you may be questioning the title to this article as all seems to be in order. The flaw, I tell you, is Dunga. Yes, that’s right, Dunga, who has remained unmentioned until this point. Dunga was the great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather of Captain Charisma.

Returning to our prior example it’s worth noting that Dunga did not attend the happy hunting expedition. Indeed a cave-to-cave survey was held and all felt Dunga far too incapable to handle the burden of sharpening a stick and poking something with it. Instead Dunga stayed home in his cave, alone, forgotten, and unloved…just like the Captain.

Dunga can be attributed to one major thing in our history. Cave writings. Yes, those lovely drawings of buffalo and stickmen found on the interiors of caves where drawn by downtrodden Dungas. The preferred medium for such masterpieces is believed to have been their own feces.

So, while Unga, Bunga, and Cunga were out fending for themselves bagging that mammoth, Dunga was at home throwing out another poopy picasso for man to find millions of years later. It is important to fully understand Dunga, both who he was and what he did, for the full explanation to make sense. Dunga was a freeloader. Too innable to handle himself to even be wanted along on the hunting trip that would feed and support him yet he certainly was willing to take his share of the spoils. He was a leech. A festering hemorroid on the asshole of the earth. Yet, he survived. Darwins theory should have left him dead and forgotten ages ago, but that’s not what happened.

Furthermore the existance of the “Dunga gene” as it is seen today further defies logic. Given the courting methods mentioned earlier it is HIGHLY unlikely that reproduction would have ever occurred. The level of bludgeoning necessary to get any human being with functional sexual organs into a Dunga’s cave would have caused such severe trauma to the head that, should an offspring be conceived, it’s lifespan would have been unexplainably short. One parent, the Dunga, is a poopy writing reject that is all but ignored by the rest of the caveman society. The other parent has received a concussion to the degree of being mentally retarded. How this gene survived defies Darwin.

The most intriguing part of this entire situation is the position of authority that Captain Charisma has handjobbed his way into. This Dunga of a man has not only survived to adulthood but he is the head manager of a complex for a relatively sizeable corporation! Granted, there are certain other shortcomings that have remained. He is single, alone, and forgotten by most of the world. I postulate this is entirely because it would no longer be legal to deliver such a near lethal blow these days.

So now we have a firm understanding of Darwinism and it’s mistakes and oversights. The next time you consider mocking someones opinion of creationism (or any other theory) remember that Darwin was a Crackpot! Evaluate their theory. If there is a possibility for the lowest common denominator cocksucking his way to the top in their version of “where did we come from” then it might just be true!

One thought on “Darwin was a Crackpot”

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *