Prehistoric pornography: an introduction

(above: recent excavations show evidence that Wilma Flinstone did other show business jobs before her breakthrough in the well-known tv series)

I always like to start my entries by stating the obvious and then undermine it slowly as words go by. This week is no exception. I seldom make exceptions - if not enhanced by a great amount of foreign currency and/or a bag of Twiglets. This week's obviousness is: ARCHAEOLOGISTS ARE A BUNCH OF P******. (******: USSIES)

I know. This week's is a tough one to undermine, but I'll have a go. Archaeologists' job is to discover ancient shite and report it to the rest of mankind. Nevertheless, I fear the archaeological community might withhold certain information to the general public. You guessed right, I am talking about prehistoric communication in particular. If you didn't guess right, you probably needed to check the meaning of the word 'pornography'. Or if you guessed too much, the meaning of 'introduction' must be rethought and watered down - I didn't want to go that far.

The other day - when somebody says 'the other day' is utter deception -, a friend of mine - I'm just making it worse - commented me the day before he was bashing the bishop over a pint. Well, I mean, not that he was giving himself the five-finger treatment over a pint and thought of that but he mentioned this whilst we were having a pint. Anyway, the thing is this friend came up with a genius question to put forward to the aforementioned archaeological community: do we have evidence of prehistoric erotic material? and if so, what's the point if they had wild chickens, wild goats and mammoths?

I assume that, by Stone Age, humans hadn't invented Dragons and Dungeons yet, so there weren't enough geeks around to appreciate and consume this sort of graphic art. However, hominids terribly resemble monkeys and we have all been in the zoo. Monkeys at the zoo only have two gears, honestly: namely, throw poo at the passers-by or excessive self-love. Who hasn't gone through that moment?

- Mum, what is that chimpanzee doing?

- He is w******, love.

I admit that embarrassing situation might be slightly different for each and everyone out there reading this, but you must acknowledge I come from a very rough working-class background. Back to the topic, provided the prehistoric man was rather more advanced than regular-sized monkeys - excluding the gorilla who fixed the wallpaper and Wayne Rooney (evenly) - and they had the same need to exercise the biceps, hominids must have developed more complex forms to relieve themselves similar to ours if they really are our ancestors. And here is where the archaeologists take their part in the equation.

Archaeology only show us depictions of Neanderthals hunting large animals, which we clearly see that is the ancient equivalent of going to Magaluf (Majorca, Africa), or pregnant Venuses. Unless the pregnant Venuses were some sort of fetish, they do not provide evidence of erotic stimulation for the alpha male. WELL, THEY ARE LIARS! And I'll tell you why. Every single time I recall how shit my life is because a member of an NGO have stopped me and told me how great they are and how evil and cheapskate I am for not giving 12 quids a week, I like to go and cry in a little cave. In that very cave, I often feel overly aroused by some paintings on the walls in there. End of. That is my evidence that proves my point.

Sadly, I could not undermine the idea of the archaeologists being complete pussies. I didn't have enough time in my hands. Too bad. Sorry about wasting your time. In order to compensate such waste of time I'll post a link that will cheer you up. Click here, ungrateful reader.

THE WELSH PATIENT says: "I once ask a chunk of wall in a cave to make love to me. Just sex. It was a cold relationship. A stone cold one"

Demystifying biographies: Yoko Ono

(above: UTTER FRAUD. these blokes kept impersonating the glorious Mancunians all throughout their career. the one in the bottom right thought he was the reincarnation of Liam Gallagher... keep off the dope, man.)

Yoko Ono.

If we ask the man in the street - or the woman on the roof - about this Nipponese character and her contribution to Western culture, he is bound to answer that she is remarkably the one who made the Plastic Ono Band go down the drain. Though other more well-informed people will tell you the she also breached his husband's musical formation: The Bitless or summat.

I'm afraid that everyone missed the point of that woman. Everyone think that she got on the gravy train when she married musician Jack Lemon and started to use her undeserved fame to start ruining random bands, sadly including her own. Music lovers around the globe thought the Plastic Ono Band had plenty more to give to culture. Nevertheless, this is simply untrue. Mrs. Lemon-Ono was born with the gift of musical proficiency and made the Plastics one of the most successful bands of its age. But the days of Ono's band were coming to an end.

It all started in a massive gig in Milton Keynes (Middleoff***ingnowhereshire, England). She was performing an outstanding act of her best-known hit (a cappella version here). During the 9-minute bass solo, the bassist, whose name can be done without, started to slap the 4 strings with his knob and unfortunately electrocuted himself and passed out for several months. Did I mention it was raining and that enhanced the conductivity between the bass and his knob? Well, it was raining. Naturally, the gig was cancelled for obvious reasons.

After this, zillions of fans were concerned about the future of the Plastic Ono Band. The band couldn't do without the bassist whose name can be done without. For that reason, Yoko was forced to hire a new bassist temporarily. She called for an audition to look for a new bassist. Response was multitudinous. However, every contender was 3 times worse than the previous one.

Eventually, when they were about to throw in the towel and announce the discontinuation of the band, like in an American film, an old lady sneaked in the audition room, picked the 4-string chopper and started slapping it all over the place wickedly. She was left-handed: Yoko and her Medieval mind saw that as an asset to identify the band with Satan and immediately hired her without thinking it twice.

With this new left-handed bassist, the Plastic Ono Band completed a more than successful tour around Anglesey (North-West Wales), selling out every single ticket for each gig. The new bassist was now completely integrated into the band and now they let her make decisions for the band. This was a fatal mistake.

Before a gig at a centre for people with mental diseases in Scarborough, the old lady suggested Yoko to play their top hit with an ukulele instead of an acoustic guitar on the basis that the ukulele would give a more exotic approach to the song. Unfortunately, Yoko acceded. So Yoko went up to the stage with the ukulele attached to her. The cheering audience became silent all of a sudden. Unknowingly, Yoko tuned the first riffs for her top hit. The audience started to boo her loud.

Yoko was confused but then she realised. The ukulele was the instrument used to offend people with mental diseases. An evil laughter came from behind. It was that old lady who played the bass. IT TURNED OUT TO BE PETER MCKENNA, the bassist for the other band she is accused to break up, the Meatles or summit, and who played with his husband.

Local musical press began to slag her band off very harshly and then she quitted.

Yoko Ono is currently very busy being a fraud in the visual arts.

Peter McKenna, proud of his action, still today dresses like an old lady.

*Names have been subtly modified in order not to face sexual action from the solicitors of the people involved*

THE WELSH PATIENT says: "I own a bass; it's called Red Iosif in honour to my moustache hero: Iosif Stalin"