Once upon a time there was just us. And then the Cro Magnons moved in down the glacier. "No problem", we said, "we're better than them, we've got rocks". Then they got rocks. Undeterred we said: "well they may have rocks but we've got sticks and rocks and know how to bang them together". Sure enough, some weeks later we heard the telltale sound of sticks banging on rocks echoing off of the ice interspersed with yelps of primitive Cro Magnon glee. "Philistines!", we grunted. The next morning our Neanderthal engineer came in with his latest invention: "Fire!". For weeks the forest was filled with flames, whole groves burned to a crisp. "That'll show 'em" we said. Then one night, beyond the smoldering trees we saw flames, heard sticks on rocks and the shadows of the Cros' doing their brutal, primitive dance. "Pigs", we thought. This was getting serious - "formal animal skins!" our fashion maven shouted - we will wear animal skins - Bear! Caribou! Saber Toothed Tiger! we looked rakish in the 'skins, we made a Neanderthal fashion statement. Then one day the Cro Magnon clan strolled by in matching skins and coverings that they called 'hats'.
"This has got to stop", we said. We plotted. We schemed. We attempted to invent the cannon but couldn't find enough hollow trees. Then one day the engineer had his eureka moment. "Take the sticks and stones and tie them together using strips of our ceremonial skins", he said. "We'll call 'em clubs!" We were so happy! Once again we were on top, we were better than they were. But the realists among us said: "you know that the Cros' are just going to copy us, they always do".
So we donned our formal skins, grabbed our shiny new clubs, marched down the glacier and beat their brains in before they could.
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