They’ll Blame the Collapse of Civilization on Me

A bizarre thought occurred to me while watching a TV documentary on ancient Egyptian relics. I wondered if, in a million years from now, future archaeologists would dig down into my basement and go through my stuff (and relics)?

Think about it. If this happens, future archaeologists may reconstruct our entire civilization based on all the useless old junk I keep in boxes down in my basement/subterranean vault.

Before I go any further, I’d like to point out that my wife and I keep our best stuff upstairs and,  I imagine that ancient Egyptians kept most of their best stuff upstairs as well.

Seriously, those dusty old mummies, statues and strange looking masks we find buried in their basements were likely given to them as gifts by their in-laws. Those things were down there for a reason and, probably only saw the light of day when mother-in-law came to visit

Now, in my basement, you would find a lot of old stuff we should have thrown out years ago. Several boxes filled with National Geographic magazines; several obsolete computers and broken down printers; far too many Fisher-Price kiddie toys; enough Lego blocks to build a new addition on our house and various exercise machines designed to firm up one’s sagging back side. You know, machines with names like The Bun Master, Glutes of Steel and Bootie-Buddy Tune-up – but alas, all of those are behind me now.

Even my collection of old stinky running shoes will likely receive special attention from archeologists and thus be given some ridiculous explanation: “In the 21^st century people kept their old footwear as a sacred token to their beloved Shoe God, nReebok. Many archaeologists are nutty that way – always attaching a religious significance to every little dusty thing they find. It never occurs to them that maybe, the people of antiquity just did stuff because they felt like it.

Perhaps the most interesting find will be the colossal assortment of Barbie dolls still kept in my basement?

Sadly, it is likely that future archaeologists will discover all these plastic, grinning, miniature long-necked likenesses of people and explain them away as religious icons that we in the 21^st century used for fertility purposes and/or voodoo/black magic ceremonies. You can be sure that when they start theorizing about poor nipple-less Barbie, it’s going to get very weird.

Now any archaeologist worth his weight in dusty mummies will tell you that each layer or stratum represents an era of time. So, I envision future archaeologists sifting through the layers of dust in my basement with toothbrush like instruments, as they wouldn’t want to disturb my collection of used furnace filters with heavy machinery now would they? They’d want to preserve everything just the way I left it, disorganized.

Old fixtures, books, clothes and a large collection of good, empty boxes. I have no purpose for them. I can’t throw them out because they’re too good. I can’t give them to my Dad because he has his own collection . He also collects used toilet seats. He has five. As for the frosty frozen peas at the bottom of our freezer, I hope they don’t try to eat them. I wouldn’t eat those in a million years (no pun intended). Of course archeologists, in their naivety, will assume that our civilization thrived on frozen peas when the truth will be exactly the opposite. Silly archaeologists, that’s why we left it there!

And that’s just the beginning. What sense will they make of the gag gifts I’ve received over the years like my singing trout wall plaque; my inflatable rubber chicken; a bare butt mug; my Hillary Clinton nutcracker; a whoopee cushion; my Dogs Playing Poker painting; a scratch n’ sniff map of the world and, my favorite gag gift of all time, bacon scented aerosol bathroom spray.

Indeed, one day in the distant future, there will probably be a coffee table book dedicated to me entitled The 21st Century According to tim cerantola (and the crap we found in his basement).

The biggest mystery for our future descendants to solve will be the festive decorations and our fake Christmas tree. Seriously, what would YOU assume about a civilization of people who kept easy to assemble, replicas of trees in their basements?

That’s right, they’ll think of us as a totally wacked-out civilization of weirdos, and then it gets even weirder. When they decipher the ancient texts that tell of our most special night of the year, when a jolly, bearded fat man climbs down every chimney on the planet so that he might place toys under our phony trees, I’m sure the question, “WTF?” will come up frequently.

One of the most fascinating archaeological find will be our old tube TV.

Will those future geniuses figure out how to get that sensitive piece of electronics to work?

Will they know you have to smack it a couple times on the left side whilst jiggling the tuner knob?

Maybe I should stick a note on the side and tell them about it though, if they do manage to get it working, will there be anything on it worth watching? I doubt it. There’s zip-a-dee-doo-dah worth watching now. More importantly, will they even realize that they’ve stumbled on the main reason for the complete and total collapse of civilization?

True. Posterity will record that it was TV that turned humanity into a race of gangly, bug-eyed creatures just like those flying saucer aliens that keep abducting people. I’m sure those aliens are just we humans after a million years of evolution. See what too much TV and not enough exercise will do to you? My mother was right.

But, I guess the ultimate archeological find will be our kitty litter box. My kids rarely scooped it out. Maybe some archaeologist in the year 1,002,020 will and, if he’s lucky, our cat Violet will have left a “present” behind for him to analyze. And then, just like in that movie “Jurassic Park,” they’ll get a DNA sample and reconstruct a perfect little replica of our endlessly hungry Violet.

As for Violet’s “present” – they’ll probably put that on display in the most prestigious museum in the galaxy.

Imagine, a million years from now, people will travel light years and pay good money just to look at one of Violet’s turds. It doesn’t get any weirder than that.

 

The World’s Greatest Lovers – are not Canadian

By timo Cerantola

I recently stumbled upon an internet sex survey. The survey, conducted by a well-known condom manufacturer, basically suggested that internationally speaking, Canadians are not particularly sexy.

The results of the survey found that the world’s greatest lovers in order of nationality were the French, the Italians and the Americans. The results were based on frequency, quality, safety and obviously, damned lies.

Canadians did not do very well, finishing a very disappointing twelfth out of fifteen industrialized nations. I have only one question. Were any of you asked to compete in a “Worlds Greatest Lover” competition? I wasn’t and I’m an excellent hugger. Heck, I didn’t even know Canada had a team.

Now if you look at the facts from a strictly geographical point of view, Canada has only 35 million people and is the second largest country in the world. So, that probably gives us the distinction of least love making per square mile, but I don’t think that’s what we’re talking about here.

Area wise, Italy and France fit into Canada ten times or more and both have twice Canada’s population. So, that is an impressive amount of baby making for such small countries but, did they really enjoy themselves that much? And, more importantly, were they marking their scorecards honestly?

This survey had the audacity to suggest that we Canadians were uptight when it came to uh… err… you know…. “it.”

What a load of bull! I like to do “it” as much as the next person. If I prefer to keep the details of my horizontal life private, that’s my business.

The one thing Canadians scored (no pun intended) well at was the in the “considerate” department. As you know, globally Canadians have that “nice guy” image. So, we were awarded big points for being “considerate” lovers – but that doesn’t exactly suggest that we’re setting our bedrooms on fire with passion, does it?

Seriously, what does “considerate” mean in this context anyways?

“Considerate,” from where I stand, is always putting the toilet seat back down or never flushing while your partner is in the shower but, according to this dumb survey, “considerate” where Canadians are concerned means, when making love during the hockey playoffs, we Canadians always make sure both participants can see the TV, just in case someone scores, in the game, on the goalie!

Well isn’t that just great! Thanks to this stupid survey, the whole world is now under the impression that we considerate Canadians are a nation of lovers who always say please and thank you before love making, and have a nice day afterwards!

So, who decided on these ridiculous ‘Greatest Lover’ rankings?

Well, surprise! A French condom manufacturer conducted the survey so, is it any wonder that the French placed first in the competition?

Hey, put two and two together (get your minds out of the gutter). France is where the condom manufacturer is based and France is their largest market for sales. Naturally, they’re not going to go screwing around, figuratively speaking, with their best sales market are they? They wouldn’t want their largest market going limp upon hearing that they, the French, came up short in the sack, …uh survey.

As for the manufacturer, they obviously need better promotional gimmicks than these insulting surveys. I’ve got a good idea for them.

If they really want to get some major league international exposure, why don’t they just build a giant, condom-shaped blimp, write their name on the side – and then see if they can stick it, err… land it in the Superdome.

True, that might look kind of kinky, but at least it would get them some great advertising without insulting half the planets’ libido.

Now I’d bet if they’d conducted a survey on truthfulness when answering sex surveys, you would find Canadians at the top of that list and the French dead last – as the only things the French are really good at is cooking, making great wine and going on endlessly about how wonderful they all are in the sack.

As for the Americans well, a lot of my favourite aunts and uncles are American. I’d be too embarrassed to ask them what kind of weird, kinky, sexual acrobatics they performed in order to earn that third place ranking.

Oh well, I really don’t care what some foreign condom manufacturer thinks of Canada. It’s none of their damned business how extraordinarily superb Canadians are as lovers. In typical Canadian fashion, we prefer not to attract too much attention to ourselves. We don’t like to brag about “it” – we just deliver the goods, big time!