Preface. Or “Prologue.” Or “Introduction.” Or “Forward.” Who TF knows? Just read, already.
I have always wanted to write a history of the world. Yes, yes…sigh…I know. It’s been done plenty of times. Even by Mel Brooks. As cool as that movie was.
No, I wanted to write my version of the history of the world. Trust me, while I may change some small elements of the past millions of years (e.g., I’ll bet “Xerxes the Great” didn’t have a kid brother named “Herschel the So-So”), it will be done solely in the pursuit of comedy or whatever this is.
I’ll leave the major bits intact, though. For instance, Rome was sacked (hee hee hee…sacked) by the Goths, who were an actual “barbarian” tribe, not a group of angst-ridden teenagers who painted their faces black, sported multiple piercings, and dressed head to toe like Morticia Adams.
Hmm, come to think of it, that’s pretty good. I may use that.
I’ll pretty much rely on that which I’ve gleaned from my education by the good sisters of Saint Stanislaus Elementary School and the Stratford, Connecticut, public school system.
NOTE: Now you know where to forward your strongly worded letters of protest.
Since I’ll be relying on what I’ve already learned, there will be a minimum of scholarly research. Mostly because scholarly research requires scholarly work and, well, screw that. My point is, I am positive I’ll get some things wrong along the way. Meaning, sue me. If you’re using what you read here to ace the History Advanced Placement to get you into an Ivy League school or a good table at Red Robin, I can’t help you.
Who knows? Maybe I’ll turn this into an actual book someday. That would be a lot of fun and will give you the two of you who read this a chance to tell the two who buy an actual book that you were here on the ground floor of a Nit Nat History of the World.
Just don’t hold your breath. You’ll die.
Oh, one more thing. I’ll no doubt insult pretty much all elements of society here. So, don’t get your knickers all in a twist. If I haven’t mentioned your favorite target of scorn and derision, be patient. I’ll get to them eventually. Except those who behead people. Because behead people.
Just kidding. I’ll get to them, too.
“Go ahead. Jump, infidel frog, jump.”
So, check your brain at the door and prepare to be
educated entertained whatever this is.
A long time ago, defined as 14 billion years (give or take a billion or, for evangelicals, last weekend), there was a cataclysmic explosion the likes of which wouldn’t be seen until Chris Christie fell while chasing that ice cream truck in front of a Trenton Dunkin’ Donuts (talk about your basic conundrum).
The result of this massive explosion was that the cosmos began racing outward at breathtaking speeds (once again, think Chris Christie and the ice cream truck) towards the outer edge of the universe where it will no doubt meet Arya Stark.
NOTE: If you don’t get that line, watch the last episode of Game of Thrones. Hey, I can’t do everything here.
For some reason, some things decided to remain. No, I don’t get it. Why would anything hang around after such an explosion? Sounds like a crappy neighborhood, if you ask me. Stephen Hawking would probably know, I suppose but, well, you know.
No one really knows what happened, mostly because no one was alive back then, with the possible exceptions of Keith Richard and Betty White.
So, with that in mind, let’s just chalk it up to…
Anyway, the bits of cosmic jetsam left over by the kaboom coalesced into the planets, moons, and suns of which we are familiar (even Pluto, that Mickey Mouse planet). Some would be hot, some would be cold, some would be in the pot nine days old. Some would be gassy (those planets never get invited to Planetary Barbecues) and some would be punchlines for junior high school kids (e.g., Uranus).
One such planet we named “Earth,” because, seriously, who else would do it? This didn’t seem to make a whole lot of sense because most of the planet which was third in line from Hot Bright Thingie (an accurate, if clumsy, moniker) was water.
The infant Earth went through billions of years or an afternoon (once again, evangelicals) cooling down, solidifying what little ground it had, and putting up curtains until something in the water (which was maybe hit by lightning or fertilized by aliens) decided to get jiggy with themselves and reproduce.
Reproducing was probably pretty difficult, though, because Barry White music hadn’t been invented yet. Anyway, reproduce and multiply they did until we see the oceans teeming with life: fish, seaweed, Aquaman, primeval mob hits, you name it.
Eventually, one of these fish, growing weary of being munched on by prehistoric sharks (which would go to evolve as lawyers) or wanting to escape Mrs. Fish, decided to give what looked like legs a try. So, with great effort, he (okay, I’m assuming gender. Shut up) heaved himself on the shore and became our great-great-great-great (insert a shitload of “greats” here) grandfather.
He actually would have preferred identifying as a great (and so on) grandmother, but his neighbor, Caitlynopitheticus, already cornered that market.
Not only would this set the stage for the future of the planet, it goes a long way toward explaining why Great-Aunt Edna looks like a fish.
Next time: The Dinosaurs and Flintstones….