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“What did our grandparents do for fun before electronic entertainment?”

It is secret that old people have a hard time relating to technology.

From grandpa trying to figure out the universal remote, to grandma stuffing her dog in the microwave to “dry it off”, the marvels of the modern world befuddle the already befuddled.

But it isn’t their fault.

You and I were born into a world of technology. Technology designed for us, by us, and that follows our way of thinking. We never tilled fields or fought off bears – hell, even with WEAPONS we wouldn’t fight off bears. We’d run, trip our friends and try desperately not to be the first ones taking a ride through the large intestine rollercoaster.

But not our grandparents.

THEY fought bears.

Often.

Sometimes, just for FUN.

But what else did they do for fun? In the days before video games and 500 channels of cable TV with nothing on it worth watching, what did our ancestors do for enjoyment? Well, a number of things:

Non-stop-SEX:

WHAT?! No WAY! Not MY GRANDPARENTS! DUDE! YOU ARE FRIGGING GROSS!

I am.

But that doesn’t take away from the cold hard truth that your grandparents used to bang like rabbits that fed on Spanish Fly.

A few generations ago, families were a LOT bigger. Right now your average couple has on or two kids. Anything more than that is usually considered a “large” family, and when your wife leaves the room we hint that her fanooter could double as a baby Pez dispenser.

But the truth is: 3-4 kids is absolutely NOTHING compared to what families used to look like. Back then, having children in the HIGH TEENS was not only common, but kind of needed. It all goes back to the human animal, and the beauty of nature.

You see, in days before medicine, vaccines, and “book learnin’ ”, the miracle of childbirth was a scary thing. Women often died while given birth, and those who did live had live leeches thrown right on their hoo-haa, because back then, live leeches were the answer for EVERYTHING.

And they’d eat the baby.

Or wolves would get him moments after being spat out of your Grandmother’s naughty places. Leeches, wolves, disease, and the fact that no one EVER washed their hands, even though the worked on what appear to be large poo farms, contributed to about 9 out of 10 kids dying before they even made it into grandma’s arms. (Probably because Grandpa was already trying to hump up on her.)

So in order to compensate for the high infant death rate, and to sate your grandfather’s unholy lust, women were forced to have as many as 96 pregnancies a YEAR. Which is why every old photo of your grand parents, or your great-grand parents and their family looked like it was taken at a refugee camp, or tornado relief shelter.

This also explains why old people never smiled for pictures.

You were wasting their regularly scheduled humping time with your nonsense.

Whittling: “What is whittling?” You might ask? Well gather ‘round little Billy, and Uncle Coyote will learn ya!

Whittling is the long practiced art of taking a stick and stabbing it repeatedly with a knife until you are surrounded by a storm of testosterone soaked wood chips. It is a flurry of motion in which you use an extremely sharp blade to hack away at life’s frustrations, worries, or your own inner demons that claw to the surface and scream “WHY DID YOU KILL HIM” directly into your brain, over and over again.

When the dust and wood shavings settle, sometimes you’re rewarded with a knick-knack for your efforts. It could be a duck, or a bear, or even a tiny little poorly carved kitten that looks like it died in a mid-birth accident involving angry, satanic beavers.

But more often than not, you were just left with a sharpened stake. Whenever THIS happened, you had to find a 16 year old girl, explain that she was “The Chosen One” and then train her in the ancient arts of “The Slayer”…

Which is why mostly everyone tried for the beaver gnawed kittens. Because 16 year old girls are a pain in the ass.

So why did Grandpa whittle? What fun could that possible be? Well, whittling served as an outlet in which “Pa-Pa” funneled his frustration, stress, and raging libido whenever your Grandmother had to take a 17 minute break from sex. So whenever he couldn’t toss her around like a puppeteer with Parkinson’s, he’d head out back, kick the dog, and then stab the piss out of random tree limbs to help let off the steam that he’d rather be using to totally wreck your grandmother.

Hot. Freaky. Sex. THAT is what YOUR grandmother was into. Remember that the next time she kisses you on the lips in that extremely uncomfortable way that old people insist on doing. She’s not showing her love…

…you’re reminding her of grandpa.

Tell your therapist I said “hi”.

Started Wars: When your grandparents couldn’t hump, and grandpa’s release valve of whittling just wasn’t bleeding off enough pressure, our ancestors did what any one of us would do in their place.

They went to war.

Back then aggression levels were HIGH, which is why everyone in old westerns, or those type of movies seemed so impossibly TOUGH.

Because they were.

Those weren’t MOVIES – they were John Wayne’s home videos. Back then, if you didn’t get shot at LEAST two to three times a month, you were considered weak and they were allowed to kill you.

Legally.

All they had to say was “He needed killin’ ”, and they wouldn’t get in trouble. A bunch of guys would stand over the body, look between them, shrug, and admit that yeah, he DID need killin’. Then they’d all go off to have sex with your grandmother.

But with birth rates already frighteningly low, and our population teetering on the razor’s edge, our government stepped in. They knew that people needed killin’, and that if they didn’t do something about the rising tide of testosterone, SOMEONE was going to get hurt, or humped, or possibly hurt by being humped, so they started a war.

And they f***ing LOVED it.

Don’t believe me dirty tree hugging hippy? Well let me point something out to you that they won’t tell you in your pot smoking liberal arts class…

THEY NAMED IT WORLD WAR ONE!!

That means, they liked it SO much that they KNEW it would be the first one, and that it would totally catch on. You don’t name something “one” or “The First” without the intention of going back. Our lust was so raging that we had to kill people lest our OWN population suffer.

Dude. How HOT was your grandmother?

Practiced British Dentistry. – HAHA! Just kidding! We all know that NO ONE has *EVER* done that. Ever! AHAHAHAHA! PIP PIP WOT WOT GUV’NAH!

Sitting on the front porch, waiting to die:

If you are lucky, and possibly in parts of Arkansas where men with heads that never fully formed stare lustfully at your pretty mouth, you may still, today, see the phenomenon.

Old people, sitting on a porch, waiting to die.

They just sit there in their really uncomfortable looking wooden chairs, glaring at the world and waiting for the Grim Reaper to show up so that they can yell at him for not locking the gate behind him, or for walking on the lawn.

That’s right. They’ll yell at DEATH, and what’s more – he’ll probably flinch, do an awkward jig, and spin around to lock the gate while apologizing. He might be the physical representation of mortality, but your grandfather is a tough old f***er, and not even DEATH wants a piece of that action.

But until he shows up (which is why old people live so long now, Death is a new age hippy pansy ass like the rest of the world) they’ll just sit there. Glaring. Staring out at a world full of hugs and kisses where no one dies in childbirth and kids play their nin-tendy-o instead of doing what kids his age did for fun.

Which was work 14 hour shifts in coal mines and hump up on your Grandmother.

Hey. It was a simpler time.

And she was hot.

-Coyote