Base Camp is where visitors go to relax, unwind, and get familiar with an anthology of earlier material.

Erectus And Wet

erectus and wet

In a previous article I touched on the issue of how much of an oversexualized violent ape we are when considered from an alien perspective.

I posted a short version of the article on Facebook without the explicit mention of sex included in the full edition. A few minutes later came a reply from a friend stating that when aliens find out how much fun sex is, they will love us.

(I just realized how disturbing the prospect is. Aliens getting warmed up by our sexual activity would probably result in sex with aliens. Non-consensual sex with aliens.)

Back to the original meaning of the comment. My friend wanted to make a point: lighten up.

He would have been right, if only the problem wasn’t our over-lightening-up in the first place. Our popular fascination with twerking and football and dead people’s questionable creeds — stuff that from an alien point of view are as mindless and stupid as someone licking rocks in the park — as meaningless as people dancing around fires and casting out evil spirits — as fascinating and irrelevant as animals assembling at a drink hole and humping each other behind the bushes — is what makes this place inauspicious… when looked at from an alien point of view.

So I responded with some smart-ass remark, driving the point home that more sex was the problem, not the solution.

He retorted by mentioning Dionysus, the ‘god of wine and sexual degeneration’ — a low blow, owing to the fact that I dig that god. Many a good times I’ve gone on a bender with him and Jimmy by my side, conjuring up feasts and golden copulations, eating up the warm flowing juices that intoxicated us for days upon end. My friend was right there with us, partaking, feasting like a beast, so mentioning Dionysus in this argument was a low blow — but necessary. It forced me to come to terms with the ape inside me, who likes to imbibe and let loose and copulate like there’s nothing more important in the world, an activity I had a moment earlier excoriated in my article.

Ok, so we all like to let loose at some point, being stupid and primate-like. So what? I admit it, just like any other person — hold on, the problem is that people don’t like to admit it. They think they’re being sophisticated and ‘human’ when they do what they do, pretending it’s perfectly acceptable behavior — you know, get a little foolish, look for some love, some sugar and sex, a few good bites and a good scene to crash and be merry. Perfectly normal human impulses.

They’re not. They’re the ape in us, the Dionysian beast of id and wilderness residing in our bellies.

So yeah, I’m an ape, too, who likes to drink and fuck and party hard. On occasion.

See, I don’t engage in this lifestyle all the time. I do it sparsely, on special occasions, honoring Dionysus and his Dionysia — or Bacchanalia, depending on your history teacher’s preference — a feast in honor of said God of wine and ecstasy, which I usually hold in the privacy of close friends. I don’t engage in a habitual, weekly lifestyle of going out and getting pissed, and I’m not obsessed with ‘getting some,’ and I sure as hell don’t feel comfortable when the major drive behind people is how to get it on, be it ‘getting a woman in the sack’ (man obsession) or ‘securing a commitment from a guy’ (woman obsession). It’s too fucking boring. When did the world become a compulsive mating game? Can’t people go about their lives without thinking about hooking up all the time? Do they have to be so dependent?

This is where one can turn around and tell me to get off my high horse. The fact that I choose to act all righteous and un-ape-like for given periods of time means jack shit. I contribute to the sexual moronity of this species in my own way. It’s true, especially when considering the fact that my article had criticized the aggregate behavior of our species. In alien terms, I’m part of the ape phenomenon no matter how minutely I think I contribute to it.

But that wasn’t the point. I wasn’t looking to blame anyone in particular. My aim was to identify and acknowledge the fact that we do act like that, that we do look ridiculous when our collective actions are taken at face value. When observed from a detached point of view, we’re nothing more than a poor indigenous tribe, if not an animal species, living on an isolated planet in the vast ocean of space, keeping ourselves entertained by playing with ourselves and our toys while the cosmos tosses and turns beyond our idyllic shores.

I was wondering whether to mention all this or just stay with the joke (lighten up) when another friend came in, posting a clip from Game Of Thrones, mentioning what ‘vicious cunts’ the gods are and how a person is better off worshipping ‘the god of tits and wine,’ before closing with a comment on the fertility goddess with ‘sixteen teats,’ who lives on the Summer Isles.

Suddenly I had my response. What better way to make a point than a short, impish poem in line with Dionysian playfulness and Tyrion darkness?

Let us sail for the land of sixteen tits…

which lactate sex, compassion and skittles,

and pay homage to Orgasmus, and

boinker-hump Erasmus and

his fellow mate Diony, and their

naked lady whores. Cheers to all the bores

of earth; we rule because we’re

well and properly prepared

to spend our days and nights ensnared

in fantasies of copulation…

perhaps you haven’t noticed,

we’re the monkey-human nation.

And by nation I mean Sapiens

(or, to be exact, Erectus,

and its lovely mate, AiWet).

Cheers, and may the aliens have mercy on your buttholes!

PS – Here’s a trailer from the movie Spring Breakers, a coming of age tale involving four sexy girls and a gangster named Alien for a more down-to-earth look at creepy, violent aliens who’re itching to get it on with hyper-sexualized, violent earthlings.