To all my fans and followers -

Thank u so much for ur support of the Xtreme Wyldman Blog. But Ive known for a while that it was time for me 2 move on, and not just b/c even Youtube thought it was 2 good 2 air my pilot episode. I can no longer live in this sissified modern world. Thanks 2 the only technology I support since Monsanto got a restraining order 2 stop me from endorsing GoGo Bars ™, Im gonna be traveling back in time 2 the era I was born for. An era where its man against nature, and only the strongest survive. An era where nobody says 'lets talk about this like rational adults' or 'your not allowed in Jamba Juice unless your wearing pants.' From here on out its gonna be these 2 fists against the world. See u in the Stone Age, my peeps!

Brody Bronson, Adventure Specialist.

Ronda stood on the crest of the hill and looked down at the mammoths ambling about in the valley below her. Things had gotten rather heated at last night's philosophical debate, and the elders had encouraged her to spend some time in nature to clear her head. But even the magnificence of the mammoths was not enough to distract her from Throk.

Throk. The council elections were coming up in less than a moon, and she still hadn't managed to debunk his platform. Ronda was of the opinion that, given the Collective's vulnerability to the whims of nature and the fact that their attempts to domesticate the giant sloth had been thus far ineffectual, it was necessary to prioritize the survival of those most able to contribute. Throk, on the other hand, insisted that every individual was of equal value, and civilization could not exist unless efforts were made to protect the vulnerable. While she had to concede that Throk's beliefs were intriguing, they were problematic in times of scarcity; as she'd pointed out at every debate over the last three moons, a society couldn't protect anyone if it ceased to exist.

Ronda felt her fists clench. Philosophy had to adapt to reality, rather than the other way round. If only there was some way to make Throk understand. But, for better or worse, the Collective believed in the free exploration of ideas. And no one could deny that the Collective's devotion to scientific inquiry was the reason for its success. While their attempts to live in harmony with the cave bear had proven something of a failure - Orgo and Petzi were missed by all - their research into the applied science of pointy sticks had been showing real promise. Life expectancy had risen to the almost unbelievable age of forty-two, and tribe after tribe had pledged itself to their sacred ideals. The anger filled her chest again. If Throk had his way, the first bad season would set civilization back fifty years.

Suddenly, there was a flash of light to the west, brighter than even the sun, and a sound like all the thunder in the world had been compressed into a single second. The mammoth matriarch trumpeted a warning anon; the ground trembled as the herd stampeded in the direction of the ridge. Ronda ran, too. She just had time to vault onto a stone outcropping before the mammoths were upon her.

When the last mammoth had disappeared from sight, Ronda turned back to the west. There was a strange smell above the miasma of panicked mammoth - something like lightning strike, with chemical undertones that Ronda couldn't identify. The Collective's best minds had long theorized that the moon was some sort of sky rock. Perhaps a piece of it had broken off and fallen to the ground. It would be a great victory for science if she could bring a piece of sky rock back home for study. Ronda had always dreamed about winning a Great Discovery award like her cousin Glork, whose research on the edibility of various mushrooms had earned her the Collective's highest honor, albeit posthumously.

She crawled down from her perch and crept through the tall grass. The chemical scent grew stronger, but, underneath it was an odor that indicated a human male. Now she heard the incautious footsteps of someone who had no practice or no interest in moving silently. Ronda ventured a glance. While the stranger smelled human, he didn't look it. His forehead was hideously rounded, with hardly any cranial ridge. And his hair was molded into nonsensical crusty spikes. Ronda chided herself for her revulsion; the second commandment of the Collective, just below "The basis of civilization is the free exploration of ideas," was "Never judge people on the basis of their appearance."

Ronda inched closer and looked at the stranger again. What she had assumed was a hunchback was, in fact, some sort of strapped-on carrying case. His garments were a sort of mottled grey and green that did not resemble the hide of any animal she knew. And the pockets! She had never seen such advanced pocket technology in her life! This was even better than a piece of sky rock; she could hardly wait to introduce the stranger to the Collective, so that he might share his wonderful ideas with them.

Ronda stood up. "Greetings, friend! I am Ronda, of the Collective. Come, let us exchange ideas and discuss the advancement of humanity!"

The stranger goggled at her, his mouth flapping like that of a land-stranded fish. Then he dropped into a peculiar half-crouch, with his fists clenched and his arms held up at odd angles. Presumably, this was some type of greeting among his tribe. The best thing to do was return the courtesy; Ronda approached to within arm's length and mirrored his movement. The stranger punched her in the head.

Ronda wasn't bothered by the blow, which was not a surprise given the stranger's feeble and nearly hairless arms. Besides, he was obviously frightened; she realized she would have to try harder to put him at ease. Ignoring several more puny punches, she enveloped him in a welcoming embrace. "I know you are a stranger here and unaware of our customs, so I would like to take this opportunity to explain to you that hitting people in the head is considered extremely rude in this part of the world. Please take this opportunity to regain your emotional equilibrium so that we might have a civilized discussion." It was around this time that she felt something warm soaking into her tunic.

Anon, Ronda pushed the man away with a yelp of disgust. The stranger staggered and stared like a dazed rabbit before breaking into a run. As he disappeared over the horizon, Ronda chided herself for her instinctual discourtesy. The poor man was probably embarrassed; now, both manners and science demanded that she pursue the acquaintance.

The man was trying to climb a tree when she caught up to him. He wasn't doing a very good job of it; the tree was quite small, and the strange, string-laced objects encasing his feet couldn't get a purchase on the trunk. Once again, Ronda reproached herself for her behavior. While the man undoubtedly came from a society with superior pocket technology, he appeared to be suffering from some sort of intellectual disability. "Hello again, friend," she said. "There is no need for you to be ashamed of your incontinence. Natural functions are, by definition, natural."

The stranger turned his head to look at her. The branch from which he was dangling snapped under his weight. Ronda knelt down beside him and extended a helping hand. "I do apologize for having had some part in the unpleasantness of your day, but I implore you to put it all in the past; it's clear that you have so much to teach us." If nothing else, she thought, they could try to reverse engineer the pockets. The stranger sat up. Then he hit her over the head with a stick.

Almost an hour had passed by the time Ronda awoke. She sat up slowly and ran her fingers across the throbbing lump on the top of her skull. She was surprised at how much it hurt; it had never occurred to her that someone as puny as the stranger could inflict so much damage. The stick he'd used was lying on the ground. She picked it up and studied it. The stick was quite sturdy, with a satisfying heft in her hand. Perhaps it had acted as some sort of force multiplier. Her thoughts, still somewhat addled from the blow, turned once again to Throk. Ronda looked down at the stick once more. This, she decided, was an idea worth exploring.