I am the man of my house: the ideal father and husband, I make my sweet daughter giggle; I chastise my smart son when he is a little too smart; and I always give extreme sexual pleasure to my lovely wife. But no matter what I do, I can’t get my caveman under control. All things considered, we should have the picturesque American family: father, mother, son, daughter, caveman, a green front lawn, and a cherry red convertible in the garage. But, my caveman’s disobedience is the one thing preventing complete domestic harmony.
I can’t take him anymore! When I walk him, he pulls so hard on the leash I fear he’ll rip my arm out of its socket. The day before the board meeting, I found my paperwork shredded to pieces on the counter and pulled the sopping quarterly earnings from his slobbering mouth. Last spring, I put sod down in the backyard only to find it speckled with holes the next day. I followed muddy footprints inside the house to my caveman’s big pillow in the corner of the living room. Despite the way he looked up at me with big brown eyes, the mud covering his hands and nose betrayed him.
For a while, I carried around a little spray bottle of water. If my caveman nosed up to the dinner table or jumped on the bed, I’d squirt him in the face and beard with water mist. He would blink and sputter and cry loudly. But it did not change his behavior.
One morning—on advice from the caveman whisperer’s newest book From Fire to Frisbee: Learning the Language of Your Caveman—I tried to wrestle my caveman down to the floor and hold him there to show him that I’m in charge. He did not like that at all. He broke free and ran upstairs only to return with his spear (we didn’t have his spear removed because the vet said that if our caveman wasn’t too aggressive; it’s healthier in the long run to leave him his spear; and my wife felt weird about the whole thing). My speared caveman chased me in my bathrobe out the front door. I barely beat him to the yard’s edge, where he was shocked by the invisible electric fence. Thank goodness for the big black receptor we stuck on his loincloth!
I’m at my wits’ end. I don’t care how the kids will feel; I must get rid of this caveman! If anyone is willing to adopt, please contact me through the Heckler. (Warning to prospective adopters: he does not play well with other cavemen)