To Boldly Go

By Daddy Bob Allen

Daddy Bob Allen is a well known personality in the California Scene, having written “The Only Reason I Mention This,” a collection of his essays from the Leather Journal and a novel called “The Wings of Icarus.” This article originally appeared in The Leather Journal; publisher: Dave Rhodes.

DaddyBob69@aol.com

Read the Interview with Daddy Bob Allen

Read Daddy Bob's Other articles: 
The Great SM Demonstration Dilemma  
The Spiritual Daddy   
The Wearin' O the Hides


I'm an incurable documentary addict, especially the ones that tell me exactly how an ancient civilization lived from a few fragments of pottery and a pile of petrified goat dung.

Now, this sort of thing brings up a very serious worry of mine.  What are future civilizations going to think of ours if they happen to unearth, shall we say, non-representative aspects of our culture?  Will they know we developed television, conquered space and invented Listerine if the first ruin they explore is the Rugged Wrangler Bath House?

I don't mind telling you I'm losing sleep over this one, and if you're not panic-stricken, you're not thinking clearly.

To illustrate my point, we're going to eavesdrop on Porgo and Traff, two learned and world renowned archaeologists of their day, many eons in the future.  They have just broken through the door of a late twentieth century SM dungeon in what used to be the city of Los Angeles .

"Well, well, well," announces Porgo.  "Black walls and ceiling.  Does that suggest burial crypt to you?"

"Maybe," says Traff pointing to a huge slab of wood suspended horizontally on four square pillars dominating the center of the room.  "But, the sarcophagus is missing.  Grave robbers?"

"I doubt it," says Porgo looking about the cluttered walls. "None of the artifacts appear disturbed.  Maybe the chamber was prepared but never used."

"Yes," adds Traff.  "The culture met a cataclysmic end perhaps?  Let's take a closer look at the casket mount."

"Hmmm," says Porgo after tedious inspection.  "Looks like it's covered with animal hide of some sort.  And they must have been a very stoic race to bury their dead like this.  Look at all the sharp studs."

"Perhaps," says Traff, "it is symbolic that the dead are above the pain of life."

"Excellent theory," exclaims Porgo.  "Let's look at those shelves over there.  If I'm not mistaken, these are incense containers."  Porgo pulls one of the cans off the shelf.

"Definitely well into the Plastic Age," says Traff.  "Look at the lid."

Porgo peels off the top.  "Hmmm.  Obviously bacterial action has reduced the original contents to this white sticky substance.  We'll bring a sample back to the lab."

"Wait a minute," says Traff.  "It's faint, but I think I can make out the writing  on this container."  He gets out his magnifying glass.  "C-R-I-S-C-O.  What do you make of that?"

Porgo thinks a moment.  "Wasn't that combination the third part of that cartouche we discovered north of here?"

"No," says Traff.  "That was C-I-S-C-O.  But, then, a degenerating written language usually accompanies the decline of a civilization.  We might really be onto something here."

Porgo turns around.  "And what's this?"  He has nearly bumped into something in the half light.

"It looks like a hammock," says Traff.  "Also animal hide.  And suspended from the ceiling on chains, yet.  These people must have been very practical.  They used what was at hand and wasted nothing."

"But," stammers Porgo, "look at the size of the thing.  The owner of this must have been a midget."

Traff spots a wooden chest in a far corner.  "Let's take a look in there.  If those are the deceased's possessions for the afterlife, then we might get some clues."

"Good thinking," says Porgo prying open the dusty lid.  "Ah, hah!" he shouts after only a glance.  He picks up three metal rings.  "Look at these bracelets.  Why, they'd barely fit around my penis, let alone my wrist.  These people couldn't have been more than three feet tall.  I'll stake my reputation on it."

"And," adds Traff, "there's no adornment on them.  No jewels, no carving or etching.  I think that cinches the stoic and practical theory.  But, wait a minute."  He picks up a complex arrangement of leather straps and buckles.  "The size of this thing worries me."

"An animal harness?" offers Porgo.

"Nonsense," says Traff.  "These people had to be past the draft animal stage."

"Oh, really?" says Porgo.  "Then how do you explain these?"  He points to a far wall.

Traff crosses the room for a closer look.  "If these aren't riding crops and buggy whips, I'll use my doctor's thesis to line the bottom of the bird cage."

"Consider the geography," Porgo points out with great flourish and mystery.  "Isolated by the mountains just east of here.  Diminishing gene pool.  Degeneration of physical stature..."

"And culture levels, too," adds Traff.  "The writing proves that.  Why not throw back all the way to draft animals?"

A puff of wind huffs through the open door and the shutter of a wall cabinet creaks open.  The two stand in utter amazement.

Porgo finds his voice first.  "An altar?"

"But it's nothing but rows of phallic representations," stammers Traff.  "I agree they're intricately detailed, but for such small people, can you explain their size?"

Porgo folds his arms smugly.  "Wishful thinking."

Now, Daddy Bob may not be able to effect how future civilizations figure us out, but I do have some advice regarding past cultures.  The next time Professor Pitchfossil on channel 28 shows you an elegant little urn and tells you it once held cosmetic oils, don't you believe it.  On the day it was lost, an ancient brat might just have shouted across the courtyard of his villa, "Ma!  Have you seen my ant farm?"

~~~

Copyright 2003
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