Twilight of the Overmen
Once upon a time, a feverish Neanderthal roared into the
empty air, “O Gramma, Gramma, you right!”
His Sapiens slaves looked at each other. A nurse asked the presiding
shaman, “Is Master experiencing another spirit vision?”
The shaman said, “No, that’s just delirium. Terminal phase.”
Their Neanderthal master ranted, “O Gramma, brown men come
from south. We say they weak. Thin. Slow. Stupid. Easy prey. We say, they
slaves, we gods. So we fight they, we win. So undermen serve overmen, they work,
we play. Gramma, you say we fools!”
The nurse asked the shaman, “What treatment options exist?”
The shaman said, “Palliation only. The outcome is
inevitable.”
The Neanderthal overman raged, “Gramma, I burn! Underman baby
fever beat I! So who worse, who better?”
The underman shaman said, “I prescribe four acornsful of sleep-easy,
hand-and-two acorns of cool-down, and a half-acorn of calmer.”
The nurse and her coven stirred herbs and fungi into
fermented berry juice, while the Neanderthal raved. “Gramma, one overman stone
knife slay mammoth, crowd undermen sneaky trap catch rabbits! So we say we
better! We talk short strong words, they talk long puzzle webs! So we say we
better! Overmen proud free lone masters, undermen ant-hill sheep-herds! So we say
we better! O Gramma, you say we fools!”
The Sapiens shaman gave his master a gourd full of medicine.
He said in god-talk, “Drink this, Lord. Magic potion, you feel good.”
The dying Neanderthal god drank, then closed his eyes and
slept.
Moral: Over goes
under, under turns over.
Comment. This
Nietzschian Neanderthal had a theory of ubermensch and untermensch, but nature
selected otherwise.
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