My friend Og sat in front of his cave, chewing on a piece of a large hairy beast slowly burning on the fire.

Why not, I said, use forks and knives
To help your many kids and wives
Consume yon hairy beast with some dispatch?
He grunted as he turned to stare
Into the flames as burning hair
Produced a stink that’s awfully tough to match
He said he had no use for those
And had contempt for folks who chose
To elevate themselves to what they’re not
There’s nothing wrong with using hands
To rip a carcass, veins and glands
And eat it even when it starts to rot
Technology will be the end
Of everything, now hear me friend
And listen when I say the old way’s best
At first we start with knives and spoons
And then after a few short moons
There’s dinner parties, place cards and the rest
And then I’ll have to wash my hands
And we’ll invite the other bands
With small talk sipping something on the rocks
Then candlesticks and table cloths
And bread bowls filled herby broths
And wifey will insist I change my socks
Where will it end, if once we start
For once we and the old ways part
Our lives will never be the way we were
I left him there on seeing that
The fire blazed with flaring fat
And the large smoking beast began to stir