Urk, The Cave Troll

Urk is what anthropologists call a missing link.


Cave trolls were normally solitary features, much preferring to be left alone with their Roxbox gaming system, drinking fermented berry juice and enjoying the companionship of their pet wolves. (Or saber toothed kitties for the lady trolls and more swishy male trolls. A mean spirited stereotype, but the fossil record has never uncovered a male cave troll skeleton that was not next to a videotape of a Brian Boitano figure skating competition. More on this later.)


Eventually after an unfortunate, for both parties involved, liason between a female troll who took a fancy for a Neanderthal dude, the not so tiny tot, Urk the Cave Troll was born. Mostly humanoid in appearance, the 'rents decided to promote the troll part to scare away potential bullies. Convenient since he mostly wanted to just be left alone like most troll and troll hybrids. (Other hybrids existed, mostly from matings at cave brothels, the origin of the word TROLLOP.)


One fateful day, Urk's father was burned badly at work. Testing a curling iron for safety standards a short in the wiring started a fire in the bucket of warthog grease nearby. Rushing around looking for water, the iron had partially fused to his hand by the flames. Many in the cave village found the sight comical. Despite the severity of the injuries, they thought it would be amusing to document the events for posterity. Too impatient to wait for the Interstonetablet to be created, they painted scenes of the injury on walls of the caves.


In the weeks following, Urk's father was in critical condition not realizing you don't put water on a grease fire. Eventually he died.


Instead of mourning, the cave picture painters went crazy with delight, declaring the entire incident to be a hoax and Urk's father to be a "bad crisis actor."


Knowing full well the true story, Urk got....pissed off. However, his mellower human side prevented him from simply clubbing the hoaxtards to death. So, he plotted his revenge which culminated in a complex insurance scam, bankrupting the perpetrators of the hoax. (Reference, the phrase ROCK BOTTOM, and Prudential Insurance, GET A PIECE OF THE ROCK.)


So what's the point?


The truthers and I have something in common. The more you try to tell me I'm wrong, the more likely I am to try and find ways to make your life miserable. Hence, this blog. The difference is, I have the luxury of being right about gematria being useless.


An example from my past. I got interested in horror movies at a young age. The more Mom and Dad told me not to watch them made me think, "Hey, they must be cool, then." Dinner party! Mom and Dad are gone! Horror movie time!!!! Woo-hoo!!!!"




And how this applies today. One example: Hubbard's claims he has been banned from social media. Not true. He has a Facebook account complete with the Free To Find Truth logo as the profile picture. Even if it's not really him, Facebook is not "out to get him" like he claims, saying he can't make an account. Somebody did. So, when he last blogged about inability to share on FB, as a gesture of good faith I shared a post. Not the one he intended. One of the more radical and less flattering ones that implied that the only solution is to start killing politicians.


You're welcome.


Too much truther proof is in the style of the Boitano videotape evidence. You can't prove I'm wrong, so it must be true. Hey, it's drone technology guiding baseballs! Common sense that says your theory which naturally has no specific details is good enough, I don't need to prove it wrong. The same way you can't prove it's aliens instead of drones. The same way you can't prove there isn't really an Attu the Wonder Turtle.


Of course the weekly colleen video comments I make has the same origin. You've played that 113 must mean dishonest card too many times, and so I actively worked on the best counterattack. Because you Urked me.


Yes, Gromk recognizes the similarities between IRK and URK and leaves his descendants alone. Durp, on the other hand, thought it was ERK, a noise made by cave mice. Who promptly transmitted the Boobonic plague to him through their fleas. They killed Durp! You bastards! And he didn't even have life insurance!


I have done some other stuff I don't care to share at this time. Not from "hiding behind a keyboard" fear. Actually, a lot of it has to do with the length of this post and necessity to wrap it up.


So think about what you're saying. Unfounded Ridiculous Komments (U.R.K.) irk people.