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After Adam and Eve broke the lease on The Garden Of Eden, life was indeed short, brutish, and nasty, much like Adam himself. Outside the Garden lurked T-Rex types, bent on turning the First Family into bite-size snacks in their very own Garden of Eatin’.

Adam had changed his name to Grog. It was his attempt to turn the page, despite the anger that was consuming him. Why so chuffed? Well, thanks to Eve’s role in Applegate, they had been forced to take up residence in a cave! And in the good old days the two of them could fool around in their birthday suits. Wasn’t that how Cain and Abel happened in the first place? If not, how could he ever justify it?

Now all of a sudden Eve changed her name to Barbi, was ashamed of her body and made them all wear smelly animal skins with on-board fleas! So good-bye, love life! Meanwhile Barbi lolled around, supposedly looking after the kids, while actually preoccupied with her cave paintings The problem was that her art was limited to the outside of the cave by the dearth of natural light.

But that was the least of her problems. Was Cain Adam’s child? Or did he have a different Daddy? That could explain the animosity between the two kids. But how could that be? Well, there was that one time, with the Serpent. She was sure he must have doctored that apple somehow so as to appear as a manly hunk to her, albeit a bit scaly. Anyway, what happens in Eden stays in Eden.

And Grog. Always bugging. About how were Cain and Abel supposed to produce his grandkids with no young chicks around? She didn’t even want to go there. So there she was, stuck with two kids and a Neanderthal.

But the worst part was when Grog would triumphantly return to the cave dragging something that had been dead for weeks. It was always the same routine, the beating of the chest, the tap on her noggin with the club, then his reward, then she has to get up and make cold sloppy supper out of the poor thing. But one day that all changed.

She had finally succeeded in dragging a huge dead tree into the mouth of the cave. Soon to be a nicely furnished log cabin. Why not? Grog was good with tools. Maybe a bit of a slob, as he seemed to have tossed a three-week-dead pterodactyl, his latest “kill” on top of her tree.

But Grog refused to help with her dream house, on the basis that God intended them to live in dark damp caves as punishment for Barbi’s original sin. He stated this while beating his chest and looking for his club.

“Really?” said Barbi. “I didn’t create that snake and I refuse to worship a God who can’t forgive and forget!”

Well, wasn’t there a huge crack of thunder! And didn’t a lightening bolt just miss Barbi and land on her tree, igniting it and roasting the pterodactyl to perfection.

“It taste like chicken!”, exclaimed Grog. “What you call this thing, woman? And what is chicken anyway?”

Tossing Grog’s club into the fire, Barbi smiled.

“We call this event a BarbiQ!”

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