The life-cycle of the archaeologist

Life cycle of an archaeologist. © Conor McHale

Life cycle of an archaeologist. © Conor McHale

Conor McHale
I am a descended from a long line of conga dancers. I occasionally wear shoes. I gave up going to the toilet twenty years ago - it's a filthy habit. I have a pet bunny called Mucky - he's a filthy rabbit. Actually a rather well worn Archaeologist
Conor McHale

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Aloha. Once again we meet, you with the black tulip on your lapel, and me with a bunch of bananas dangling suggestively from my nose. But enough about my fruity adornments – it seems biologists at the University of Skid Mark, Arizona have finally cracked the life cycle of archaeologists…

By comparing frogspawn with bellybutton fluff donated from academic dirt riddlers (I donated some of my fluff – I was glad to get rid of it, I had bags of the stuff in the attic) they have managed to describe the great merry go round on which us mud-on-toast merchants all rotate. So without further ado I give you . . . (curtains open, polite ripple of applause).

THE CYCLE EXPLAINED:

LARVA: Impeccable, unimpaired and practically pregnant with possibility.

TADPOLE: Despite several beatings from parents, keeps returning from neighbours bin with pieces of crap saying: ‘Look what I found!’ Has an unsettling love for pirate maps (and bows and arrows).

FROGLET: Archaeology degree in hand and clueless. Has also distilled thesis into a short article published in Woman’s Weekly, illustrated with someone else’s map (covered in confused looking arrows).

FROG: Digging for a living. Complains about EVERYTHING particularly abysmal legislation in archaeology and crummy way in which state enforces it.

TOAD: Thanks to siding with a vote hungry politician on a contentious rescue dig ends up with a permanent job remunerated by tax payer. Now does a volte-face (that makes the u-bend in a toilet look straighter than a ramrod) and decides the legislation, works fine thank-you-very-much and as for enforcement . . . shrugs. When required to give lectures just rehashes the map (with the arrows).

DINOSAUR: Retired, on pneumatic pension, gracefully fading into wallpaper. Passes time using pink crayon to colour in that lovely map (with the arrows).  Has a beaker pot on desk to vomit into when archaeology is mentioned.

FOSSIL: Laid to rest with overflowing beaker pot. As a final mark of respect colleagues drive a stake through deceased’s heart. Eventually, after millennia, grave is marked on a map (with an arrow).
And then the Great Mother Asherah turns the reincarnation handle, churning our protagonist back to the larval stage. – This proves one of two things – either (a) Her forgiveness is infinite, or else (b) She has the hots for two-faced hoors.

More Cartoon Reality…