Political History: The Making of the First Democracy. Chapter 4

So, there we have it, the birth of political thought. Not much too it really providing a future could be guaranteed for the post-holder. The evening of the disastrous hunt, for their late artist-man at any rate, the disgruntled group sat round the camp-smoke, coughing and swapping grunts about how succulent that Giant Elk would have been. Then as if to describe the scene and thereby lay claim to becoming the first political commentator, the aforementioned 'largest member of the tribe complete with slashing club' (let’s call him “the large fucker”) points to the leader of the group and lets out a similar but deeper yell to the one late artist-man had unleashed earlier, that douses what they laughingly referred to as a fire; this is the chance the new leader has been waiting for to cut this massive specimen down to size; a feat that could, heretofore, have only been accomplished with a sickle, fagging hook wielded by someone with faint regard for their own safety.
Using the newly-doused fire as the focal point and with points, jumps, waves and grunts our leader shuts down "the large fucker" and tries to convey to all the difficulties involved in the totality of the hunt. The need for all to keep on-message as to how to conduct themselves during the final stages of the pursuit, and the very real possibility that, even when the result seems certain, they could all be Portillo-ed; which is, he explains, just what happened with their Giant Elk, the Plains’ Lion, their ex-artist-and-late-lamented-Plains’-Lion-lunch-companion and this……this……arse!
The rest of the group nod in agreement as the spin works its magic. After that little party grunt they are already well on the way to granting the leader carte blanche with the female members of the group and a doctorate in explanations. As a person they turn on "the large fucker" and brandish their clubs at him. Now, as large as this fucker is, he’s not stupid…………………remember we’re talking early man here so “not stupid” is a relative term…………and he has to abide by the democratic decision of the assembled group; made all the more democratic by the number of clubs waved at him. Expelled from the group for that night, "the large fucker" is forced to cross the floor and sit furthest away from the now doused fug-pillar. No food for him tonight………………in fact no food for anyone tonight; the group discover early on that shared responsibility is fine so long as you don’t have to share it.