The mosquito started it. He buzzed the bull – psstt! – sucked a smidgeon of blood as he whispered in bull’s thick ear. “Topless Beach!”
- The news got to the midges fast – psstt! – a quick squiff of blood, “TB! TB! And before you knew it slugs were coming out from under stones, Dodos from out of caves.. The bull was already lumbering in the general direction courtesy of the first bloody missive.
- “It’s short, neat, clean,” a worm said (whether he knew this for fact or this was rumor now seems hard to pin down. “From the jungle there’s a neat opening, the place grabs you straight away, you’re in, and the rest is – ”
- Unfortunately the worm stopped here, too many clauses. He rolled himself up, fucked himself in the ass and went back to sleep.
- But the cries continued, “TB! TB! TB!” and all sorts of animals woke from slumbers. Some in fact had never been asleep but it was difficult to notice as every day they looked and thought the same.
- There was a dog, a very sad dog, utterly unrecognized by the world. He was sad because years back he had had a whiplash injury when he finally reached the end of a sentence and his typewriter platen flew back suddenly, surprising him. Now, stiff-necked, he could no longer lick his own balls and, ugly, he couldn’t get anyone else to lick them, either. So this dog barked a lot and said (repetitively) “Topless Beach? But do they fuck? Can they fuck? Are they a good fuck?”
- This was a closed ecology, very Galapagossian. The island had exactly a zillion species, all different and all the same, they were Darwinned and undarwinned. Evolution had not stopped. Instead it had evolved into a new self-limiting respecification. Worms and dogs could have sex, birds beget fish, fish fowl. The reptiles (mostly reptiles) reproducing as rotweillers or poodles depending on the weather.
- Whatever, the ecological balance stayed close to the norm, a kind of circular, repetitive, ecosystem going nowhere. And always as the butt-fucking continued, as the begetters begat (reptiles, poodles, large angry dogs producing spawn at random, but in fact beautifully ordained. The result, whatever the couplings, reptiles, poodles, large angry dogs, the isolated island, the circles).
- A great cry went up. To keep things simple the mosquito (hiding now in the bull’s scrotum, now behind an ear) chanted “TB! TB!” every once in a while. The chicks responded, and the rest of the crowd followed (yes there were sheep too, this island had it all). “TB! TB! TB!” they chanted. And off they went like Orwellian fourleggers, like seven million of Snow White’s dwarves. “Hi ho!”
Round the island they went, past the grey rock, the brown rock, along the wiggly stream, past the dead tree, a beach, then a grey rock, a brown one, a stream, an old dead tree. Bull blundered but was steadfast. Mosquito lurked. They passed another grey rock followed by a brown one. Then there was a slightly familiar wiggly wriggly stream, a dead tree. Then a marginally brighter reptile paused, raised a reptilian claw, looked. The sun beat down on his scales. “But?” he said, but then he realized the herd had moved on, past a grey rock, brown rock, wiggly stream, dead tree.
- On that last beach, (the one just after the dead tree) not THE beach, A beach (they were still on their now awesome trek to nirvana) there was a lot of fowl activity. Things looked familiar, but not familiar. Headless chickens, the reptile thought. How sad, they haven’t a clue. So he rumbled after the rest of the herd, snuggled back into the warmth and familiarity.
- Round the island he went, following the bull and mosquito: past the grey rock, the brown rock, along a wiggly stream, past a dead tree, a beach, then a grey rock, a brown one, a stream, an old dead tree, past a beach of headless chickens, ever onward, searching for nirvana, the topless beach. Ahead he heard “TB! TB! Then, “Topless Beach? But do they fuck? Can they fuck? Are they a good fuck?” then “TB! TB! then, in a beat, “Topless Beach? But do they fuck? Can they fuck? Are they a good fuck?”
- They passed Headless Chicken Beach again, and continued, past the grey rock, the brown rock, along the wiggly stream, past the dead tree, a beach, then a grey rock, a brown one, a stream, an old dead tree, (there were a lot of these), past a beach of headless chickens, ever onward.
The sun went down.
- In the morning they passed Headless Chicken Beach again, and continued, past the grey rock, the brown rock, along the wiggly stream, past the dead tree, a beach, then a grey rock, a brown one, a stream, an old dead tree, (there were a lot of these), past a beach of headless chickens, ever onward. Later, they passed Headless Chicken Beach again, and continued, past the grey rock, the brown rock, along the wiggly wriggly, pretty little stream, past the dead tree, (a branch had dropped off, ants were crawling) a beach with headless chickens, then a grey rock, a brown one, a stream, an old dead tree with a broken branch, past a beach of headless chickens, ever onward.
-
Ahead a jolly rap continued, “TB! TB! then, “Topless Beach? But do they fuck? Can they fuck? Are they a good fuck?”
