"The Dung Beetle's Wedding"

“What a wonderful story!” enthused Death.
“It was okay,” said the stallion dismissively. “But now what we need is a story with guts!”
“And I imagine that you have such a story?” said Goldie.
“You bet, it’s time for ‘The Dung-Beetle’s Wedding’!”
“How many times do we have to tell you that we don’t want to hear such a crass story?” asked Death.
“It’s different now!” crowed the stallion.
“How is it different?” asked Goldie.
“I re-wrote it so it rhymes! You mares love that kind of classy crap, right?”
“Oh Hoss, it’s not the lack of rhyme in your stories, it’s the lack of a coherent sense of morality,” sniffed Death.
But Hoss drew a deep, druidic breath and began to declaim:

There once was a Dung Beetle, name of Moe
Who loved the fair Charissa and followed her where ever she’d go
Her father, the Dung Beetle king, noticed the romance but stomped his foot “Nay!”
“You can’t marry her, unless your worthiness you can display!”

“Hoss, it really doesn’t need to rhyme to be a classy story!” said Death. “You just need to include some moral lesson or something redemptive.”
“You just listen, then,” said the stallion proudly. “This story will blow you away! Anyway, where was I?”
So Moe and the King of the Dung Beetles had to find a way for Moe to prove himself worthy of the fair Charissa.
“You seem like a nice beetle,” said the King, “but my daughter needs a beetle of resourcefulness and strength; are you that beetle?”
“I sure am!” said Moe. “Just give me a challenge!”
The King mulled it over and then issued the following challenge: “You will accumulate a ball of dung one thousand times your own size and deliver it to me within the fortnight.”
“Uh, but how am I supposed to roll the damn thing?” asked Moe.
“That’s part of the challenge,” smiled the King rubbing his belly in anticipation.
Poor Moe stalked away muttering to himself. How in the world was he supposed to find so much manure? And if he should find it, how to deliver it? There was only one who could help the poor dung beetle: the awesome wizard, Sid!
Sid (if you’ve been following his history) had been an apprentice to a wizard, a goblin, and a vampire, but eventually he tired of being the number two man and he set out on his own. He lived in a little white cottage surrounded by magic trees and animals in the midst of the Very Dark Woods. It wasn’t much of a living because very few people ever dared to enter such a forbidding area but Sid was content. Fortunately for Moe, dung beetles know no fear and soon he was knocking at the wizard’s door.
Sid opened the door and looked around. He shrugged and shut the door. Moe knocked on the door again and this time he yelled, “Down here, you numbskull!”
Hearing the piping voice, Sid looked down with a bemused look on his face.
“Well, well, a dung beetle! How can I help you little one?”
“You’ve got to help me, O Wizard, my king says that I need to gather a dung ball a thousand times my size or he won’t let me marry his daughter!”
“The beautiful Charissa? My, your king certainly drives a hard bargain,” said Sid shaking his head.
“Can you help me?” asked Moe.
“Of course, how about if I shrink you to one thousandth of your present size, then a relatively small dung ball would suffice to get you the king’s daughter plus you could trick the king into the bargain.”
“But my king is not known for his sense of humour. I think he’d just eat me.”
“Then we must increase you a thousand times. Then both the gathering and the delivering of the monster ball of dung would be easy.’
“What do you want in return?” asked Moe.
“Evil Sir Rodney hired me to drive all of his peasants off of his land so he can enclose it and raise sheep. I imagine that they’ll gladly leave when a massive dung beetle starts terrorizing their village!” Sid chuckled.
“That’s pretty evil,” said Moe mournfully.
“I sure is,” said Sid happily. “Will you do it?”
“I guess I’ll have to,” said Moe.
And with that, Sid spoke the magic spell of extreme increase and suddenly Moe shot up to fairly Godzilla-esque proportions.
“Wow!” said Sid. “I am amazingly talented.”
The monster dung beetle just sighed and ambled off to terrorize the poor peasants.
How the villagers screamed and howled when they saw Moe! How they ran, crying and moaning as Moe stomped on a few huts for effect. It was then that he saw a little girl with blond ringlets tied up in a blue ribbon. She was standing frozen to the spot in front of her house. “Why are you doing this?” she cried. Moe felt so ashamed.
“I don’t really know,” he confessed to the little girl.
“Then why don’t you stop?”
Moe sighed deeply and nodded his massive head, “Yeah, I’ll do that. I’m so sorry…”
Back at Sid’s place, Moe hung his head while Sid berated him.
“You call yourself a monster? This kind of soft-heartedness could get me thrown out of the Wizard’s Guild. You stopped because a cute little girl asked you to? Now, I’ve heard everything!”
“Did I mention her ringlets?” asked Moe diffidently.
“Never mind her ringlets! What am I going to tell Evil Sir Rodney? He’s already bought a herd of sheep!”
“You’re the wizard,” said Moe. “Can’t you think of something clever?”
“I did think of something clever,” bellowed Sid. “but you didn’t follow through!”
“I meant something else.”
“Let me put my thinking cap on,” said Sid, reaching for his thinking cap. (It’s one of his most useful inventions; everyone should have one.)
“Got it!” said Sid, after a couple of seconds. “You terrorize Evil Sir Rodney instead! He’ll be too afraid to ask for his money back and all of those panicking sheep should produce more than enough dung for your needs!”
“That’s brilliant!” said Moe, in a voice of awe.
“Yes it is!” agreed the Wizard. “Now get out there and terrorize like you’ve never terrorized before!”
“Well, I haven’t really terrorized at all yet…” started Moe.
“Agh! It’s an expression, you numbskull! Get a move on!”
So Moe trundled off to Sir Rodney’s vast acreage. He was going to pause to help the poor peasants repair the huts that he had pushed over, but they shrieked so much to see him coming that he thought the better of his plan.
Sir Rodney’s castle was surrounded by a very deep moat, but fortunately the drawbridge was down, so Moe went into the keep and started doing things that struck him as being terrifying: ripping up bits of wall and throwing things around in a messy manner until the sobbing Rodney begged him to leave him in peace. Moe left him with a copy of Sid’s bill and set out to terrorize the sheep.
The sheep bleated and bellowed in most satisfactory manner leaving masses of freshly deposited dung that the happy beetle rolled up and out of the field. Pushing the steaming manure in front of him, Moe reflected what an extraordinarily good day I was having. He whistled a cheery tune as he rolled the massive orb of manure to the King’s habitation.
“Well,” said the King with a hushed voice, “That is one monstrous ball of dung.”
“It certainly is,” said Moe, “When shall we have the wedding?”
The king rubbed his hands together (or whatever dung beetles have instead of hands) and began to whimper, “How can I allow my daughter to marry such a huge beetle as you? You’d crush her on her honeymoon!”
“Oh! Of course,” said Moe smacking his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll get the wizard to change me back.”
“Yeah, you do that,” said the King.
______________
“You gave Evil Sir Rodney the bill?” asked Sid.
“I sure did,” nodded Moe. “Now if you could switch me back?”
“Of course I will,” smiled Sid in a rather nasty manner. “But for another difficult magic act I will expect some recompense…”
The dung beetle sighed, fighting the temptation to rip the Wizard into little bits and shrugged, “What do you want me to do?”
“Oh, nothing too stretching for you. I need you to go to Xanadu, to the stately pleasure dome of the Great Emperor. He has something that belongs to me.”
“What?”
“A golden ring.”
“How does the Emperor come to have your golden ring?”
“Let’s just say that he’s not as dumb as he looks.”
“But…”
“Look, never mind how he comes to have my ring. I want it back! If you ever want to get hitched you’ll do what I tell you!” Moe sighed deeply.
“How do I get to this pleasure dome and once I get there how am I supposed to sneak in?” asked Moe.
“Here is a map, just follow the sacred river, Alph. It shouldn’t take you very long with your long legs! And take this vial of magic dust. Once you are in sight of Xanadu, just sprinkle yourself with it and you’ll be transformed!”
“Transformed into what?” asked Moe, fearing the worst.
“You’ll be one of the eagle men of Xanadu; you’ll totally fit in and you’ll be able to fly.”
“Can’t you change me into an eagle man now?”
“The dust has a short shelf life. You’ll only get to be an eagle man for an hour or so…”
“How will I know your ring, assuming that I’m not captured and tortured instead?”
“It has certain markings on the inside.”
“Could you be more specific?”
“No, now beat it before I turn you into a gopher or something.”
“That would be an improvement,” grumbled Moe to himself.
_______________
Xanadu sparkled in the summer sun. The pleasure dome had a thousand diamond windows to catch and refract the sun so it hurt Moe’s eagle eyes to look on it. The sky was full of other eagle men and women, dipping into the thermals and gliding over the mountains that rimmed in the fabled land.
Moe tipped the vial carefully above his head and shivered as the dust did its work. Best not to use all of the precious dust at one go. He could feel his back throb where wings were pushing through, and a feeling like being kicking in the gut hit him as his beetle shell softened and turned a golden color. He wiggled his shoulders and saw silvery wings dipping to and fro. Moe laughed and walked along a path that was pebbled with emeralds. Where should he look first? If the Emperor’s valuables were anywhere, they would be in the dome, thought Moe.
He wandered through a ruby portal, nodding confidently (he hoped) to the door keeper. Inside the dome, he walked past fruit trees laden with fruit and weeping shrubs heavy with flowers. There was so many pleasurable smells that Moe felt quite dizzy; the mingled scents of sandalwood, jasmine, quince and orange blossoms filled the air. He made his way to the great palace at the centre of the dome. It was made completely of a golden crystal. Moe walked through a great portal and there on a throne was the Emperor himself.
“Hail, Dung Beetle!” said the Emperor lifting his hand in greeting.
“Um,” said Moe, quite tongue-tied.
“You have come for this ring?” said the Emperor displaying it on his hand.
“Uh well…” What was the use of lies with one who obviously knew everything? He nodded.
“Did the Wizard tell you how I come to have his ring?” asked the Emperor.
“He wouldn’t say,” said Moe.
“He lost it in a game of chance. He came here filled with desire for riches and believed that I was a ‘good mark.’ He attempted to cheat me at a game he called mumbojumbo. Obviously, he did not realize that I can see the invisible and can hear the unspoken.”
“So, really, you cheated him?” asked Moe.
The Emperor sighed. “Yes, I did and I have been somewhat ashamed of my actions for all this time! I just wanted to teach him a lesson, you see.” Hmm, thought Moe to himself, this was sounding a bit like rationalization.
“Well, if you want to make amends, I can take his ring back to him.”
“That would be best, except for one thing…”
“Yes?”
“I don’t really want to give it up!”
“Oh…but how can you make amends if you don’t?”
“It is a perplexing problem,” admitted the Emperor.
“What is the big deal with the ring anyway? It looks like something you can buy at any caravan on the Silk Road.”
“It has the power to make its wearer invisible,” said the Emperor. “You have no idea how handy it is to be able to walk around Xanadu and hear what my people are really saying about me, not just the flattery they give me to my face.”
“You saw me transform into an eagle man?”
“Of course! And I thought to myself, ‘Hmmm… a giant beetle suddenly becomes an eagle-man. This can be the work of none other than Sid!”
“Is there a way that I can somehow earn the ring?” asked Moe, with a feeling of doom. “I need to return the ring to Sid or I will never be my right self again and I’ll never marry the lovely Charissa!”
“Hmmm, I see your point,” nodded the Emperor. “Do you, by any chance play mumbojumbo?”
“I’m a dung beetle,” said Moe. “Cards are not what we do.”
“You’ll find it delightfully easy to learn!” said the Emperor with gusto.
“I also don’t have any money,” said Moe.
“Oh,” said the Emperor, disappointment on every line of his face. But then he brightened, “Surely you have something worth betting? A pin? A baseball card? Some first editions?”
“I’m a dung beetle,” said Moe. “All we possess is dung!”
“Very well then,” said the Emperor (who was desperately addicted to gambling). “Bring me a mound of dung and you can play for the ring of power!”
“This is nuts…” said Moe to himself but he wandered off to find some fresh dung. He waited until the magic dust wore off and he became a beetle once more. He stuck his head up in the wind and sniffed. Ah fresh dung! He trundled off until he came to a large barn full of every conceivable horse. There were bays, appaloosas, palominos and chestnuts. There were quarter horses and thoroughbreds, Arabian chargers and Morgans. What a wonderful smell!
Moe started in one corner and in no time he had amassed a sizeable ball of dung. Whistling happily (how wonderful fresh dung is!) he rolled the steaming globe out of the stable, down the emerald paths and into the royal enclosure.
The Emperor sat at a large ebony table restlessly shuffling a deck of cards. His eyes lit up to see the dung beetle. He lay down the cards and pretended to evaluate the dung.
“That is a fine mound! It should be worth twenty golden coins!” He handed the dung beetle some lovely ivory chips. “Please sit down and I will tell you how to play,” he said, perspiration beginning to dot his forehead. The Emperor’s hands trembled as he dealt the cards.
“Now the point of the game is to collect the greatest proportion of face cards with the minimum number of cards that show the eagle’s wings. We gamble on which type of card gets turned up next. Is that clear?”
“As mud,” grumbled the beetle, but he played his first hand.
“Oo,” said the Emperor, “A unified deuce! Are you sure you’ve never played before?”
“I’m a dung beetle,” Moe said. “Does this mean I win?”
“Obviously!” said the Emperor tartly, dealing again and wiping sweat from his wrinkled brow.
Moe picked up another card. It was the Duke of Dorking surrounded by angels. He laid it down. “This is a face card, right?”
“My heavens: an undisputed trump-meister!” said the Emperor hollowly. “And right after a unified deuce! Do you know the odds of that?”
“I’m a dung beetle,” Moe reminded him. “So I win again?”
The Emperor started to shuffle again and a drop of sweat rolled off of his nose onto the table. Moe started to whistle again. The Emperor glared at him so Moe stopped.
The moaning Emperor dealt fresh cards. Moe noticed that his cards had an interesting balance of green and blue just like the cards that the Emperor laid down from the deck. They were a perfect match, so Moe laid them down.
“Hey, this is that match you talked about, right?”
“A flawless flip-over? How did you do it?” babbled the poor sweating monarch. “Either you are the luckiest dung beetle ever to walk the planet or you are a foul cheater! Be frank, Beetle! Did Sid work his magic over you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” said Moe crisply. “You brought up the card game not me!”
“Yes, yes…I can see it now. You’ve both played me like a fool!” thundered the trembling man. “I will throw you into the deepest dungeon! I will roast you in a fire! I’ll freeze you in a mountain of ice!”
“You are the worst loser I’ve ever met,” said Moe disgustedly.
“What did you say?” shrieked the Emperor, droll flying from his mouth.
“I said: you are the absolute worst loser that I have ever had the displeasure to meet!” roared Moe.
And then, the old man deflated like a beach ball at a porcupine convention. His head felt to his hands and he sobbed like a schoolgirl.
“You’re right! I am the worst loser ever!” cried the old man, snot oozing from his nose.
“Uh well…listen, I’m sorry for being critical…” said Moe.
“No, no, you were quite right. I have a monumental problem. I need help!” said the Emperor brokenly.
“So you’ll give me the ring?” asked Moe, striking while the iron was hot.
“Of course, I will,” said the Emperor, handing over the ring. “And what’s more, I promise now, on my word of honour, never ever to gamble again! From now on it’s a life of recovery for me!”
“Well, that’s great,” said Moe, picking up the ring quickly before the Emperor could change his fragile mind. “Uh, good luck with that recovery thing!”
Moe upended the rest of the vial over his head and became once more an eagle man. Why not fly home? He gripped Sid’s ring tightly and flew for the cottage. He alighted on the fringe of the forest and waited for the effect of the dust to fade away.
A beetle once more, Moe slipped the ring over one of his enormous legs and disappeared. He tiptoed into the Wizard’s cottage.
“Ah, you did it,” said Sid brightly. He was seated in front of a fire wearing a pair of rose-coloured spectacles.
“You can see me?” asked Moe stupidly.
“I’m wearing my special specs,” he said grandly. “They see the molecules of air that you are displacing…”
“Say what?”
“Yes, I can see you,” sighed Sid. “Now, how about my ring?”
“First you have to transform me back into my regular size and promise not to make me do anything like that again!” said Moe.
“I said I would, didn’t I?” demanded the wizard, testily.
“Your sense of honour could use a little work,” suggested the dung beetle.
“Etiquette tips from a dung beetle? Now I’ve heard everything,” said Sid, but he reached for his book of spells anyway. He said the incantation and soon Moe was back to normal.
“The ring, if you please?” asked Sid.
“With pleasure,” said the dung beetle. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must see the king about his daughter.