The mysterious beats were the product of a set of bongo drums being pounded on by a young man attired in a black turtleneck and a scruffy goatee. He was entranced in his playing, oblivious to the approach of a willow tree and a globby blue mutant. Willowmina scratched him with her branch.
“Oh, wow. A tree – far out. And you’re a freaky one, man,” he said, seeing Slub Glub.
“Um, we’re looking for answers,” Willowmina said to him.
“Aren’t we all, baby.” He pointed the tip of his beret. “But the question is, what’s the question?” He spoke in an odd syncopated lilt, thumping on his bongos with his palms as he prattled. Slub Glub and Willowmina looked at each other, befuddled. Beneath his dark glasses,
the young man stared into space.
“Are you a warlock?” Slub Glub asked him.
“Naw, man, I just come out here to dig those crazy waves and gaze at all the chicks. So what’s your scene, hepcats? Lay it on me.”
“We’re trying to find out what all these human beings are doing here on this beach,” Slub Glub explained.
“Oh, I hear ya, brother. These squares and their suburban hassles are the pits. It’s gettin’ so there ain’t nowhere to crash without getting busted by the pigs.”
Slub Glub looked around to see where these pigs were. Willowmina, frustrated by the young man’s incomprehensible language, said, “We just need to keep them from crowding out the crabs.”
“I know it, leafy. The Man is messing with the natural order of things. The whole cycle is out of whack. Mother Nature is getting angry.”
“Yes! Exactly!” Willowmina exclaimed, excited that this weirdo human seemed to understand the dilemma. “But why? Why is all this happening?”
The beach-nik stopped playing his bongos, and pointing his finger into the air, said somberly, “You’ll have to ask Him.”
To be continued.
Table of Contents: “Slub Glub in the Weird World of the Weeping Willows”
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Illustration & text copyright (c) Andrew Goldfarb