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43. ALL RISE IN DUNG (Dec. 2003)
What's just another dumb
turd to you and I, humans with all the pathetic limitations of our species, is a
meal beyond measure to the dung beetle, gourmet of gross, a hunter of the foul,
the absolute lord of what's left. Our world would be immensely tainted without
them, for they are the Earth's natural sanitation engineers, cleaning up after
elephants and cattle, leaving our woods and pastures and savannas neat and tidy
after Jumbo or Bambi make a mess, chomping it up as if a 5-star chef 's
masterpiece, maybe burying it and bringing beneficial nitrogen to the hungry
soil and grateful plants. Let an elephant drop a single patty on the Serengeti
and as many as 16,000 beetles can appear as if falling out of air. Some beetles
cling to the butts of kangaroos waiting for the next glorious moment, and when
the thing comes and snaps off the beetle LEAPS from the warm bum into the air
like a trapeze artist and joins the item in its descent to earth. Those beetles
who wait for the wonderful defecations of monkeys may fly 100 feet down from the
treetops wiith their treasures. See how they fight amongst themselves for their
magic doodoo, some running off with their prize, some burying it on the spot,
some even entering it, to live and be happy and eat it from within. No
squeamishness, no euphemisms, no excess of sensitivity, just a joyous
coprophilic celebration of life, as it is lowered by God or Nature. The life
force boils and seethes in them, and males and females meet amidst the poop and
find each other, Mr. Right and Ms. Right. Some males will woo their
ladies by picking up a bit and shaking it in her face, and that is how she knows
he is successful and strong and alpha and Type A and worthy of her genes. Try
this in a bar some night. See me, ye easy atheists, the beetles sing, ye jaded,
ye sleepy of life, for I sing, not of gold or shining diamonds, I sing of shit,
and the Pharaohs worshipped me with reason.
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