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The Essay
Show #333
Weasel Slayer, Part II
David Gunn

Except for one weekend around 1 zillion B.C. when the past inadvertently overtakes the future and then inverts itself, throwing the next hundred thousand Mondays into turmoil, time inexorably passes. Child-Born-of-Water and Weasel Slayer have reached the "terrible twos." With no record of any prior sentient life on Dzil Na'oodili, First Man and First Woman are venturing into unexplored youngster-rearing territory, a much scarier prospect than any monster the Spirit Guides ever threw at them. The twins are so terrible--bleedin' 'orrid! is how Spider Woman described them--that First Man advertises all over Earth for an au pair. Only one accepts the challenge: Changing Woman, daughter of the Sun. She arrives at the home of First Man and First Woman armed with weapons of lightning bolts, which the Sun--recalling his own travails of bringing up baby--gave her. But before she can deploy them, she has to find the twins. Child-Born-of-Water has been toddling around the world setting down lakes, rivers, streams and water filtration plants. She turned the Pacific Very Dry Place in an ocean. It took her two tries. The first time, she ignored the water volume-o-meter's alarm and flooded the Earth, an event documented in Genesis 6-9 and the Epic of Gilgamesh. The second time, however, she limited the surface area to 69½ million square miles, an area remarkably similar to that of today. Weasel Slayer, too, has been roaming the Earth, seeking out and slaying not just weasels, but other carnivores. By the end of the Cretaceous Period, he had wiped out most of the dinosaurs that populated the planet, and was proceeding to eliminate some of the more nettling species of flying creatures--he still had it in for bellicose quail--when his attention turned to another matter.

The last six dinosaurs he had encountered--two each of stegosaurus, trachodon and bengazederm--turned to stone when he dispatched them. The stone was texturally similar to the shimmery turquoise that hung in the mobile over his crib. On an impulse, Weasel Slayer carted the rigor-mortised carcasses to the field in which he had buried the corn dogs First Dad kept imploring him to eat. He clustered three figures in the magnetic center of the field and the other three a weasel's heave (66 feet) away, then he carefully balanced the dug-up corn dogs atop the stone creatures. In a perfect world, First Man's First Son was one step away from inventing the game of cricket. But Dzil Na'oodili, despite its absence of monsters and plethora of water--thanks to Child-born-of--was not a perfect world. A lightning bolt that Changing Woman hurled harmlessly over Weasel Slayer's head to get his attention sailed way off course. In fact, it nearly hit him, and crashed into and obliterated the petrified dinos. (Man-and-womankind would have to wait till November 1138 for the first cricket infestation, or "match," when medieval crooner Hildegard d'Bingen, hosting a potsticker picnic, received what she called "an occurrence of divine meddling," and invented the game for a second time.) But as the lightning bolt taketh away, so too doth it giveth. When the smoke and thunder cleared, First Man's stale comestibles had turned into Corn Dog Woman, Dzil Na'oodili's First Floozy.

Wearing only clingy silk pajamas festooned with strategically placed tassels, Corn Dog Woman certainly knew how to advertise her assets in the new world. She had rather prominent ears, but the animatronic corncobs that dangled and writhed therefrom only emphasized her alluring mysteriousness. She approached First Man's First Son--she didnít stroll as much as she stalked, which somehow increased the air of seduction about her--and handed him a pinch of corn pollen. "What the hell ..." began Weasel Slayer, but Corn Dog Woman motioned for him to sniff the powder, which he did. Later, in attempting to explain the sensation to Child-Born-of, he had to invent the word phantasmagoria. He described one vision after another. In one he is on a great stage whistling the chorus from the Blessing Song, backed by an orchestra comprised of thousands of talented lemmings. In another, he is half submerged in Ood-nan-tunk near his ancestral cavern home to escape a cloud of annoying black flies. A sacred black jet stone from the river bottom fits ideally in his hand. Intuitively, he waves the stone over his head, instantly smiting all of the black flies. Thenceforth, the black jet stone will be his personal fetish. In the last vision, Corn Dog Woman removes her silk and cobs, purses her lips and dramatizes to the precocious two-year old the story of Ye'iitsoh, or the "Monster who Sucked in People."

Thereafter, Weasel Slayer matured rapidly.

For a while, he and Corn Dog Woman and her corn pollen were inseparable. Neither Changing Woman's lightning bolts nor First Woman's teary supplications could drive them apart. But soon--though it was many thousands of generations in Real Earth Time--Corn Dog Woman's inherent flooziness reasserted itself and she grew bored with Weasel Slayer. By this time, the Sun had made numerous guest appearances in Garden of Dzil Na'oodili to put his genetic imprint on the Four Earth Clans: the Near Water People, the Mud People, the Salt Water People, and the Bitter Water People. Adonis Mud People was an especially handsome young man that Corn Dog Woman found irresistible. Each night for months--that's millennia in R.E.T.--she slipped out of Weasel Slayer's bunk to reprise the story of Ye'iitsoh in Adonis' hogan. But observing the events from a star in the sky (yes, ZWR9(b) in the Crab Nebula's centerleast sector) was Quimby the Quail, one of a very few of the original monsters unleashed by the Spirit Guides that man-and-womankind hadn't long ago exterminated. Quimby flew to Weasel Slayer in a corn pollen induced dream and exposed his cuckoldom. Mellowed by the powder, Weasel Slayer declined to dispatch the two love slaves, but instead turned them into stone snakes twined around Adonis' hogan, where they could ogle each other for eternity. (The image, for reasons known only to them, was eventually adopted as the symbol of the medical profession.) In gratitude for tattling, Weasel Slayer proclaimed the quail Official Bird of the Holy People, and to this day it is never eaten during cricket matches.

Again, Weasel Slayer entered a period of rapid maturity.

Alas, it isn't rapid enough to wrap up during this 333rd episode of Kalvos & Damian's New Music Bazaar, the special half-Beelzebub show. So who sports a devil-may-care attitude of his own manufacturing, abetted only marginally by Mephistophelian paperwork? Can you say Kalvos?