The Lonesome Death of Wildebeest Bill
08/15/2007 11:55 p.m.
The Lonesome Death of Wildebeest Bill

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If you want a no-nonsense look at life on planet earth, try watching one of those documentaries about the animals of the Serengeti. I did just that, and I tell you this: It made the “Texas Chainsaw Massacre” look like a stroll through Bethabra Park.

The segment begins with a herd of wildebeest hanging out at the old watering hole, as wildebeest must do, drooling, chewing, and because of the poor hygiene, attracting mass quantities of swarming, biting flies. Next, the herd takes on a nervous alertness, with each member blankly surveying his surroundings. Maybe it is only flatulence, or a storm brewing, but perhaps something worse.

It is worse. A lion pride slowly creeps through the tall gold grass, converging on the malodorous beasts.

One poor wildebeest, who is either injured or too darn old, is unable to scale the muddy embankment to return from the murky pool of water and rejoin his mates. Despite the effort, and the extra incentive added by impending doom, he flails helplessly.

Not to worry. His mates square their jaws, defiantly shake their horns, puff out their chests and form an impregnable half circle around the poor lame fellow trapped just below.

I think, “Wow, this is great! What noble beasts, despite flies and stink!”

The lions, however, intuitively know there is now no need for stealth, so they growl in anticipation of an easy meal and continue to close.

I think, is there to be a fight between animal gangs? I have never heard of such.”

The wildebeest paw the ground with cloven hooves. From some unknown cause, the herd startles as one, after which they look quite sheepish.

Nervously, they look side to side. Slow wheels are turning.

“Hey, a, Walt. You thinkin’what I’m thinkin’?”

“Damn straight.”

A silent minute passes.

“A, sorry Bill. You know how it is. Best of luck and all, and well, we gotta be goin’,” as the herd slowly moon walks down the shoreline and off into the trees.

Suddenly, from off camera, a lioness springs onto the back of our lowly hero, and sinks powerful claws and teeth deep into poor Bill’s ample rump. Bill bucks and writhes in pain, but in another second, the entire pride has fallen upon him, and soon poor Wildebeest Bill is torn beyond recognition.

After the lions have had their fill, the hyenas and vultures finish with what was Wildebeest Bill.

Quite sobering. This kind of thing goes on while I watch reruns of “Sanford and Son.” Imagine that.

Of course, we humans with our enormous and precise reasoning machines enjoy a refined dining experience with our corndogs (hog testes), kipper snacks, pickled eggs, and turkey jerky. (I think there is ground waddle in that turkey jerky.)

Do not feel sad, dear reader. We all eat life. It’s fun!

Wildebeest Bill lives in heaven now, along side Arnold Ziffle, Mr. Ed, Sammy Davis Jr., and Jesus.

And the lion shall lay with the lamb.




I am listening to They Might Be Giants (oh boy)