TRIBAL PROGRESS

The tribe gathered around the fire at sundown: men, women, children, and some other primates. Once our Chief was comfortably seated, the usual chant was chanted for the time of one fuck-fuck, about fifteen seconds. Next, the Minutes from last Moon's meeting were shouted. Then, following a human sacrifice, our little Chief smiled sweetly, waved his missing hand and croaked, "Let's go." The meeting was open.

First item of business....a noisy dispute between Mr. and Mrs. Weaseltail. It was settled quickly...Chief said he'd chop their heads off and boil them in coconut juice if he heard another peep. They left hand in hand.

Senior Warrior, Johnny Wow!-Balls, wrote a new war-song he hopes will inspire his men to leap into Piranha infested waters during their bravery trials. Nothing has worked so far, so the Chief gave his nod of approval. Mr. Wow!-Balls' inspiring melody was performed on a musical skull in which extra holes were drilled to achieve a lovely haunting quality.

Olde Matilda Long-Tits gave her final report on the black-dye project. She says the crushed gnats didn't work out. They produced good color but it took three women five years to collect enough to do one skirt. Matilda's conclusion: "We don't need no stinking skirts!" Regarding the new mordant, she said flying-squirrel piss is still the best; very hard to collect but worth every drop.

The problem of youths peeking into people's huts when they hear fuck-fuck was discussed. A vote was taken: 1 against - 32 for.

An outing was planned to celebrate the anniversary of Fire. Due to the shortage of pigs it was decided that a missionary will be cooked. A dip of parrot-brains in lemon juice will be prepared by Mrs. "Whoops" Two-Toes, as a first course; then Mexican Jumping Soup will be carefully served; and for dessert, Bandicoot pudding in a thick blood sauce. We'll wash it all down with the usual spit, piss, and shit whiskey. Everyone was delighted with the menu.

Two new techniques were unveiled by Witch Doctor, "There-He-Goes!" Runs-Up-Trees, by which the bones of enemies may be more efficiently crushed to make both war-paint and breakfast cereal. For medical progress, the doctor was given a special citation.

Next, Assistant Shaman, Impersonates Weeds, performed a trick learned from a White Hunter. To the delight of all he sawed a woman in half. A brief recess was then called to clean up the mess.

After the recess, fifteen year old Wilhelmina Don't-Shit-in-the-River performed a dance she called the "Irish Jig." She learned it from the little white captive who calls himself Paddy. Wilhelmina shoved a stick up her ass and sucked her own tits while hopping around the fire. The tribe liked Wilhemina's dance so much they decided to set Paddy free. He is to be given a goat for milk and a wife. That is, a goat for milk, or fuck-fuck...whatever.

Our beloved Chief concluded the meeting by giving us all something impossible to think about, which suits us just fine. The crowd fell respectfully silent as the Chief crawled up on the stage. The whole world should have seen him, with his sweet little splayed toes, his wrinkled knees, his sagging butt, and his once proud dick tied to his waist. In each ear he wore an old transistor radio, which always makes the white man laugh and shout, "Stereo!" On his graying head he wore his crown of feathers and foreskins, and with plastic salad plates stuck into both lips he was, well, a sight to behold. I include a part of his inspiring speech:

"Puzzups. Wun a wuth uh ungn unn, a ffunp oo un oshun sah sromp hurr, clackety-clack...pooey!"