Advice from a Caterpillar
By Jason “Wilder” Konschak.

Editor’s Note: The Bndoundou phrase, “Quoogy Doogy Yug Yug” translates to, “Give me my pants back.”


One warm afternoon, Dr. Wilder was getting 
very tired of sitting by the Bndoundou Tribe’s 
campfire, because he felt exceedingly lonely. He 
thought, “Life among the blowgun, the herb-dye, 
the massacre-crazed, and dark-wheat dazed, it 
makes a man feel loved by the Earth, but it don’t 
fulfill a man’s need for the hunka-chunka.” 
Just then, a half-naked native woman, about 
19 years old, happened to skip by, declaring, 
“Zook zook eegoo ook!” which roughly 
translates to, “Dear oh dear! I shall be late!”
The doctor stood and began to follow her, 
but she fell into a pit, which is odd if one thinks 
about it, out in the middle of an African savanna. 
Yet, in another moment, down went Dr. Wilder 
after her, never considering how in the world he 
was going to get out again.
Either the pit was very deep, or he was 
falling very slowly, for he seemed to fall down 
the hole for a terribly long while. “I should 
wonder if I’ll ever hit bottom!” he thought to 
himself. “I shouldn’t like to fall forever!” 
Dr. Wilder reached out to touch the walls 
that were rushing by him, which was quite a 
dumbass thing to do. “Awe fuck!” he shouted, 
because he found the he’d not only broken his 
finger, but he’d also set himself into quite a 
dizzying spin. 
And he was so concerned with his hurting 
finger, he never noticed the bottom coming 
swiftly toward the crown of his head. “Oh!” he 
gasped, surprised indeed when he landed on it. 
He rubbed his eyes, to get the blood out of 
them, and soon saw the fine Bndoundou woman 
scurrying under a large velvet curtain. “Hey 
baby. You don’t have to run from Dr. Wilder. 
He’s got the tools to make you better,” he said, 
crawling toward the curtain. He slipped under it, 
but found that the girl was already gone. The 
only exit in the room was a tiny door, only half 
an inch tall. “How’d she get her big butt through 
that thing...”
Playing with the door, he found that it was 
so small he couldn’t even fit his nose into it. 
Though he did get his tongue quite stuck. This 
was no surprise to him. 
“Whatever shall I do now?” he asked 
himself. “What a very strange day this has 
been!” He tugged and tugged at his tongue, like a 
dog pulling at a piece of rope, and finally he 
freed himself with a sudden jump. He fell 
backward, and knocked his head sharply against 
the edge of a table. 
When the doctor finished cursing, he found 
that the table had two items on it. One was a 
mushroom, and the other a bottle of potion. The 
mushroom said, “Eat me.” The bottle said, 
“Drink me.” 
“How rude!” Dr. Wilder thought. “It’s not 
polite to tell a guest to eat you. That is for second 
dates.”
Therefore, Dr. Wilder chose to drink the 
potion. After swallowing it, he felt a very queer 
sensation, and found that he was getting much 
larger, in a way that was unusual for even him. 
“This shall not do at all!” he thought. “Now I’m 
far too big for even a normal door.” Then, 
something occurred to him. “But, hell, I could 
just punch down the fucking wall.” 
And that is just what he did.
***
On the other side of the wall, Dr. Wilder 
was astonished to find a wide green meadow, 
with many hills, and many lovely flowers. 
Feeling somewhat better about his adventures 
now, he skipped for a good while, until he came 
upon a strange billow of smoke, which spiraled 
up from a mushroom patch, like the fumes from 
burning incense. 
There he bent down and saw a little 
caterpillar, sitting on the back of a mushroom, 
smoking a hookah. “Whoooo are yoooouuuu?” 
the little bug inquired.
“I’m a mushroom-cloud layin’ mutha-fucka, 
mutha-fucka, so you better give me a puff of that 
hookak, you see?” 
“I don’t see,” said the Caterpillar.
“Then take a look at this, slug,” Dr. Wilder 
said, and he put his thumb and pointer-finger on 
either side of the little fellow’s head. 
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes. I have advice for you,” the Caterpillar 
said. “Keep your temper.”
“Is that all?” asked Dr. Wilder, swallowing 
down his anger as best he could.
“Yes,” said the Caterpillar.
“Well then, I’m crrrrushink your head!” 
Then splat. Splat.
***
Proudly smoking his new hookah, and 
feeling entirely pleased with himself, Dr. Wilder 
arrived at an enormous, dark, frightening forest, 
which came up to his crotch. Seeing nowhere 
better to go, he waded through the wretched 
forest, until he heard a voice calling down to him 
from the clouds. He looked up, and what did he 
see floating above him, but a large smiling cat, 
just out of his reach.
“Are you going to turn into a pig?” the cat 
inquired.
“I certainly hope not,” Dr. Wilder said, 
feeling a bit concerned. “I shouldn’t like being a 
pig at all.” 
Then, all at once, the cat vanished.
Shrugging this off, Dr. Wilder walked on. 
But before long, the cat appeared again, so 
suddenly that it made the doctor gasp with 
surprise. “Oh!”
“Which way are you going?” the cat asked 
this time.
“Wherever there aren’t any crazy people.”
“Oh, well you’ll have a hard time with that. 
We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad. 
We’re all mad.”
“How do you know I’m mad?”
“Oh, you must be, or you wouldn’t have 
come here.”
“And how could you possibly know that 
you’re mad?”
At that, the cat went pop! and was gone 
again.
Dr. Wilder put his hands on his hips and 
stood still, tapping his foot. He was certain that 
the cat would be back sooner than later. And, 
sure enough, it was not long before the cat 
reappeared. 
“Is a dog mad?” the cat asked.
“No, a dog is not mad.”
“Well, a dog wags its tail when it’s happy, 
and growls when it’s mad. I growl when I’m 
happy, and wag my tail when I’m happy. So, I’m 
mad.”
“Why don’t you go lick yourself, fatso? And 
don’t disappear so suddenly this time! It’s 
annoying!” And so the cat slowly vanished, a 
little bit at a time, finally leaving nothing but his 
smile. “Well, I’ve seen a cat without a grin 
before, but I’ve never seen a grin without a cat!” 
Then he made the mistake of walking on, 
because before he’d taken three steps, the cat 
appeared again. “Damn it cat! What now?”
“You are going to the house of the March 
Hare!” the cat said.
“If you don’t get out of here, I’m gonna skin 
you alive!”
“Oh, but you can’t reach me,” said the cat.
At that, Dr. Wilder jumped up into the air, 
and snatched the cat from the sky. “You forget 
that I can jump!” 
Then he took the cat by the tail, spun it 
around, and beat it against a rock.
***
Feeling short of temper now (he’d been 
rather randy at the start of the day, and thus far 
he’d not seen another sign of the half-naked 
native) the doctor was wondering if he’d ever get 
booty again. That was when he realized that he 
was far too big now for any normal woman now. 
“What a predicament to be in!” he sighed. “How 
ever can I make myself small again?” 
He put all his medical training into this 
problem, trying to develop a plan to make him 
normal once more. “I know!” he declared. “I 
shall think of my fat grandmother in a bikini.” 
He did just that. As he shrunk, he screamed very 
loudly, because the thought was frightfully 
disturbing, indeed. “AHHHHHHHH!!!”
Before long, he was back to his normal size, 
and on his way again, to the house of the March 
Hare, where he hoped to get a piece. What he 
found there instead was a huge table, set for tea, 
with hundreds of places set. Yet, the only 
persons there were the Mad Hatter, the March 
Hare, and the Dormouse, who was sound asleep 
between the other two. When they saw him 
coming, they all cried, “No room! No room!”
“Listen here, suckas, there certainly is 
room,” he said, taking a seat across from them. 
“Have any of you seen a half-naked, herb-dyed 
chick run through here, worrying about the 
time?”
“Time?” the Mad Hatter shouted, and he 
held up his pocket-watch. “We put butter in my 
watch, and now it doesn’t work! It’s because the 
Hare used the knife to put it in, and there were 
crumbs on it!”
“Your watch is whak. It only has months on 
it,” Dr. Wilder pointed out.
“That’s because I offended Old Man Time, 
and he ignores me now. So it’s always tea-time 
for me. New cup! Move down!” he cried.
“If you lame-ohs want to be as sane and 
well-adjusted as me, Dr. Wilder, you’ll sit still 
and listen up.”
“No time! No time here at all! New cup! 
Move down!” the Hatter cried, beginning to 
panic. At that, the Dormouse awoke, and began 
to sing, but Dr. Wilder had already had enough. 
The doctor grabbed a tin-teapot, and 
splashed boiling water into the Mad Hatter’s 
face. The Hatter cried out, “NOW I’VE 
OFFENDED TEMPERATURE!” and fell over 
backward in his chair, yelling bloody murder. 
The March Hare would have reacted with deadly 
ferocity, except he was disabled with a fit of 
horrendous shrieking giggles.
Next, Dr. Wilder leapt up onto the table, and 
dropkicked the Dormouse like a football. The 
pudgy rat soared up over the roof of the March 
Hare’s cottage, singing, “Up above the earth so 
high, like a tea tray in the sky!” until he landed 
in the chimney, and was consumed by flames.
The March Hare found this exceedingly 
funny, and could not cease his dreadful fits of 
laughter. Dr. Wilder was about to pummel him 
with the teapot, but the Hare abruptly ceased 
laughing. His head flopped limp onto his 
buttered scones. 
The good doctor inspected the furry corpse. 
“The fool had a stroke. That’s what you get 
when you drink tea all the time! The shit’s bad 
for you! Should drink milk! Like Mr. T!”
***
Now, after this folly, he’d had a more than 
sufficient visit to this strange place. He wanted 
nothing more than to go back home, where he 
could call up an ex-girlfriend, instead of chasing 
an exotic foreign lover across the wonkiest place 
on earth. Alas, having little choice, he trudged 
across a stone bridge, and came into a garden 
filled with rose trees. The smell of fresh flowers 
made him feel nearly twice as hungry for sweet-
lovin’. 
In the garden, playing cards, as tall as he, 
were painting all the white roses red. Dr. Wilder 
figured that a discussion with these characters 
would be a waste of time, so he skipped directly 
to beating them up. 
But, before he’d wiped his hands from the 
deed, a response came. “Off with his head! Off 
with his head!” a female voice cried out from 
behind him. He turned to see the Queen of 
Hearts, marching ahead of an elegant procession 
of cards. “Off with his head!” she cried again.
“Oh, fuck off,” Dr. Wilder said, very loudly, 
and very decidedly. The Queen was silent.
“You’re a brave man, to say such things!”
“Yeah, honey, well I certainly hope you’re 
more fun than you sister, The Spade Queen,” he 
responded, wondering how he was going to kill 
so many cards at once.
“You make me blush,” the Queen said.
Then the doctor had an idea. The doctor had 
a wonderful idea. The doctor had a wonderfully 
awful idea. “What do you say we go back to your 
palace, toots, and you show me your royal 
chambers?”
“Bruff-huff!” the King belched. “You can’t 
speak to my wife in such a manner!”
So Dr. Wilder tore him in half.
“You’re the King of Broken Hearts now, 
you semi-literate prick.” 
“Oh my!” the Queen gasped.
The doctor turned a debonair eye to the 
svelte card woman. “Now, shall we begin?”
“What are you saying, strange man?”
“Angel, I don’t care where we go. I don’t 
care what we do. Baby, just take me with you.”
“But whatever for?”
“Because I’m the Prince, and when it comes 
to funk, I am the chunky.”
“What about me? I’m a Prince!” the Jack 
asked in a squeaky voice, seconds before he was 
tragically torn in half.
“You can relax now, the doctor is in 
control,” he said, stepping beside her royal 
highness. Dr. Wilder and the Queen strutted off, 
arm in arm; but, before they were gone, the 
Queen asked, “You don’t have anything to do 
with the beautiful chocolate girl, who cries 
‘Quoopy Dooopy Yug Yug,’ do you?”
“Why yes... I do...” the doctor grinned.
“You must speak a strange language in the 
land you two come from.”
“Yes, we do,” Dr. Wilder grinned. “And we 
have another fascinating word ... it is ‘menage a 
trois’ ... perhaps we two can teach you about it.”

THE EN