Pinky-Von-Sox and the Cave of Squawking Mumbles
I climbed over the precipice. And what a precipice it was. Angular. Rugged. Toned. Gaping. Rocky. Precipiceyey. Seemingly sweating out rich oils that made it glisten in the sun. I could barely take my eyes off it. I don't know if you people know just how much diversity in there is from precipice to precipice, but it's a lot, and I've seen a precipice or two in my day. So I know a good one when I see it. And this precipice was magnificent.
So magnificent that I didn't even notice that Leaves had found the entrance to the cave. Yes THE cave. The very cave that we were seeking. A cave so sought out that thousands before us had sought to seek it for eons. And we had discovered it.
By the time I looked up Leaves had begun to make gross 'entrance' jokes at my expense knowing that I wasn't really paying attention. If Leaves wasn’t my best friend and companion on what had already been a monumental journey, I may well have hurled him off the precipice for the disgusting joke he had concluded with:
‘What’s the difference between Pinky-Von-Sox and an Entrance? When you see an Entrance you DON’T laugh if it’s stepped in poo’.
Ok. So maybe I’ll admit that this joke was actually hilarious. I mean how could an entrance step in poo? For starters I don’t think they even MAKE shoes in entrance sizes. Still the joke was at my expense, and when I am burned I have to have retribution.
‘Hey check it out, a rock’ I was about to yell at Leaves. But here is the thing. The place I was planning to point was not going to be a place where a rock was. So he would look and realize that he’d been tricked ‘That’ll burn him, BURN HIM LIKE A WITCH!’ I thought to myself manically. My plan was all set to go, I just had to find a spot on this rocky cliff edge on the side of this rocky mountain without a rock, which turned out to be actually slightly challenging, and before I’d succeeded, I too saw the cave entrance.
And Wow. What an entrance. It was Rangy. Jagged. Pointy. Cavernous. Rock-strewn. Entranceyey. Seemingly sucking in rich oils that made it absorb the sun. This was definitely IT. The Legend. The mystery. The myth. The folklore. This was the very entrance that had inspired all those academic studies, witty single panel cartoons and even folk songs. But until now no one was even sure that it truly existed. But the engraving on the plaque could not have been more clear:
WELCOME: YOU HAVE REACHED THE CAVE OF SILENCE SO SILENT THAT IT SQUAWKS LOUDLY LIKE A FREIGHT TRAIN OR PERHAPS EVEN SOME SORT OF HEAVY MACHINERY LIKE A GIANT ROBOTIC LAVE. WAIT A LAVE IS A THING RIGHT? THEY SHAVE WOOD AND STUFF? THAT’S PRETTY COOL. WELL THIS ROBOTIC LAVE SOUND IS SO LOUD THAT IT’S LIKE A SQUAWK ONLY THIS SQUAWK IS SILENT LIKE A WHISPER. A MUMBLED WHISPER.
Wow. This was the cave known in The Secret Society of Seekers simply as - The Cave Of Squawking Mumbles. And we had discovered it.
I couldn't help but break out into song. Somehow remembering the lyrics to Bob Dylan's classic folk song of the folklore of the fossils apparently inside here. I'm sure you all know the one...
'Apparently there may be fossils in that cave
And fossils are becoming all of the rage
Especially when you've got fossil plague
Maybe you should scrape it off with a Lave
Yep it's the cave of Squawking Mumbles
I bet if you found it you’d get tummy rumbles
If you capture its secrets don’t get the fumbles
That’s why I never trust precious artifacts to idiotic bumbles’
'Yep, no wonder Dylan won a Nobel Prize for literature' I thought to myself after I sung it. But if he won a Nobel for singing about this cave, then what was I going to get for being the first to finally discover it?
I looked over at Leaves. I imagined myself cloaked in glory. Then I looked back at Leaves. Only one of us could be the first man inside.
‘Hey Leaves, look, a rock’ I yelled while pointing. Leaves lit up with the sort of glow that can ONLY come from finding a rock on a mountain, and like a dog chasing a stick, he jauntily skipped over to play with it.
Sure I had actually pointed at a rock. This was no time for trickery to earn a sweet burn.
Leaves began to happily rub his face on the rock, claiming ownership, like a cat rubbing its face on the leg of its feeder, and as his cheeks began to rip up and secrete blood, I slowly walked inside. So slowly that it was fast, fast like a freight train, or maybe some sort of fast machinery, like a robotic tree trunk flinging catapult. That’s a thing right? Flinging wood and stuff. That’s pretty cool. Only this flinging tree speed was slow. So slow it was like a whisper. A mumbled whisper.
And then I was inside.
And inside I was about to discover secrets that would literally change the way literally every human thinks about literally everything.
And yet I was to regret being the first man inside.
Because it turned out the entrance HAD stepped in poo.