In Australia, there was a young man named Pras. He was a tan guitarist type with luscious mutton-chop sideburns and an incredibly sexy Australian accent. He loved nothing more than ham sandwiches and naps in the Australian sun. Pras was in his prime of life; twenty two years old, and he loved to party. Pras was always willing to try new things in order to reach new planes of consciousness. Knowing these things about Pras one must also know one critical thing about Australia: bongs are illegal to purchase and all of the wildlife is out to kill a person. Pras doesn’t like harsh smoke because it irks his lungs something chronic, but he also can’t buy a bong with which to cool the smoke. Thus, Pras can’t partake in the harmless smoking of marijuana in order to reach new levels.
A typical Friday night. Pras and his friends have just come in from a bonfire on the beach, playing guitar and singing in the glow of the flames. Beer is flowing, pot is being smoked, the good times are bountiful. Pras has had a few drinks and is really feeling good. He’s happy and laughing, and flirting with a cute American girl by playing Lady Gaga songs for her on his guitar. The girl takes his hand and leads him away from the bulk of the party, to an area in the shade of a tree. She has a bottle of water in her hand and a small handbag. The American sits cross legged on the ground and pulls Pras down so he’s sitting beside her. She tells him that her name is Wendy, and that she’s here to help expand his mind.
“I saw you coughing pretty hard back there. My name’s Wendy. I have something that will really fuck you up, if you want to try it.”
“Uh, sure. Glad you liked my guitar playing.”
“It was delightful, Pras. May I call you Pras?”
“Sure.”
“Alright, anyway. I led you out here for a reason.” Wendy is whispering, now.
“Oh?”
“Yes. I want to take you to a higher plane, my good man. Expand your mind. Are you picking up what I’m putting down?”
“Yeah. I guess. What is it?”
Wendy reaches into her hand bag and pulls out a cornucopia of drugs: a few red pills, a few purple pills with little monkeys on them, and some muddy-looking liquid in a small bottle."
“What is that?”
“Ecstasy and shroom-juice.”
“Oh.”
“You’re in for a real treat.”
Wendy turns up the bottle of mud, chokes half of it down and chases it with water, grimacing. She hands the bottle to Pras and he mimics her action by finishing the bottle with a pained expression.
“That’s disgusting.”
“Yeah, well it’s worth it. Now, take a straw.”
Wendy divides the pills between them, each taking two of the red and one of the purple. She bends her straw in half and drops the pills inside. Pras does the same thing with his two capsules, and they begin biting the pills through the straws in order to crush them into a powder. Wendy leans her head back, and in one elegant motion inhales all of the powder to the back of her nose and snorts.
“Does that burn?”
“Not really. Go on, give it a shot champ.”
Pras lines his straw up carefully so that he doesn’t spill any of the substance and sniffs it up his nose. He coughs and sputters for a moment, but then recovers.
“I lied. The first time does burn.”
“You’re a terrible person.”
“That’s fine. What do you say we take off on an adventure? You won’t want to be here in a little bit.”
“That’s a wonderful idea.”
Pras and Wendy run inside the house where he grabs his guitar and Wendy gets her bong, and they take off out of the yard and into the street, walking towards the full moon.
Walking beside each other in silence for about 15 minutes, Pras finally speaks up.
“I think I feel it.”
They stop moving at the same time, and once again Wendy sits on the ground, Pras beside her.
“Feel what?”
“Really, really good.”
“Good. That’s what I was hoping for. Let me look at your eyes.”
Taking Pras’s chin in her hand, she looks into his eyes. His pupils are dilated and he can’t keep a straight face.
“Yeah, you’re fucked up. Let’s keep walking.”
Meandering along, the intoxicated duo reaches the edge of the sidewalk. Beyond them lies desert, with bits of short shrubs, assorted twisted trees and brown rocks. Everything is a shade of sand, shale, beige or brown, with very little green. Wendy grabs Pras’ hand as she begins dragging him with her into the outback of Australia, still going towards the glow of the moon.
“You know I’ve always wanted to see a platypus.”
“They’re near water, usually. What about a kangaroo?”
“That will work.”
“Why are you so interested in Australian wildlife?”
“Well, because it’s exotic. In America, we only have beavers and bears and squirrels. No kangaroos and ostriches and platypuses and giant earthworms. I like animals, you know.”
“I guess. I typically just try to avoid Australian wildlife, it scares the shit out of me.”
“I’m scared of it too, which is why we brought weapons. You know, a bong and a guitar. That, and soon we’ll be tripping balls and probably just try to ride around on a kangaroo.”
“I’ll sit in it’s pouch!”
“I’ll hold your guitar.”
“We don’t have ostriches here, by the way. Just emus. They’re better. Did you know that an emu can travel great distances while maintaining a brisk and economical trot?”
“I did not know that, but thank you for telling me.”
Pras pulls his guitar strap over his shoulder and begins playing an off-key song. The only lyric is “Emu, doo doo doo, eeeeemmmmuuuuuuuu.” This continues for several minutes until Wendy smacks him on the shoulder.
“Stop that. It’s a terrible song.”
“You don’t see them?”
“See what?”
“All the dancing birds! With the big feathers and the long legs. They’re blue and green and all around!”
Wendy used this as an opportunity to drop to her knees laughing as hard as she could. When she stood up, she was wheezing and clutching at her sides, with tears streaming down her cheeks.
“What’s so funny, mate?”
“You’re so far down the rabbit hole.”
“Isn’t that the idea?”
Pras and Wendy start walking forward again, swaying a little in their steps. They’re trying to be quiet, but keep shushing each other and giggling. Wendy pauses, with a strange look on her face. Pras stops walking, and looks around.
“What is your problem?”
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“That chittering noise. It sounded like a chittering demon. What the fuck? Why did I let you talk me into coming out here? Oh god, I’m out in the desert with Crocodile hunter. That ended badly. DID YOU HEAR THAT NOISE, PRAS?”
“Oh, that chitchitchit?”
“Yes. The chittering demon.”
“You’re being silly. That’s just a Koala bear. Crikey! Little bugger sounds angry!”
“A KOALA BEAR? Awww. Can I meet him? Can we take him with us?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Awesome. Ok. Let’s get him. Lure him in with your guitar. Wait, did you just say “Crikey, the little bugger sounds angry?””
“Yes. Why? Was it too Australian?”
“Shut up and play a fucking koala song.”
“You know, you can’t rush genius.”
Pras once more lifts his guitar, and Wendy sits at his feet. He begins plinking one single string: plink, plink, plink. A rustling sound is heard, and soon, a pair of glowing eyes is seen in a tree. Predictably, both Pras and Wendy have a mild freakout, and Pras begins plinking his guitar string faster in terror. Plink, plink, plink.
“Is that the Koala?”
“I dunno, let’s go see.”
They lay their possessions on the ground: Wendy’s bong and small bag, and Pras’ guitar. Wendy stands behind Pras and steers him forward, hand on shoulder.
“You’re going first.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re the Australian and you have to talk to it and let it know we mean know harm.”
“It’s a bloody Koala, not an alien encounter.”
“Well then, it shouldn’t be hard for you to let it know we’re friendly. Can we overpower it if necessary? And why is it bloody?!”
“Bloody is an expression, we can overpower it, and heyyyyy little guy. Come on out. Come on. You’re a cute little Koala bear, aren’t you? Yes you are. Want some eucalyptus, little guy? Yes you do! You’re just a cutey wutey buggerbear aren’t you? Awwww.”
“Manly.”
“Shut up, you told me to do this.”
“I told you to make it think we’re friendly, not to flirt with it.”
The pair has gotten closer to the tree, and the Koala has remained motionless. Pras lifts his arm up to the bear and plucks it from the tree. The creature gives a soft mew.
“Here. You can have it.”
Pras hands the bear to Wendy, and she cuddles it immediately. The Koala seems to like her.
“Wow, no guy has ever given me a live Koala bear before. I’m impressed.”
“Well, I’ve never captured one before.”
“Can we name him? Or her? What is the gender of you, oh bear?”
“ I don’t think it’s going to answer you.”
What happened next astonished both Pras and Wendy. The Koala bear began to speak. The two humans learned that it’s name was Gordy, and that it is a He-Bear. Gordy had an Australian accent, and smelled vaguely like Vicks Vapor-rub.
“Hark! Ye Humans of olde! My name is Gordy, and I am Most Proud He-Bear of the Greater Australian Koala Alliance.”
“What?” Wendy and Pras spoke in unison.
“I’m Gordy and I’m a Koala. Why did you wake me up?”
“You were already awake.”
“No I wasn’t, you bloody stoner. You’ve had dozens of mushrooms. YOU ARE TALKING TO A KOALA.”
“A Koala named Gordy.”
“Exactly my point. Well, since you’ve got me, we might as well make the best of our time together. What do you think?”
“I think that’s a wonderful idea Gordy.”
Gordy climbs up to Wendy’s shoulder and wraps his koala-arms around her neck. Pras brings the bong, bag, and guitar over and puts his arm around Wendy’s waist.
“I can’t stand up.”
“Well then sit down.”
“But I want to go walking.”
“Then let’s go walking.”
“I prefer riding on shoulders to walking. Koala’s aren’t known for setting land speed records.”
“That’s ok Gordy. You’ll be our guide to the Australian Outback.”
“I thought that was my job.”
“No, you lost your privileges when you tried to be Steve Irwin.”
“Oh.”
Pras, Wendy and Gordy continue walking along. They kick brush and sticks out of their way as they giggle through the desert. Wendy really hopes to see more animals, and Pras just wants to sit down.
“Can we PLEASE stop walking? I’m having a really hard time right now.”
“Fine.”
So they sit. Wendy pulls out her bag and bong, and Pras begins playing a song again. Wendy packs a bowl and lights up, the gurglegurgle of her bong echoes in the quiet of the desert.
“It’s really dark out here.”
Wendy puts her hands behind her head and lays back on the hard ground. Gordy climbs down beside her and sits on his haunches as Pras continues playing.
“What’s that song?”
“Oh, it’s called “While You Wait for the Others”.”
“Others? What others?”
“The other Koalas, of course!”
“There are more of you?”
“Of course there are more of me! You think I’m the only Koala bear in existence?”
“No, just the only one nearby.”
“Well, there ARE others. We’re a typically nomadic breed of bear, if you call us bears at all, but we are not solitary. Will you blow some smoke in my face?”
“Of course I will, Gordy.”
Wendy turns to the side and leans close to Gordy. She tokes mightily on her bong, and then exhales the smoke into the nose of the Koala. He appears to enjoy himself.
“Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuude.”
“Yeah.”
“Wendy, there are so many things wrong with getting a Koala high. They’re an endangered species, you know.”
“Well, just because they’re endangered doesn’t mean that they can’t have any fun.”
Pras lies back on the hard sand. He is staring up at the stars and really concentrating. Pras sees many things, the first being that the stars appear to be distorting. They’re bending and twisting around each other, leaving trails of light behind. They’re becoming everything constellations should be- ships with huge sails, great birds, and a beautiful city. He can hear the colors, smell the sounds, feel the tastes.
“Wendy, do you think we could make it to the stars?”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“Don’t you ever get bored being on Earth?”
“I do, but I know that the stars are too far away to make it to.”
“That’s a very negative way of looking at it.”
“I don’t think it’s negative. I think it’s realistic.”
“I could watch the stars forever.”
“Me too.”
“Well, I can’t watch the stars forever. I have places to be. I am a very busy Koala and you are impeding me from my duties.”
“What duties could you possibly have? You’re a cute grey bear, and it’s midnight.”
“Well, I have a meeting with a Kangaroo.”
“A KANGAROO?”
“Yes. A kangaroo. She should be here at any moment to deliver my bowler hat.”
Wendy stands up, places Gordy on the ground, and walks off alone. She thought she saw something and wanted to investigate it. Every step Wendy takes is difficult. She’s swaying with each step, and everything seems to be bending and twisting. It’s weird, isn’t it? Being in a dream like this. She can’t tell which end is up. The poor girl is confused.
