Montana and Vira Shingles and her their new friend, a young felt-skinned mauve puppet-class yokai named Pucas, had been walking for several hours and it had gotten very dark out. "I've learned that every road leads somewhere, or there wouldn't be any road; so it's likely that if we travel long enough, we will come to some place or another in the end. What place it will be we can't even guess at this moment, but we're sure to find out when we get there," the rotund tween said.

  But soon they had come to the very end of the road. The befleshed humanoid, puppy-dog-shaped animal-class yokai, and felt-skinned puppet-class yokai could do nothing but stare. The street ended surely enough, and beyond there was nothing at all. Literally nothing. No matter at all. Like, voidsville, baby.

  "Well," said Montana, backing a few paces, "this is a pretty fix."

  "Glad you like it," said a wheezy voice. The travelers turned in surprise and Vira gave a yip. There stood a huge hairless, pimply and veiny yokai with the body of a wolf, the arms of a gorilla, and the head of an ox. He was naked except for a soiled apron with a nametag that said "Jedor" and was regarding them with interest. He stood behind a counter with a big sign that said: "RENT-A-ROAD". The salesman jerked his dirty thumb at the sign. "What kind of a road can I do ya for?" he asked hoarsely.

  "A road that will take us to Schmegma City, please," said Montana.

  "I can't guarantee anything like that," declared the salesman, shaking his oxen head. "Our roads go where they please, and you'll have to go where they take you. What kind of a road will you have? Make up your minds, please. I am very busy." He waved his hand at the empty counter.

  "What kind of roads have you?" asked Montana timorously. It was her first experience at renting a road, and she felt a bit perplexed.

  "Sunny, shady, straight, crooked, and cross-roads," snapped the salesman.

  "We wouldn't want a cross one," said Montana positively, "and a shady or crooked road couldn't be trusted. So, Straight, I guess? And sunny?"

  "Got it," the salesman said. "Pavement, brick, cobbleskinstone, hardened snot, gallstone, kidneystone, bladderstone, molybdenum, petrified poo, fleshwood, flesh?"

  "Um, the last one?"

  The salesman rang one of the bells in the counter. The next minute, an enormous trap door in the ground opened, and a perfectly huge roll of gammon-colored flesh bounced out, hitting the ground with a rumble.

  "Get on," commanded the salesman in such a sharp tone that the three jumped to obey. Montana picked Vira up and cautiously stepped on the piece of slightly hairy road that had already unrolled like a massive tongue. Pucas, looking very anxious, followed. No sooner had they done so than the flesh road gave a terrific leap forward that stretched our friends flat upon their backs. The road started unwinding from its spool at a terrifying speed. As it unrolled, tall pink fleshtrees with curly greasy hairs on their branches snapped erect on each side and began laughing derisively at the three travelers huddled together in the middle.

  The flesh road snapped along at about 15 Earth-miles per 1 Sifillis-minute, and before they had time to grow accustomed to this singular mode of travel, it gave a final jump that sent them circling into the air, and began rapidly winding itself back up.

  Montana, Vira and Pucas landed on a sandy brown beach scattered with sandy brown clumps. They stood up and brushed themselves off. Pucas was particularly dizzy and threw up.

  "It’s a good thing he didn’t charge us anything for the road," said Montana, "cuz I’m flat busted."

  Suddenly the beach began to quake. The clumps began vibrating this way and that.

  "Oh no!" exclaimed Montana, struggling to keep her balance. "What next?"

  The ground started shaking more and more violently and Vira yipped in terror. Before Montana could react, the ground cracked open where Pucas was standing and the felt boy tumbled down into an abyss. Montana ran towards the crevice to see what had become of her new friend, but just then an especially violent quake sent her toppling backwards onto a rock, which knocked her unconscious.

  "COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO-DOO!"

  A shrill noise awoke the portly, jumpsuit-clad tween Montana "Mono" Shingles, who opened her eyes to find that day had dawned and the pink peach-shaped sun was shining brightly in a clear blueish pinkish purpleish sky. She had been dreaming that she was working on her mother Mizzy’s farm on Toosh Island again, and playing in the old barnyard with the horned iguanas and cockadoodoos all around her; and at first, as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, she really imagined she was there.

  "COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO-DOO!"

  Ah; here again was the noise that had awakened her. Surely it was a cockadoodoo cackling! But her wide-open eyes next saw the foamy yellow waves of the cloudy Wormspotz Ocean, now calm and placid. Next to the water was a broad beach of clumpy brown sand and gravel, and farther back were several rocky brown hills, while beyond these appeared a strip of brown fleshtrees that marked the edge of a forest. There was no sign of the crevice that had swallowed up Pucas, and no chalets or quonset huts or wigwams to be seen, nor any sign of humanoids or yokai or robots who might inhabit this unknown land. Just one brown feathered cockadoodoo.

  "COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO-DOO!"

  "What's all the hubbub?" cried Montana, starting to her feet.

  "Why, I've just laid a terd, that's all," replied the cockadoodoo. "It's a habit I have. It has always been my pride to lay a fresh terd every morning, except when I'm molting. I never feel like having my morning cackle till the terd is properly laid, and without the chance to cackle I would not be happy." They called "eggs" terds on Sifillis Planet.

  Just then Montana’s brown-and-white half-Jack Russell/half-Shih Tzu antennaed puppy-dog-shaped yokai Elvira Daisy Shingles, who had been standing guard over Montana all night, growled to herself in a cross way, gave a sharp yip, and flew at the brown cockadoodoo, who ruffled her feathers and let out such an angry screech that Montana was startled.

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  "Stop, Vira! Stop that this minute!" she commanded. "Can't you see that this cockadoodoo is our friend?" In spite of this warning had Montana not grabbed Vira quickly by the scruff the little dog would have done the brown cockadoodoo a mischief, and even now she struggled madly to escape Montana's grasp. She smacked Vira’s rump once or twice and told her to behave, and the brown cockadoodoo flew to a nearby tall veiny fleshrock, where she was safe.

  "What a brute!" croaked the cockadoodoo, glaring down at the little dog.

  "Vira isn't a brute," replied Montana; "but at home sometimes Mom has to spank her for riling up the animals. Now, look here, Vira," she added, holding up her finger and speaking sternly to her, "you've got to understand that this bird mustn't be hurt- now or ever."

  Vira wagged her tail and made a "aaarooo" noise if she understood.

  "The miserable thing can't talk," said the cockadoodoo, with a sneer.

  "Yes, she can," replied Montana; "she talks with her bark and her tail, and I understand everything she says."

  Montana sighed and looked around again, at the brown beach and the yellow sea. She guessed it would be pointless to try and find Pucas, the crevice he had tumbled into had vanished and she didn’t see any caves or holes to explore. This saddened the tween deeply.

  "I'm beginning to get hungry," she said, trying to distract herself from the probable violent death of a child. "And Vira must be too. It's breakfast time; but there's no breakfast."

  "You may eat my terd," said the brown cockadoodoo.

  "Oh, I couldn't possibly eat it, unless it was cooked," exclaimed Montana. "But I'm much obliged for your kindness, just the same."

  "Don't mention it, my dear," answered the brown cockadoodoo from atop the slightly pulsating fleshrock, calmly, and began pruning her feathers.

  "I hope Vira and I do find something to eat," said Montana. "There has to be some piles of alien feces around here somewhere."

  "I'm a trifle hungry, myself," declared the brown cockadoodoo.

  "Why don't you eat the terd?" asked the child. "You don't need to have your food cooked, as I do."

  "Do you take me for a cannibal?" cried the cockadoodoo, indignantly. "I do not know what I have said or done that leads you to insult me!"

  "I beg your pardon, I'm sure miss, er... by the way, may I inquire your name, ma'am?" asked the tween.

  "Cockadoody," said the bird, somewhat gruffly. "I’m the greatest cockfighter on Sifillis. I used to wrestle under the name the Brown Cocka but now I go by 'Cockadoody the Cocky Cockfightin' Cockadoodoo'."

  "Hello, Cockadoody. My name is Montana Shingles- just Mono to my friends and Mz. Shingles to strangers. You may call me Mono, if you like. I’m a farmhand, I guess, but I'm on my way to Schmegma City to star in a movie. How did you find yourself on this beach?

  "Well," said Cockadoody, ""All my life I have been accustomed to hatching out thirteen terds; but the last time there were only twelve terds in the nest when I got ready to set. Being experienced in these matters I knew it would never do to set on twelve terds, so I asked the Pink Rooster for his advice.

  "The cock considered the question carefully, and finally told me he had seen a very nice, large terd lying on the fleshrocks near the skinstone fountains.

  "'If you wish,' said he, 'I will get it for you.'

  "'I am very sorry to trouble you, yet certainly I need thirteen terds,' I answered.

  "The Pink Rooster is an accommodating fowl, so away he flew, and shortly returned with a large white terd under his pimply, featherless wing. This terd I put with the other twelve, and then I set faithfully on my nest for three weeks, at the end of which time I hatched out my chicks.

  "Twelve of them were as cute and fluffy as any mother could wish. But the one that came from the strange terd was black and oily and awkward, and had a large bill and sharp claws. Despite his deformity I gave him as much care as any of them, and soon he outgrew the others and became very big and strong.

  "The Pink Rooster shook his head, and said, bluntly:

  "'That baby will be a great trouble to you, for it looks to me strangely like one of our enemies, the grease vultures.'

  "'What!' I exclaimed, reproachfully, 'do you think one of my darling children could possibly be a grease vulture? I consider that remark almost an insult, Mr. Cock! Don't make me fight you!"

  "The Pink Rooster blushed and said nothing more; but he kept away from my big, black, oily chick, as if really afraid of it.

  "To my great grief this chick suddenly developed a very bad temper, and one day I was obliged to reprove it for grabbing the food away from its siblings. Suddenly it began screaming with anger, and the next moment it sprang on me, digging its sharp claws into my back.

  "While I struggled to free myself, he flew far up into the air, carrying me with him, and uttering loud cries that filled me with misgivings. For I now realized, when it was too late, that his voice sounded exactly like the cry of the grease vultures!

  "Away and away he flew, over mountains, and valleys, and fjords, until at last, as I looked down, I saw a robot pointing a lazer at us. A moment later he shot, and the black bird’s head turned into gore, at the same time releasing his hold of me; so that I fell over and over and finally fluttered to the ground.

  "Then I found I had escaped one danger only to encounter another, for as I reached the ground the robot seized me and carried me under his arm to his home. Entering the house, he said to his wife:

  "'Here is a nice, fat cockadoodoo for your breakfast.'

  "'Put her in the coop,' replied the woman, who was a giant hairless squirrel. 'After supper I will chop off her head and pick the feathers from her body.'

  "This frightened me greatly, as you may suppose, and when the man placed me in the coop I nearly gave way to despair. I found myself imprisoned with a wrinkly wyrmbyrd. I plucked up courage and began looking for a way to escape. To my great joy I soon discovered that one of the slats of the coop was loose, and, having pushed it aside, I was not long in gaining liberty for myself and the hapless wyrmbyrd.

  "Once free, we went our separate ways. I ran away from the robot’s farm as fast as possible, but did not know in which direction to go, the country being so strange to me. So I fluttered on, half running and half flying, until I reached the place where an army of Potassium Rangers was encamped. If these creatures saw me I feared they would also wish to eat me for breakfast; so I crept into the mouth of a big cannon, thinking I should escape attention and be safe until morning. Soon I fell asleep, and so sound was my slumber that the next thing I heard was the conversation of some rangers who stood beside the cannon.

  "'It is nearly sunrise,' snarled one. 'You must fire the salute. Is the cannon loaded?'

  "'Oh, yes,' snarled the other.

  "By this time I was trembling with fear, and had decided to creep out of the cannon and take the chances of being caught, when, suddenly, 'Bang!' went the big gun, and I shot into the air with a rush like that of a whirlwind.

  "The noise nearly deafened me, and my nerves were so shattered that for a time I was helpless. I felt myself go up and up into the air, until soon I was far above the clouds. Then I recovered my wits. I landed on this deserted beach and stopped to rest. An earthquake woke me up and then I found you."

  After the story Montana sat down and watched Cockadoody, who was pick-pecking away with her sharp bill in the sand and gravel, which she scratched up and turned over with her strong claws. Vira plooped down next to Montana and also watched the bird intently.

  "What are you doing?" asked Montana.

  "Getting my breakfast, of course," murmured the Cockadoodoo, busily pecking away. “Bugs and grubs and worms and other little critters.” Vira sniffed around the ground but found nothing to satiate her. Finally, down near the water's edge, Cockadoody stuck her bill deep into the sand, and then drew back and shivered.

  "Ow!" she cried. "I struck something hard and it nearly broke my beak!"

  Cockadoody showed Montana the place where she had "stubbed her bill," as she expressed it, and Vira ran over and gave it a good sniffing. Montana dug away the sand until she felt something hard. Then, thrusting in her hand, she pulled the thing out, and discovered it to be a large sized key- rather old, but in perfect shape.

  "It's made of bone, sure enough!" said the tween, gazing thoughtfully at the curious thing she had found. "It must have lain hidden in the sand for a long time. How do you suppose it came there, Cocka? Why is it made of bone? And what do you suppose this mysterious key unlocks?"

  "I can't say," replied the brown cockadoodoo. "You ought to know more about locks and keys than I do." Montana put the key in the pocket of her jumpsuit.

  "I believe, Cocka," she said, "I'll have a look around, and see if I can find some breakfast for Vira and me."

  At this news, Vira farted happily- long and lustily.