once upon a time there was a word. just a little word. and this little word was called be. today, man could microscope down on little be, and classify him as a verb. a verb of basic existence, who could be called upon to describe the human condition. an imperative, even. but i digest. i wander toward the outskirts of storyville.

sucked into the vacuum left by the last dominant species, man had begun to assert his tenure over the earth. be lived in the shallows by the edge of a great lake, and one day was gathered up by the cupped hands of a thirsty boy. and, much like a virus, be took up residence in the boy's brainbox and began to multiply.

now, be was not that choosy. he was not satisfied with replicating himself, but chose to consort with the perceptual notions which inhabited the boy's mind in proliferation. and thus soon the boy became infested by words. annexed by the relentless spread of the word virus, he began dreamlike to articulate the subvocal speech which plagued him so.

this was only possible because his kind had taken to walking upright. before that, with his larynx not bent at right angles, he would have made the gaspy drunk sounds my grandad does when he's blind drunk. he would have sounded like a dog.

the tribe was dismayed by the boy's recalcitrant warblings, and ate him up on the spot. raw. fire was, you must understand, a long way off. at this time, they could not even say it.

but the virus was spread by the eating of the flesh. eventually they all came to speak. tortured by the noise in their heads, they had little choice. soon they were able to tell fibs. damn virus.