Joey Dingles, a sixty-four year old dung beetle, claims he was one of the founding members of the famed British band, The Beatles.

                   “Yeah, I was officially the fifth Beatle that nobody ever talks about,” Joey says from the dirt, as he pushes a round heap of cultivated poop.  “However, Lennon kicked me out of the group after one week, when he found out I tried to give Yoko Ono some of my Norwegian wood.”  Joey pushes his dung ball a few feet, continues.  “I played the triangle in the band, which people think is not cool.  Not true.  I didn’t get the recognition I deserved because of the politics between John, Paul, George, and Ringo.  And also because I never actually wrote or recorded any songs with them, or performed on stage, nor did I do any LSD.”

             Joey rolls his dung ball a few feet, ruminates, frustrated, continues.  “The triangle is a very complex instrument that takes years of study to master.  You can’t just start clanging it without the foundational work, or you risk hearing loss, complaints from your neighbors, or a V-shaped hernia.    First, I had to devote four years to what is referred to as, primal shape acclimation, which is akin to the blues.  It consisted of me living naked in various structures, which had various shapes.  I lived one year in the janitor’s closet in the basement of the round Epcot Center.   I ate nothing but sawdust and the broken dreams of a janitor whose highlight of the day was scraping vomit off the Finding Nemo display.”

                       Joey pushes the dung ball a few more feet, continues.  “Then I spent a year inside a rectangular, discount, no frills display coffin box.  I ate nothing but plastic, display worms, fake tears and recycled formaldehyde.   The third year was an elective year, so I lived inside an irregularly shaped igloo.  I ate nothing but frozen fish sticks and the haunting memories of clubbed baby seals.”

                 Joey pauses, wipes his brow, continues pushing.  “My last year was spent in a triangular Teepee.  I ate nothing but diced buffalo meat and the distant, crushing sound of people losing  their rent money in a casino.”

                       Joey pauses again, looks back at his giant triangle, continues pushing.   “My graduate studies were done at The College Of Notre Dame.  I studied under Quasimoto, who showed me how to get paid for ringing a bell, and how to also get workers comp for having a bad back, at the same time.   I found his teaching style somewhat unorthodox.  It was like the Montessori Method meets Hooked On Phonics.  However, he taught me the most important thing , and that was how to listen and how to interpret the vibrato of an instrument, such as, a bell or triangle.   He also taught me that vibrato is not a sexual device, nor is it the name of an X-Men character.”

                         The Beatles have long forgotten about Joey and what ever influence he may have had on their success.  These days, Joey tours the land playing covers of Beatle songs on his triangle, on what he calls, the Dung Beetle Triangle Maniac Tour.

                         “You never know if and when the Beatles might get back together, Joey says.  “You never know.  If they do, I’ll be ready.  Meanwhile, I just keep on keeping on.”