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Hello Everyone this is Rhea

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Now on to the

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Shell. This.

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Is Rhea welcome suit? Little stories

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for a tiny people. On a

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recent trip to the Pingtung Store,

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I was right in the middle

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of the aisle where they keep

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thousands of ping pong balls piled

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up all over the place. You

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know what I'm talking about. I

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was selecting the perfect gift for

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my neighbor Rodolfo, who plays ping

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pong late into the night with

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his brother. I was shopping for

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a silent ping pong ball. It

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makes no noise when it hits

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the table. It's a technological wonder

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and the same level as I

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don't know, the invention of the

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kazoo. Anyway, just as I reached

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out to pluck this hi tech

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silent ping pong ball from the

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top of the pile, I was

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knocked over by an unsettling thought.

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I literally fell over into an

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enormous pile of ping pong balls,

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which promptly scattered around the entire

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I'll Seven. T nut people

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kind to leave rushed over to

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help me up and what was

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the unsettling thought that led to

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this. scattering of thousands of

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ping pong balls, I

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had no idea what Mr.

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Beetle had been up to lately.

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After helping sweep up the ping pong

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balls I'd scattered, I fled

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the store. I ran at

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top speed all the way home, forgetting

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to buy the silent ping pong ball

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for a ridal foe, a mistake

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for which I'm paying at

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this exact moment. But

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it was all worth it. Every

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weird moment, because when I got

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home, I sat down

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on my hard metal stool and

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I wrote this Mr. Beetle story.

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Let's get to it. It's

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called Mr. Beetle and the

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Heckler. Take it away June.

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Remember, there are no pictures. You must imagine

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the pictures in your mind. You

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can imagine them however you want.

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Okay, let's go. It

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was at that moment

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that Senor Telefono made

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a startling discovery. Every

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night he drifted to sleep,

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wishing to get a glimpse

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of such an exciting sight.

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And now it was happening.

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What a tremendous. Love

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Mr. Beetle felt his antennae twitch.

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It was Wednesday evening on

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the 25th branch, the precise

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time and location of Mr.

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Beetle's weekly story time for

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young bugs. And Mr.

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Beetle was at a critical moment

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in his story. He

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fixed a beady eye on a

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young bug in the third row.

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A young bug who took

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the crowd's attention off Mr.

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Beetle and onto

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herself whenever possible. A

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young bug. bug who was currently munching

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on a large bag of popcorn.

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Mind you it was not popcorn. Beetles

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do not eat popcorn. It

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was pop-a-corn. Popped

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acorns. A delicious

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treat enjoyed by praying

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mantises, badgers and beetles

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alike. A very

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loud delicious treat. Mr.

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Beetle cast a glance at

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his assistant, Gwen, who is

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seated behind her music player.

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Mr. Beetle gave her a nod and

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she pressed a button. As

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I was saying, Señor

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Telefono had just

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discovered something astonishing.

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Mr. Beetle smiled. This

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young bug would be thwarted

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in her attempts to rest

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his own story away from

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him. It was a

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marvel. He couldn't believe

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what he was seeing. It was

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a frog playing a banjo. It

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was the young bug. The

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popcorn cruncher. The

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disruptor, who had frequented his

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story times for weeks. Taking

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gleeful pleasure in throwing him

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off course, Mr. Beetle

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stared down at her, eating

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her snack and smirking at

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her own wit. The

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other bugs in the audience didn't

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seem to notice Mr. Beetle's education.

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On the contrary, they seemed

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to celebrate the troublemaker. Oh,

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that would be funny. My

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cousin placed a banjo. It

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was official. Mr.

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Beetle had a

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heckler. Gwen told

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him over tea the following

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Tuesday. A Heckler?

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That some kind of bird

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you from South America. It

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sampling to disrupt is so to

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get attention, send the audience and

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to draw your wealth in the

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sauna. Sense. Mr.

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Beatles scowled and sturridge

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is. T with a

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slim twig. Is. So me

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there were a way to tell

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stories. With no one there

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to interrupt. When. I

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did Mr. beetle that

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something approaching Pd. I'm

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not sure I see how that's

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possible, but when. I. Can't

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possibly tell stories with

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this this heck Claire?

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Surely exactly so early

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I can't tell know

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her name is certainly.

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Mister beat on length

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that doesn't seem like

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a handlers name. Glad

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that. I had a young

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Bugs call and is Shirley many

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times. When I can't

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possibly tell stories with this

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this sur les a heckler.

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Character so relentlessly barging

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in on my narrative

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are what can I

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Do wins? What Can

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I do? Gwen took

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a sip of her

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T and thought for

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a moment. Then.

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She opened her mouth to speak

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well, but we'll come back to

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that later. First you should hear

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about what Mr. Beetle was up

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to. The for the heckler. Life.

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Before the heckler was grand, it

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had been several years since Mr.

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Beetle had established himself as the

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pre eminent storyteller, and then when

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he said the brand's over time,

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he had learned to ratchet up

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the tension in its tail until

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it was as thought as a

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rubber band, sold to it's limits,

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ready to snipe at the slightest

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provocation. I

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have to know what happens next!" The

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young bugs in the front row would cry.

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Then, he'd relax the tension to

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such a degree that his audience

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would fall into a blissful

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slumber. I cannot handle this.

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I have to go to sleep now. Mr.

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Beetle had been on a roll for

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months. Each Wednesday, there were

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more and more young bugs, eager

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to hear an original tale

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from a professional boot maker

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turned late-in-life storyteller. His

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assistant, Gwen, a beetle

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herself, had even convinced Mr.

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Beetle to attend to aspects

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of his storytelling endeavors that

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he'd never had time for

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in the past. T-shirts?

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Are you sure, Gwen? I've

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never even worn a T-shirt. The

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young bugs do, and that's the day

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before. What could we

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put on a T-shirt that would

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inspire a young bug to spend

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hard-earned wood chips on it? We

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could put a clever message on them. A

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clever message? Mr.

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Beetle set his teacup on the

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stone table between them. Yes.

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What kind of clever message?

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Well, you are known for

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boring your audience to sleep. After

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I thrill them? Of

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course. After that. But

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I was thinking, the T-shirts could

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say, Mr. Beetle bores me

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to sleep in the most delightful way.

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Hmm, Mr. Beetle murmured.

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But Gwen had a quiet

9:37

confidence about her, and

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in time she convinced him. Neither

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of them could have predicted that the

9:45

next fashion trend amongst the

9:47

young beetles would be to tuck their

9:49

T-shirts into high-waisted pants.

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So when a dozen young

9:54

bugs waltzed into Wednesday night's

9:56

storytime, sporting their

9:58

new Mr. Beetle's shirts tucked

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into their high-waisted pants,

10:03

the shirts did not read.

10:05

Mr. Beetle bores me to

10:08

sleep in the most delightful

10:10

way. All that was

10:12

visible was, Mr. Beetle

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bores me. What

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did we do, Gwen? What

10:20

did we do? But look,

10:23

they love it. They did. The

10:26

young bugs had a raucous laugh

10:28

over the t-shirts. Mr.

10:30

Beetle bores me. Me too.

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Help me, help me. I

10:37

can't stay interested in alert. Much

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to Mr. Beetle's chagrin, the t-shirts

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became more popular than ever.

10:45

Mr. Beetle took

10:47

it in stride. These types

10:49

of hiccups were simply part

10:51

of the terrain he'd learned

10:53

to travel so well as

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a legendary storyteller. But

10:58

several weeks ago, the popcorn

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crunching, loud

11:03

comment bellowing, heckler

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appeared, just sashayed

11:09

herself into Mr. Beetle's

11:11

audience and proceeded

11:14

to interrupt his stories

11:16

without a care for the

11:18

amount of work that went

11:21

into achieving his signature balance

11:23

of excitement and tedium, thrills

11:26

and boredom, wakefulness

11:29

and slumber. And

11:32

then he fell into

11:34

a pile of bananas. No,

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there are no bananas

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in this story. Ever

11:43

since then, the Wednesday

11:46

night storytelling terrain had

11:48

become decidedly unfamiliar

11:50

and increasingly rocky.

11:52

Mr. Beetle

11:55

was lost without a

11:57

map in the wilderness.

12:00

That's a slight exaggeration, but

12:03

then Mr. Beetle did tend

12:05

towards drama. Let

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us return to Gwen and

12:10

Mr. Beetle, sharing tea together

12:12

over a little stone table

12:14

on the 25th branch, and

12:17

let us return to the

12:19

moment when Gwen opened her

12:21

mouth to speak. I

12:23

believe we should enact some strategies to

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deal with the heckler. Strategies?

12:30

What kinds of strategies? I

12:33

have some in mind. Gwen proceeded

12:35

to outline two strategies

12:38

she believed they ought

12:40

to pursue. Really?

12:46

I couldn't possibly do that.

12:50

Hmm. Mr. Beetle's eyes

12:52

went wide at first, but

12:54

then he nodded at his

12:56

faithful assistant. They would

12:59

put their plan in motion the

13:01

following evening. There

13:07

is so much more to

13:09

this story. You can

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hear the full episode by

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becoming a Little Stories Premium

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And thank you, as always,

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for listening in.