The Tonocololocai – A Cautionary Tale

by Pete Celano

Some time ago, a species of small, furry creature vaguely resembling a fluffy cockroach evolved in isolation on a tiny island near Tuvalu.  In spite of their ridiculous countenance and facial features that looked to be in a state of perpetual dumbfounded astonishment, they had no natural predators other than humans, who at first thought they were kinda cute.  Soon large colonies of these creatures had become firmly established  and were driving the natives to drink.  The creatures were called “tonocololocai” by the islanders in their native tongue, though the ability to pronounce this tended to be inversely proportional to how inebriated the annunciator happened to be at the time.  (A popular pastime on the island was to see who could drink the most without mispronouncing “tonocololocai”.  One of the more common alcohol-induced mispronunciations sounded something like “tonoloco-loco-loco”, and some etymologists believe this to be the true origin of the term “loco”.)

After depleting their limited stores of Caribbean rum, the natives began distilling an amazingly flavorful and potent concoction using relatively scarce sugarcane juice and molasses combined with copious amounts of coconut milk, the juice of annatto seeds and the readily available (and, it turned out, mildly hallucinogenic) droppings of the tonocololocai.  So successful was the pacifying sedative effect of this liquor that the natives soon forgot about their island being overrun by by the tonocololocai and instead occupied their few collective sober moments building a community processing plant for their new concoction, the centerpiece of which was a monumentally gigantic and ornate still built in the style of Louis XIV.  In all, it was a raging success and a strange synergy gradually developed between the tonocololocai and the islanders, who began welcoming the creatures into their homes, schools and places of worship.  The tonocololocai multiplied, while the islanders mostly continued drinking.

One late Thursday, while the afternoon shift of the still boiler tenders were distractedly engaged in a spirited game of loco-loco, a marauding gaggle of tonocololocai intent on finding out for themselves what all the fuss over gathering their dung was about passed much too close to the boiler fires.  Their fur caught flame and they scattered, carrying the fire into the walls and floors of the still and throughout the processing plant.  Before anybody could sober up enough to respond, the entire plant was ablaze.  Fire quickly spread, and once the liquor holding tanks were breached the entire island was quickly engulfed and completely destroyed.

None of the tonocololocai survived, and the only islanders who lived to tell the tale happened to be some distance from the island on a small fishing vessel, themselves playing the loco-loco game to relax after a grueling day of hard drinking.  On seeing their island home erupt into a giant inferno, they quickly downed all of the tonocololocai liquor they had with them and passed out, except for one young man who somehow managed to remain conscious.  He couldn’t believe his eyes as he watched his entire world – his home, family, culture, people and every aspect of his life – reduced to smoldering cinders before his eyes.  This was beyond belief; the worst of all possible nightmares.  Out of habit, he pinched his nose shut and tried breathing through it. . . and discovered that he was dreaming.

tonololocai image

The Tonocololocai