THE SINGING BOWELS OF SHANGRI-LA

(If you are generally unaware of this week's series, see last Monday's post for details...)

THE CAST:

The Squid: A mind-fried crimelord on the downward spiral.

Andrew: His ne'er-do-well teenage successor.

The Locale: The Lalaurie House, abandoned, in New Orleans, in some distant future, but no less haunted...

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Andrew—the green trainee—returned home from a jaunt—a fearsome and tiresome escapade in spades. “That was Hell,” he swore, exasperated and worn.

“Ah… Have a seat,” said The Squid—the rancid master—upon the boy’s entrance. Tweaked and tweaking, Andrew sat upon the disease-ridden “pillow of learning,” and prepared himself, somewhat reluctantly, to listen to his lord.

The Squid assumed his Buddha guru posture, which was rather slumped over for an avatar. “Tell me boy,” he said, “Have you ever shoved a starfruit up a hungry man-shoot?”

Andrew blinked uncontrollably. “A…a…what?!”

The Squid smiled and replied, quite plainly, “A man-shoot—a man’s own chocolate starfish, a manhole, a brownie cave, a mangina—good God, boy—an asshole. And a hungry one, at that!”

“God, no!” Andrew shrieked.

“Then Andrew, my boy,” quipped The Squid, “you’ve never truly lived.”

Andrew shook his head, and said, in a somewhat more lively voice than normal, “Well so be it, then…’Cause if that’s the case, I feel I may be better off if I never lived a day in my whole life!”

The Squid grinned a knowing Zen-grin, “And that, dear Andrew, is exactly the point I seek to make.”

Andrew was confused. “That life is not worth living?”

The Squid, in negation, shook his head. “No, no—not at all. Rather, that Hell is really other people, Fellow Man—and especially that Man’s hairy, puckered fruit-packed mangina.”

“I’m not sure if I actually believe in Hell, sir—it’s a bit of a religious concept, you know.”

“I agree,” began The Squid, “that was the point. I’m not very religious, either.”

Andrew nodded in agreement. “So what’s you’re take on it?”

The Squid thought for a moment, and replied, “It’s a bit off-topic, but…well… Do you know what the true nature of religion is, Andrew?”

Andrew shrugged, resigned to lecture. “I expect you’ll tell me.”

The Squid replied, “Precisely.” And with that, he left the room.

Andrew—the seeker, the asker—sat alone scratching his head. The Squid—the mystic, the prophet—never returned.

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