Bat

von Jacques Pinard Brown (Copyright)

Batty the vampire bat could feel there was something amiss when he awoke this evening.

It was as if the whole place was deserted. His suspicions where confirmed when he went out on his early evening flight. There was not a human about on the street, the whole place was deathly quiet.

He flew passed farmer Brown’s fruit grove and found Guava fruit bat munching on some granadilla’s. Every so often he spat out seeds or bits of shell.
“Hello Guava.”
“Hello Batty”
“The place seems mighty quiet tonight. I wonder where all the people are?” said Batty.
“They headed off for town early this morning, which would have been late last night for you, in a manner of speaking. Yes… all baggaged up and in a great hurry. Said something about them being tired of being bled to death by the likes of you. Said taxes and insurance sales men where bad enough, but they didn’t literally have to get their blood sucked from their veins. Said they where heading for the launch pad in town.” Replied Guava.

Batty flew as quickly as his little wings could flap towards town.
Flutter, flutter, flutter, went the wings of little Batty until he reached the city.
Here he found no sign of human existence also, but came across Billy the half-brained bat.

“Hello Billy.”
“Hello Batty.”
“Where have all the people gone?” asked Batty.
“All hopped onto the first pod out of here early this morning. Shot right out to space and out of this place. Didn’t even leave a forwarding address. Looks like your bloodsucking days are over.” Said Billy the half-brained bat.

Batty flew around aimlessly. He stopped to roll a joint, that would help him think. He sat cross-legged on a ledge smoking it. When he had finished he proceeded to fly about aimlessly some more, in not at all concentric circles. How could they leave him, a poor bloodsucking bat, all on his own? What was he supposed to live on, fruit? He shuddered at the word. No, there was only one thing to do; he would have to find them. Wherever they were in this wide universe, he would have to sniff them out. He packed his overnight bag and flew out into the everlasting darkness of space. Ever flying, ever searching, for man’s new home.

So sons and daughters, beware, this very night, in the dark reaches of space, a vampire bat is flying in search of the earth, in search of mankind, in search of blood.

Batcave

von Jacques Pinard Brown (Copyright)

I met the stranger in the bar of the Gonubie Hotel. It is an old and cozy bar where all the locals know one another, and a local had better accompany you, if you want to be accepted. I was with a cousin that lived in these parts.

I started a casual conversation with the stranger, as one is wont to do in such a relaxed atmosphere. I could tell straight away he was a surfer-bum by his appearance; he wore baggy bathing shorts and was bear chested, apart from a wooden crucifix that hung around his neck. By the same token it was immediately apparent to him that I was a ‘Vaalie’ on holiday.

As we consumed our liquor the conversation became more relaxed.
“Have you ever been out to Nahoon.” The stranger inquired.
“Yes” I said.
“Do you know; Batcave.” He asked me.
“I’ve seen it from the shore but haven’t actually ever been over to it.” I said.
“Well let me tell you a story about Batcave” he said as he started his tale.

“A few years ago I met a couple of Aussie tourists who were staying at Nahoon Caravan Park in a tent. They were also hitching around and checking out the surfing scene in South Africa. So we became friends and surfed together a good deal. The guy was called Bruce, and his girlfriends name was Sheila.

I am into long boarding and they were also, so we got along very well. At night we went to bars and hotels in town, or just had a beach-braai and surfed in the moonlight, if the tides were right. This went on for some time until I decided one night to take them to Batcave. Actually it was more on their request that I conceded, as I had always found it an eerie place.” He said with a slight shiver, it seemed, and then continued.

“Well we paddled out on our boards and it was quite late at night but the water was tranquil. We arrived at the cave and I showed them around. They saw why it was called Batcave, as black bats fluttered around in numbers. They ventured inside, but not to deep, as it was pitch dark and we had no torches.

I met the stranger in the bar of the Gonubie Hotel. It is an old and cozy bar where all the locals know one another, and a local had better accompany you, if you want to be accepted. I was with a cousin that lived in these parts.

I started a casual conversation with the stranger, as one is wont to do in such a relaxed atmosphere. I could tell straight away he was a surfer-bum by his appearance; he wore baggy bathing shorts and was bear chested, apart from a wooden crucifix that hung around his neck. By the same token it was immediately apparent to him that I was a ‘Vaalie’ on holiday.

As we consumed our liquor the conversation became more relaxed.
“Have you ever been out to Nahoon.” The stranger inquired.
“Yes” I said.
“Do you know; Batcave.” He asked me.
“I’ve seen it from the shore but haven’t actually ever been over to it.” I said.
“Well let me tell you a story about Batcave” he said as he started his tale.

“A few years ago I met a couple of Aussie tourists who were staying at Nahoon Caravan Park in a tent. They were also hitching around and checking out the surfing scene in South Africa. So we became friends and surfed together a good deal. The guy was called Bruce, and his girlfriends name was Sheila.
I am into long boarding and they were also, so we got along very well. At night we went to bars and hotels in town, or just had a beach-braai and surfed in the moonlight, if the tides were right. This went on for some time until I decided one night to take them to Batcave. Actually it was more on their request that I conceded, as I had always found it an eerie place.” He said with a slight shiver, it seemed, and then continued.

“Well we paddled out on our boards and it was quite late at night but the water was tranquil. We arrived at the cave and I showed them around. They saw why it was called Batcave, as black bats fluttered around in numbers. They ventured inside, but not to deep, as it was pitch dark and we had no torches.

We gathered up some driftwood and started a fire. A few clouds had gathered in the night sky and occasionally one of them would blot out the moonlight. As the fire burnt we sat and talked quietly around it. I felt a sense of unease, and I am sure they felt it to, judging by the expressions on their faces. We sat in the darkness and heard only the murmur of the ocean; perhaps that is why we saw him to late.

A figure had appeared as if from nowhere. In the dark I could not discern his features, but he seemed shrouded in darkness as if there was a cloak around him, and only his eyes shone like those of the devil himself.” He paused and had a sip of his beer before continuing.

“The creature had fangs, with the mind of demon and the strength of ten lions. He first grabbed Bruce and sank his fangs into him; he sucked out his blood quickly and ferociously. Next he finished off Sheila, and I had time to gather up my board and dive with it into the water, but not before the devil and I stood staring in each other’s eyes for a second. He fixed his eyes on my crucifix and let out a hellish howl. I paddled off leaving the two Aussies behind. But that is not the end,” he continued.

“A month or so later I was doing some night surfing on Nahoon beach, and when I climbed out of the water I noticed two surfers in the sea close to me on long boards. As they drew closer I could discern their features clearly in the full moon. It was Bruce and Sheila. But now their white t-shirts were bloodstained and they sported a sizeable pair of fangs each.

When they noticed me they gave one look at my crucifix and, both letting out devilish howls, changed into two black bats right before my eyes. Then they flew off in the direction of Batcave. And that was the last time I saw Bruce and Sheila.” He said.

“That mouth needs to be buttered” I said “ Barman bring this man another beer.”

The End

Nahoon: small seaside town north of East London, S.A.
Gonubie: small seaside town north of Nahoon.
‘Vaalie’: Transvaler.
Aussie: Australian.

The Megapolitan Museum of Natural History. (50 501 A.D.)

von Jacques Pinard Brown (Copyright)

Two Humanis Humanis’s walked into the entrance of the Megapolitan Museum of Natural History. The one was named Rong and the other, Wroo.

They walked over to the Hall of Humanis History. Once inside they saw that there was only three displays so they went to the first one. It was a life size model of a primitive Humanis, as were both the other two models.

‘Humanis Asiaticus’ the plaque stated. They pushed the button for the accompanying vocal recording, which would serve as guide. “Humanis Asaiticus” a voice spoke from above “ is the species from which the modern Humanis evolved. It was a productive species and the only one to survive the consequences of the last Great War of Mankind in 2050 A.D. They subsequently ruled the earth from this period until approximately 40 000 A.D. when, because of their tranquil vegetarian existence, they evolved into modern day Humanis Humanis. The latter species having such accomplishments as the colonization of the galaxy to their credit.” The voice ended.

The next display was of a fairly large hominid of light complexion. ‘Humanis Europus’ the plaque stated. Rong pressed the button so that they could listen to the recording.
“Humanis Europus was an exploitive violent Hominid that forced his fellow species into subjugation by means of treachery and violence. He wrongly assumed his twenty-first century culture to be advanced both scientifically and morally. They fought in the last Great War against the other two Humanis Species. As a result the decimated Humanis Europus population ultimately disappeared completely and became extinct.”

The last plaque was of a dark skinned Hominid and the plaque read ‘Humanis Africanus’.
Wroo pressed the button for the vocal accompaniment. The voice boomed soft and tranquil from above. “This was also quite a violent and vindictive species although initially subjugated by Humanis Europus. They fought valiantly against Humanis Europus in the last Great War but as a result their numbers were also diminished to such a degree that the species became extinct.”

“Fascinating” observed Wroo.
“Too think that such primitive species had once fought for supremacy of intelligent life.” Rong noted bemused.
“Fascinating” Wroo said again.

Showdown.

von Jacques Pinard Brown (Copyright)

I.

Waco, Texas, 1860. The bridge had not been built yet and there was still a ferry over the river. As yet there was no boom and the towns population numbered about two hundred people. The farms of the outlying region raised the population of the area by about two hundred more people.

It was from two of these farms that the two protagonists came. Bill was a cotton farmer that owned the place called ‘cotton dandy’ a few miles out of town. Bob was a hemp farmer that owned a little piece of land called ‘seven blades’, also nearby. They were arguing about some trivialities concerning their business, as they always did, being fierce competitors both and in direct opposition.

They were the only two in the bar, aside from the barkeep; Ben.
“I say cotton is the best crop, it’s the crop of the future.” Said Bill.
“Hemp has been more than sufficient for mans needs since yonks ago.” Responded Bob and added, “as well as being more cost efficient and durable than cotton.”
The argument was getting heated and with the two participants being well drunk, Ben could see serious trouble sticking out its ugly head shortly.
“To hell with you and your green shit. They should close your kind down. I think you smoke to much of your own product.” Said Bill, and though the last bit was true, it upset Bob immensely.

It upset Bob because even though it was true, it was none of nobody else’s business. And, thought he, one should not judge others, or some such, which brought him to a knew angle. “You should try some yourself sometime. It does wonders for the sex life, and if what your missus told me, in confidence I admit, is true, you definitely could do with a performance enhancing substance.”

At which point, more or less, Bill (being the bigger man) grabbed Bob around the throat. Ben, a good barman if not entirely honest, intervened with a sawn off shotgun.
“Please take it outside guys, you know the rules.” Said he.

The two mutually agitated drunks stumbled through the batwings to the dusty street outside with a curious barman in tow to witness the spectacle. Bob already had is gun out and swung it around confusedly in an effort to aim at Bill. Ben took it by the barrel and helped him to replace it in his holster saying; “That’s not how it’s done.”
“How then Chief?” said Bob.
Ben said “ You stand a distance apart and when I reach three you simultaneously pull your weapons and fire.”
“How old are you now, how long we have to wait?” Bob wanted to know.

This is a cinch, thought Bill, even though he knew he was not a good shot, as he took up his position in the street.

II.

The two men stood facing each other in the street with their hands suspended inches from their holstered revolvers. It was quiet and no other people were witness to events. Bob swayed gently in the breeze.

“One” shouted Ben.
“Two” shouted Bob.
“Will you shut up and let me do the counting?” asked Ben. “Sorry.” Said Bob. Bill looked suspiciously from the one to the other.

“One” repeated Ben, then more rhythmically and when sufficient time had lapsed he added “Two.” And again gave a moments pause, in which time Bob took the opportunity to shout “Three” and draw his firearm.

He couldn’t focus and he knew he only had a second’s advantage so he aimed wildly and pulled the trigger. A window shattered close to Bill distracting him further but eventually he managed to draw his gun. Unfortunately the safety was still on and now he had to spend time to rectify this.

Bob saw Bill slowly take out his gun and then saw him fidgeting with something on it near the handle. How opportunity was smiling on him today, he reflected as he re-aimed. He had Bill dead to rights, he squeezed the trigger.

Again a window broke near Bill but this time on the opposite side of the street. Bob open his eyes, looked at the gun in his hand and said, “Damn.”

Bill aimed again. Bob aimed again. A shot went off. The bullet traveled over the spot where Bob had been standing a nano second ago. Bob wasn’t standing here anymore because he had literally disappeared into thin air before the eyes of Bill and Ben.

This didn’t stop Bill from firing off two more rounds to the spot where Bob had been standing moments ago, for good measure. He shrugged his shoulders as the bullets flew harmlessly down the street and then walked back into the bar. Ben followed him while scratching his temple with his index finger.

III.

Ben was working behind the bar the next day. There were three regulars and a journalist from back east who was covering the story of the bridge they were planning on building.

At about noon Bob staggered through the batwings.
“Where have you been?” asked Ben.
“God, its good to be back.” Said Bob with a stupid grin on his spaced out faced.

Ben repeated the question “Where have you been?”
“With God, up in his room.” Said Bob.
“God, in his room?”asked Ben.
“Yep, in his room among the stars.” Said Bob happily.
“What’s he look like?” asked Ben skeptically.
“Little green fellow about yea high” said Bob gesturing around about his middle.
“You really should stop smoking that stuff.” Was Ben’s disinterested response as he continued cleaning glasses and the regulars automatically resumed their interrupted drinking and conversation.

Only the eastern reporter was interested and came over to buy Bob a beer and listen to his story. They went and sat at a quiet table in a corner and Bob told him about the shootout.
“Then I vanished into thin air, which was a good thing because the sights of my gun was cockeyed, and I woke in Gods room among the stars. I could tell he was God cause of the miracle he’d just performed, me disappearing and being transported to his quarters. Also, he told me so. Speaks good English to. ” Bob said and took a swig of beer before resuming his tale. “Yes, little fellow, only this high” he indicated three feet again “never would have guessed it, green to, literally I mean. Green from head to toe. Except the palms of his hands, which were white.
Said he had come far for this visit. Gave me a strange drink and next thing I knew I was flat on my back on a metal table, tubes sticking out everywhere, my nose, ears, mouth and the like. He said I mustn’t worry he was just doing a bit of ‘sperrementing and I took courage when he assured me I was a prime specimen.” He took another gulp.

“Said he liked it here and was consider ring opening a mission on his next visit, which I thought was a good idea, him being God he was sure to be popular. He said it might be a good idea because where he came from laws where very oppressive. He said it wasn’t possible for him to fully express himself there. I secretly shared these sentiments of heaven but decided to keep it secret a while longer. Then we had a few more drinks and the next thing I know I’m back where I started.”

“This here fellow have a name other than God?” asked the reporter.
“Yes now that you mentioned it, some foreign sounding name. Called himself; Koresh. Now aint that right out of the good book?” Said Bob and took another sip of his payment while smiling the smile of the informed.

The reporter wondered if the money had been worth the information.

IV.

The New York Herald
16 July 1860
(back page, sideline)

God is green, says hemp Farmer.
By B. Bongo

Waco, Texas. Mr. Bob Marvey, a local hemp farmer reports being mysteriously abducted by God.

According to Mr. Marvey he was involved in a showdown when he mysteriously disappeared from the vicinity. He maintains that God transported him to His quarters among the stars by miraculous means.

He states further that God is about three feet high and green in coloration. It was also revealed to him that God would shortly start a mission in the area, which should appeal to his many followers. Apparently he prefers to be known by the name Koresh.

Locals in the area seem to be of the opinion that Mr. Marvey consumes too much of his own product.

Justice.

von Jacques Pinard Brown (Copyright)

A small white boy and a small black boy walk down the street and see a piece of discarded gum, soiled but unchewed, more or less simultaneously.

The small black boy picks it up and prepares to place it in his mouth but the small white boy is very annoyed at this. An argument ensues. The small white boy slaps the small black boy around a bit and takes the piece of gum from him. The small black boy starts putting up a performance as the small white boy prepares to chew the gum.

A big white boy walks past and sees the performance. He asks the small black boy why he is crying so loudly. “He ‘it me an took m’ gum.” He explained. The big white boy takes the gum from the little white boy and wags his finger at him. “We shouldn’t bully our little friends, should we?” He says and hands the gum back to the disenfranchised boy. The big boy walks away leaving the little black boy happily munching while the other starts pondering this injustice.

The big white boy walks a little further down the street and sees a little brown boy with a big moustache and belief-system he doesn’t like, sitting on a wall. Unbeknownst to him the little brown boy doesn’t like him either. “Your pa-pa” says the small brown boy. “Your pa-pa!” replies the big white boy. “No, your pa-pa.” Says the small brown boy

The big white boy drags the little brown boy off the fence and beats the living daylights out of him. The little white boy who had lost the chewing-gum battle walks past and sees the fiasco. He taps the big white boy on the shoulder, who is pre-occupied with the beating he’s dishing out, and asks “What the hell are you doing, I thought you said we mustn’t bully up our little friends?”

The big white boy replies: “Mind yo’ own goddamn bizznuss.”

The Portal

von Jacques Pinard Brown (Copyright)

I.
I was wandering in the desert. I was wondering what I was doing here. Oh yes, I was dead, but what was I doing here? The place looked familiar, as if I had been here before.

There was a large patch of rather large shaped boulders nearby, it made the place look even more familiar so I went closer to inspect. I walked among the boulders and saw a short distance away that there were two boulders larger than the rest and spaced so that they formed a natural gateway through the rocks.

In front of them a figure donning a white robe was walking back and forth, twirling what look like Darth Vader’s sword, much like a drum majorette would twirl her baton. I continued my inspection of him from a distance, and if he noticed my presence he did not reveal it. He was a handsome man under the hood, I could tell, albeit in an extremely rugged fashion.

Not having much other choice, and being dead already, I approached him. “Morning.” said I. “Morning” said he, but we were both lying because in death there is no particular time. “What’s up?” I inquired. “Just keeping an eye on the gate, you’ll be wanting to pass through I suppose?” He said. “Through to where?” I asked. “The other side” he responded impatiently “everyone who dies wants to go through to the other side, don’t they?” “I suppose…what’s on ‘the other side?’” I asked. “That you find out once you get to ‘the other side’.” He informed me. “How do you go through then?” I asked.

He whipped out a large black bound book (hard cover) from underneath his robe. “Lets first see if you’re in here, not everyone is, y’know…initials and surname!” I was a bit taken aback by all this but gave it to him curious to see the result. “JP Brown.” “Hmm, lets see, lets see.. Brown, Brown, Brown..ah, here..full names please.” he said. “Jacques Pinard Brown.” I informed him. “Hmm, lets see lets see, ah yes, here we are” I was quite pleased but he continued, “Spell that.”

“J-a-c-q-u-e-s P-i-n-a-r-d B-r…” but he rudely interrupted “You say J-a-c-q? I ‘ve got a Jacques Pinard Brown but without a ‘c’. Sorry.” He said and slammed closed the book in my face, whipping out his light saber again instead. “What are you going to do with that, I’m dead already.” I said now genuinely agitated. “Doesn’t mean you can’t still hurt.” “Really, well can I at least assume it means I can’t die again..” I asked sardonically but then recollected myself.

“Look” I said “obviously there has been a mistake in your admin department. There may have been other Jacques Browns on earth, but I would think it safe to say that there were no other Jacques Pinard Browns. Obviously someone ‘on the other side’ as you call it, can’t spell.”

“Hmm, possible” he said but resumed his samurai stance until something seemed to dawn him. “Now that you mentioned it, we’ve had that problem before.” he said now with the sword at his side in his one hand, the other rubbing his chin. “Before?’ I inquired. ” Hmm, yes… Nicodemus, Nicodimus, who would guess there is a difference.” he noted bemused ” Or Lasarus, Lazarus… and then there was all the coming and going with him as well, hell on the paperwork, and …”. I said “Thank you for bringing that to my attention, I promise not to be a bother in the same way, speaking of which, can we get back to my case.”

“Oh yes, spelling mistake. Simple, just turn left around that rock twenty meters on you’ll find another large rock, here you turn right then about ten meters from there you’ll find another rock, left again. You’ll find a lady behind a desk, just explain your situation to her and she’ll give you a form to complete. Just fill it in, wait for processing, and you should be through the portal and on the next craft out of here and on your way home, in no time.”

“Craft? Home?” I asked but added “nevermind.”before he could get started again. “left then right then left again?” I confirmed. He looked slightly confounded for a moment, but then gathered what wits he had; “Oh yes, that sounds about right.” he said encouragingly.

II.

I followed his instructions but still got slightly lost among the rocks. Eventually I stumbled into a clearing where a group of people was sitting waiting. There was a lady nearby behind a desk who would occasionally call and odd number and one of those seated would go to be helped by her. “Mispellt names?” I asked the person seated closest to me, “Take a number.” He said. I did, number one thousand three hundred and thirteen.

We sat, we waited. We waited, we sat. When the lady had finished helping a soul she would stamp the form he or she filled in, with great emphasis. So great in fact, that it seems she was making the impressions more permanent, so doing. It got light, it got dark. It got dark, it got light, I waited.

“Number three thousand three hundred and thirteen!” She shouted shrilly one day. The man next to me nudged me in the ribs, I stumbled forward. She asked my name and her comment was; “funny name.” She gave me a form, which I filled out and she stamped emphatically, returning it to me with instructions involving several alternating lefts and rights, as to where I was to deposit the form to have it processed.

Again stumbling among the boulders I again wound up in a similar clearing, with a similar crowd and a similar lady behind a similar desk, repeating a similar process as the first. This continued for some prolonged period of time with me stumbling from boulder to boulder, desk to desk filling in form after form. Getting it stamped and sent on for processing.

So this was eternity I realized one day. Definitely a kind of purgatory, I surmised. Getting sent to and fro in the desert. Hurry up and wait among the boulders. Doomed to an eternity of civil service treatment in the middle of nowhere. Maybe not purgatory, maybe a mild form of Hell.

However that be, it certainly seemed like an eternity, and one which wasn’t ending soon. I was thus engaged in a melancholy fashion, silently bewailing my lot in yet another clearing waiting to fill in yet another form. When my name was called I noticed that this particular lady behind this particular desk was particularly pretty, unlike the others. Also correspondingly friendly.

“There you are Jacques”, she said. “You’re processing is complete. We hope you didn’t experience any inconvenience. You may now return to the portal and await the next craft. I am sure you’ll be able to find the way.” She smiled a warm parting smile. “Thanks” I said and left in disbelief clutching the form she so daintily stamped.

” ‘hope you didn’t experience any inconvenience’ ‘sure you’ll be able to find the way’ Fuckit.” I said and threw in a phony smile like hers for good measure.
III.

The man at the portal was still twirling his sword when I returned.

But even from this distance I could see that he was now doing this for a more definite purpose. A crowd of little purple and pink furry creatures, all about three feet high, with tiny horns on their heads, were pelting the robed man with stones and pebbles. He in turn twirled his lightsabre about in an attempt to intercept the projectiles. At this he was quite good and with lightning reflexes he dealt with the stones the little furry devils hurled at him. Still they persisted with their evil antics while singing this song:

“a-squirming and a-worming in the murning
fuddy-duddy-dods
a rinkle ran a-schinkle
a-glurming and a-wurming in glorm
cuddy-ruddy-rods.

Woodle-woodle
One cun toodle
Scmoodle-oodle
Wan-kan-toss

a-yearning and a-burning in the gross
suddy-suddy-sods
whoot-whoot whoot-whoot whoot!
a-shlurming and a- glurming afta moss

roodle-roodle
one gone schtrüdel
foodle-foodle
what’s the fuss?

a-schlurming and a-glurming at ya yoss
sossy-sossy-soss
what-a what-a woss, woss,woss
tuddy-tuddy-tods

foodle-foodle fods.”

When they had concluded their song they threw a few more stones for good measure and then proceeded to depart, while shaking their fists at no one in particular and mumbling foul and sweet utterings.

The robed man dusted himself off saying; “Under constant attack, I tell you, under constant attack.”

As I approached him he looked at me and said;” What? Back so soon. They must have upgraded the system.” I didn’t quite no how to reply to this so said; “Here’s my clearance, I take it I can go through now?”

He examined it closely and attentively for a while then said begrudgingly “I guess so.” And as I passed through the two big rocks I could hear him say behind me;”They’re making it to easy, nowadays, soon you’ll have all types coming through here. Now, in my day things were different…” He was obviously in conversation with himself so I ignored him and headed on ahead.

On the other side of the rocks it looks the same as the side I came in. Rocks in the desert. But there was a huge bubble in the middle of the clearing filled with souls. Two men in white robes, like the one before the portal, approached me.

“Hello, I’m Mose and this is Abe, I take it you are Jacques ?” without waiting for a response he continued “You mustn’t mind old Pete their in front of the gate, he takes his job a bit to seriously. Let me see your clearance.” I handed him the prettily stamped form. “All clear” he said.

Nearby was what looked like a small bonsai apple tree in what looked like a cheap plastic bucket. It had small red apples the size of marbles. “The Tree of Life.” Mose said proudly. “First you must of it eat before your spirit may ascend the Heavens.” I plucked a small red fruit after realizing they all looked equally delicious, and swallowed it. “Now you’re dead spirit is alive (as opposed to your dead spirit being dead) and you may enter yonder craft.” He said majestically.

“Is this the craft?” I asked. “The one and only spirit craft.” he informed me. “More aerodynamic than it looks, I assure you. Also, you don’t have to worry about the weight factor, what with carting souls and no baggage. Hop aboard while I get it warmed up.” he said.

The craft sputtered ominously for a while before clearing the ground. Then shot through space at a speed unimaginable. And soon we were traveling through a space and dimension I could not comprehend; traveling to a destination I had never dreamt of.

Budhas (For a few bills more)

von Jacques Pinard Brown (Copyright)

Budhas, a chubby cooperate American from a dubious gene pool, sat under the cherry tree when the great thought; of investing his thirty US Dollars in Microstuff shares, occurred to him. From this inspirational thought he deduced the three fundamentals of capitalism; greed, self-interest and corruption. These fundamental laws lead to the faith system of Hypocrisy.

This Hypocritical and Hedonistic faith soon had many followers out of the ranks of the overweight and mentally destitute Westerners. They saw the hope of deliverance from their tax burdens in the teaching of Budhas.

Microstuff Word spread quickly among the morally disadvantaged west and Budhas won many converts to his new doctrine of I-want-what-I-want-when-I-want-it. He founded his first temple at a place called Capitol Hill and the temple was soon filled with expectant and devout followers. A new order of priests was established with various titles such as congressman, senator and governor but all fell under the grouping of politician.

Politicians had to possess the ability and desire to be more corrupt and greedy than the lay capitalist. They succeeded admirably and this led to an increased spread of capitalism among the lower castes. When the entire congregation was well and truly wallowing in self-indulgence the other denominations of the globe saw how profitable the ideology of exploitation and excess was and decided to adopt the faith of Budhas.

By the beginning of the third millennium the entire populace of the world was devout capitalists. Even the leaders of the rival religion, communism, secretly prayed to the god of the Microstuff Corporation. Budhas looked set to conquer the hearts of mankind and subsequently the world.

But one day the spirit of Microstuff market shares became ill and died and the whole system collapsed. Because of the resulting global misery Budhas, his kind and his faith, became a curse on the lips of men again, as was meant from the beginning.

The search for an alternative solution began anew and the world was a better place. Budhas hung himself from the cherry tree and it is said that the returns of his thirty dollars US was found in his pocket, thirty dimes.

Budhas’s delusions of grandeur were brought to a close, but the moral of the story remains dangling in the air to this day.

The End.

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