Westward Ho!

[one_true_leroy]

So I was at home, reflecting on my weekly magnetoresonant crystal regression hypnotherapeutic session while sipping on a hemp-sprout and bees' wing smoothie, slamming to the greatest music on the airwaves, FM station KRAP ("the moonlit crossroads where soft rock has a rendezvous with lite jazz"), and I thought I'd share a little anecdote with you, my dear brothers and sisters.

Now, I realize that there is probably a Sullen Sally or two amongst you well-esteemed skeptics who might be wondering "Why would an 8000 year old transcendent priest of the EgyptoDruidian Isisian Temple need past-life regression therapy? Isn't that just a weekly waste of 350 dollars?"

The answer is simple: While it is true that I have shuffled of the mortality of this corporeal coil, that I no longer have the fetid breath of Death warming the nape of my neck while her icy hands clutch my heart, I find that after wandering the Earth for so long that it is like I've lived many lives, just all in the same body.

During this session, I remembered my none-too-insignificant role in the Lewis and Clark expedition, during which I invented the Dutch oven (both versions... sorry, ladies) and hopscotch.

You see, I first met Jefferson (Teej is what we all called him) in 1776 at the Convention. Originally, he'd wanted to write "All us proto-libertarian wealthy land and slave owning white men who don't want to pay taxes," but I suggested "We the people," which all agreed had a special ring to it. Well, fast forward a few years, and ol' Teej needed someone to keep an eye on his expedition, and since I had experience building two of the pyramids, Notre Dame, and no less than four landing ports for the Angels, Teej was confident that I could manage a cross-country expedition. Also, it's very handy to have a being of my unique capabilities for negotiations with all the newly Americanized people we would encounter. After all, I am still a shaman, and shaman love to talk shop, no matter what culture.

I won't bore you with all the details, like the time I tamed a Cougar and taught it to walk on hind legs and smoke cigars, or the time I shape-shifted into an owl and scared the Dickens out of Meriwether when he went out one night to... ahem (you should have seen him running around the camp fire, britches around his ankles, hollerin' and cussin' a storm. That's a story that never made it into the history books!) It's just that I remembered one particular fellow traveler and I wanted to relate it to you.

We were coming up near a village that was near where Sioux City, Iowa is now. Keep in mind that we had been womenless for some time, eating gunpowder in our soups to stave off the hornies, so we were all anxious to meet and greet with the locals, if you grok my meaning. Diplomacy at its finest! The day before we were to go to the village, we reconnoitered from an overlooking hill. Sure enough, the village was truly a land of milk and honey, and there remained not a soul in the party who was not fraught heavily with horn.

However, a young lad in our party, Charles Floyd, became despondent. Unfortunately, Floyd, just barely on the old side of 20, was still sporting the tell-tale marks of youth, namely acne, which the pioneers called Angel Hickies, and was despairing of his prospects with the ladies in the next morning. Taking pity on Floyd, I agreed to call upon my extensive knowledge of the healing arts. First, I wrapped tobacco leaves that I had gathered on the first New Moon after the summer solstice around the gonads of four grey squirrels (no longer attached to the squirrels, LOL) and bound them all with spiderweb silk. This was, of course, for the suppository. Then I made a poultice with bear dung, cattail roots, and caterpillars, which I applied liberally to his face, chest, and, for luck, scrotum. After laying him the center of a salamander skin teepee, with his head pointing South, I breathed the Breath of the Four Immortals over him (a technique I had pick up in China, not long after inventing the slide rule). Finally, I burned sage at his feet and sealed the tent for the night.

The next morning, and much the the jaw-agaped astonishment of the rest of the party, Floyd was pre-embalmed and ready for burial. Having assured that he would reincarnate as a potent, virile ladies' man (you ladies may have noticed him during his incarnation as the lust-inducing Rock Hudson. ROWR!! From Here to Eternity, indeed), I proceeded into town to slake my lustful thirst. But that's another story.

You can still see a monument to Floyd in Sioux City, a proudly phallic one, no less.

Until next time, my brothers and sisters: peace, love and waffles!

[salvorhardin]

1. "This was, of course, for the suppository."

ROFL! Kind sir, I take my hat off to you. You are clearly my intellectual and spiritual better. That was the funniest thing I've read in a long time. Sadly, some trolls to this group may take it as documentary.

[LeftishBrit]

2. Wonderful post!

:rofl: :rofl: :rofl:

[onager]

3. I thought this was going to be a post about...

...Ann Coulter moving to Los Angeles.

But it was great anyway! Thanks.