Mea Culpa! Mea Culpa!
OK, this is going to be difficult. I've got some stuff I need to own
up to. You see, last Sunday I went to doggie mass at St. Michael's.
There's a doggie door in the back and a lovely St. Bernard takes
confessions. No. No! There's no such thing as a doggie mass. I made it
up. You see, that's my problem. I make up stuff and then I write about
it.
Here's how it is. I've got a lot of energy, and I get bored a lot. So I fantasize. I make up stuff. I like to be glamorous. I like to be the hero. I wrote that I was a famous art critic, a movie director, a newspaper editor, a rock band guitarist, a Ph.D. in Poopology - all lies! And there's a lot more I'm too ashamed to talk about. But almost everything I do up in the woods is true. Maybe I embellish a bit, but it's mostly true. And by the way, I've never been to college, I don't have a Ph.D. in anything, and I don't even know what Poopology is!
I'm sorry that I've mislead all of my fans. Here I go again. In reality I only have a few fans who read my chronicles, and I don't know why they even bother. Maybe they feel sorry for me. OK, I admit it. I have a problem! I like to make up all kinds of stuff. It makes me feel good, and I like to feel good. I want everyone to think I'm smart and live an exciting life. Actually my life is boring. I eat, I poop and pee in the woods, I dig for varmints, I sleep too much. Who wants to read about that?
Maybe I have some kind of character disorder. You know, like there's a deep emptiness inside me that only can be filled by delusions of grandeur, multiple identities, and a release of anxiety through narcissistic behavior. Maybe my libido is in conflict with my id that just can't get along with my ego. Nah, I'm just a liar and a bullshit artist. I've got to grow up and face reality. I can't just sniff and piss my way through life.
So I've come clean. I'm telling everyone the truth. I'm telling all of you who I really am, and I'm sorry. Please understand that I am not malicious. I wasn't trying to hurt anyone, except maybe some cats I don't like. I'm really good inside, and I promise I will be better. I've turned over a new leaf. I'm looking forward, not back. Yeah, I feel much better now. I can get on with my life. I know I can.
Speaking of getting on with life, I've had this idea bubbling up inside my brain for awhile. I'm going to start up a monastery - no, an ashram, and I will be its master. The buildings will be totally organic - made of bamboo walls, stone floors, and sedum roofs. The grounds will be sweeping and serene, planted with Boojum, Jabuticaba, and Dragon Blood trees. All who come there will fall in love with me and the ashram. I will call it the Siddha Yogi Ananda Sivananda Paraphernalia Ashram of the Highlands.
I only will accept the brightest and the richest to be my supplicants. (Of course there will be a long waiting list.) With my extraordinary knowledge of the esoteric philosophies (Tanktrick, Shreikism, Kabbala Paws, BPOE, Midgetism) and the martial arts (Junko, Pirates′, Tae Kwon Dog, Shi Shitzu, Karaoke), all will practice at my paws - the paws of the Master, the Human Whisperer, the Blavatskyist. I will lead them through daily medications and sugar cane rituals. They will prosper beyond reason under my tutelage, and my fame will spread like gonorrhea in a whore house.
I will be known as Sai Baba Swami Bhagwan Raman Maharishi Yogananda Jagatguru Mahatma Zoe of Springerville. Simply known by my devoted ardhats as the Blessed Zoe Dog of Bliss, or alternately as The Shimmering Lotus Dog. Er, hee-hee. Oops?
A rich man is nothing but a poor man with money.
~ W. C. Fields