Emergency

It is something no living eyes have ever seen. M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him and his seed) is on a hunt.

He approaches quietly from downwind, keeping himself in the shadows, where his inky coat blends his form with the darkness. His gaze is locked, his muscles taut. In the blink of an eye, he pounces on his unsuspecting prey. The shock paralyzes the hunted, who by now can only manage feeble involuntary spasms. M holds steady. The label hangs limp as he quickly drains the life out of the woolly floormat and carries it in his fangs.

His eyes blaze with pride. The doormat is no more. Praise be to the liberator!!


Uh-oh.. here comes the stupid tall biped. damn! who starched his underwear? God save me from these ignorant ingrates!

poverty

M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him and his tail) is content. His memory equity is high. His thoughts from before the golden age are today worth a large fortune. He taunts his Insignificant Aide (also known as Ia, curses unto her and her ears).

M: "What are your thoughts worth? eh? What are they worth? hm? Tell me, you spineless worm! What is the value of memories?"

Ia is oblivious to the world around her. She continues rolling around on the carpet, playing furiously with the virgin white iPod cable. The evening sun shines across the February sky, lighting the dust in the air into a million tiny sparks as they rise from the carpet and from Ia's glossy coat. For her, nothing exists. She is in heaven, with sunlight on her tummy and a toy in her hands.

M: "Harrrummphh!! you two-pence whore! What would you know about the value of memories. I bet you don't know your equities from your assets."

Ia chews at the iPod cable. The music never stops. The sun never sets.

black hood

Warm brownies do not wait for black hooded cars, neither in Burlingame, nor in Berkeley.

"What the f*** have I been smoking?"

Super cup

M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him and his seed) switches on his new five-hundred and seven inch super high definition plasma laser blue ray 1080081i television hooked up to a receiver the size of a furnace, with speakers hanging from every single corner of the windowless room and a sub-woofer that turns the couch into a massage chair, to watch a five foot tall bundle of talent, formerly known as [[unprintable unicode character]] sing old songs to show off his solid vocals to a large crowd in the middle of a thunderstorm.

Afterwards, M watches some very funny programming interspersed with conversations between large men in fancy suits, heavy makeup, and some with garish ties. The men furiously over-analyze a sporting event with the firm belief that reckless and incessant usage of jargon combined with forceful, spit-shower talking will justify their disproportionately large paychecks.

There are heart warming tales told by teary-eyed mothers of their underprivileged kids who have overcome supreme obstacles and unbelievable odds to save the world on this, the holiest of holy days.

Also shown are some scenes of football, played in a Florida downpour.

M's Insignificant Aide (Ia, curses unto her and her ignorant lot) ventures a hesitant question, after waiting long for the right moment: "What is this super cup XLI sire?"

M's grip on the remote tightens instinctively. He turns around and glares at Ia with his glowing eyes.

Ia is atomized in an instant.

Obtuse

M (Also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him and his divine seed): "How dare you accuse be of obtuse writing, you two-pence whore!!? What the f*** have you been smoking?"

Insignificant Aide (also known as Ia, curses unto her and her ignorant lot): "..."

M: "Do you know what I am? Have you any clue of my powers? I could have you vaporized in less than seventeen seconds, your worm!"

Ia: "Not this time, my lord. Not this time. I apologize for my lack of prudence."

2-dollar bill

There is snow on the peaks this afternoon. M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him) , however, is unfazed. His lack of a fear response heartens Ia, who trudges silently beside him, albeit a step behind.

It is as if his days are endless in number and his afternoons go on forever. M fears nothing, it seems, not even his voluminous stomach, which now hangs pendulous, reaching for mother earth. He feeds it with the quiet confidence of one who has seen worse times.

Ia interrupts his meal. "Tell me, wise one, why do our lives require constant movement?". M pauses, looks into the distance, beyond the frosty peaks, and thinks hard, as his jaws keep chewing. Ia, impatient, continues "Why cannot we be at the happy place forever?". M hears, but continues deeper down the sea of thought, all the way down to the murky depths where the conscious mind makes love to the sub-conscious.

M burps loudly, and they continue their journey again, their heads bowed, their noses to the earth, their steps conquering the icy mountains.

The future looks as bright as the dazzling afternoon.

White Room

"In the white room with black curtains near the station.
...
Ill wait in this place where the sun never shines;
Wait in this place where the shadows run from themselves
...
Ill sleep in this place with the lonely crowd;
Lie in the dark where the shadows run from themselves."

-- Jack Bruce and Pete Brown.

Ia waits among the millions of restless devotees who have waited days on end for a sighting of the lord. Their chants reverberate in the endless room. They sense that the moment is now near, the hour of revelation is here. Their hearts pound as they see visions of the lord of the fruit and the magical new harvest he will bless them with.

There is a reverence for the lord for the place they choose to wait, and for the wait itself. For the lord's words this day will forever alter the course of universe. The lord will deliver them from whatever it is they need to be delivered from.

At last, the bright lord descends from the sky. His words are not words.

They feel him speak;
a gleam in his eye;
not an utterance is missed;
not a syllable is a lie.

The lord is good,
the lord is clean,
the lord is a genius,
the lord is supreme.

The lord then unveils the monolith. All is quiet. Hearts stop beating, minds stop thinking.

A cuboid of divine proportions, black as the endless night; dark as the pits of Mordor. It is beyond comprehension, the quiet yet immense power this small device exerts over the minds of so many.

The lord is good,
the lord is clean,
the lord is a genius,
the lord is supreme.

At the lord's touch, the monolith springs to life. There is a collective gasp of admiration, as though his devotees will now burst into a billion little pieces, as though there is not enough admiration and devotion in the universe to shower this lord with. The puny lives of the teeming millions of devotees all seem to amount to naught in the face of this wondrous monolith.

It is the most divinely beautiful rock in the whole world.

Praise the lord of the fruit.

cycle

M is tired of the endless cycle. Of arbitrary days chosen to be celebrated as markers of the new year. This time around, M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him and his divine seed) has chosen to sail through unscathed. Through the mindless drinking, the inane revelry, the consumerist evil. M scoffs at the list of Ia's new year resolutions, written neatly on yellow paper with a permanent marker.

Nightfall after the madhouse (with apologies to Issac Asimov)

It has now been three days in bedlam. Ia teeters on the brink of insanity.

M, meanwhile, seems to have lost it a long time ago. He does not even try to raise a thought against the insanity.

The high beings come to take Ia. She is suddenly enclosed by an unseen barrier; a dark envelope in which the world outside is just a dim memory. She feels rumbling from without; it become stronger; a sensation of movement. For Ia, it is a nightmare, and the screams she hears chill her heart. She imagines she can hear M's screams, gut wrenching cries of one staring into the infinite darkness of eternal sleep.

She feels her blood drain away, and an insane panic creeps into her. As she desperately tries to search for a way out of the madness, the heavens open.

All is well. Ia is home, so is M.

One of these days

"As the days shorten, the air clears, the trees are stripped, and the land is cleansed by the arctic air, minds are muted by nonsense."
-- M (Also known as Dr. T), December 2003.

M curls up on the cold white leather; his eyes are half closed, his mind completely so.

Ia, meanwhile, ponders on the purpose of existence. With the holidays drawing closer, the morning sun sets her thoughts off on a journey into years past. She remembers the cold season out near the eastern shore, and M's words come to mind.

Ding

Insignificant aide (a.k.a. Ia, curses be to her and her ignorant lot) has a sex change. She is now a female. A rabid speciescist, she ruthlessly slashes the innocent leaves that sprout forth from the black soil.

M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him, the leader of the free world): "What the f*** do you think you are doing, you moron? The gentle one loves those leaves."

Ia: "Forgive me sire, but it is not under my control. I tear these leaves because I am forced to. I am not responsible for my actions, O great liberator."

M: "Suit yourself, you pig-headed dolt. Don't come whining to me when you get your ass whipped."

Declawed in the name of preservation

M (Also known as Dr.T, a thousand praises be unto him) dreams of lumped crabmeat and breaded pork tenderloins with a mushroom reduction. His whiskers twitch, and his paws shudder.

His insignificant aide (Ia, a hundred thousand curses unto him and his wretched lot), however, is lost. Ia sits at the window, mesmerized by the bright and colorful world outside. Although the courtyard seems to be a sight straight from heaven, Ia knows he will not survive a day in its confines.

As M concludes his dream with a piece of burnt almond cake and some chilled muscat, sweet as honey, Ia wakes him up.

Ia:" Shall we go out and play, O defender of the faith?"

M: "mmmmm... huh? What the f***!!? What in the name of the lord our dear God have you been smoking now, you moron?!!"

Ia: "Shall we go outside, great leader of the free world?"

M: "Lets wait for the tall biped. He usually opens the door in the evenings. Get his ankles, I'll go for his throat. Once we have him wedged between the door, we are free!!"

Ia: "Genius, my lord!"

Ia bows deep.

M:" Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a piece of burnt almond cake to finish."

M goes back to sleep. Ia waits for the tall biped.