Episode Two
In those days, a common man dwelled in the Valley of Depression in the Land of Political Naivety in that part of Heaven known as Deep South.
The Oracle awaketh Common Man from a deep slumber and sayeth “Common Man, thou must leave thy depression behind and return to the land of thy youth, posthaste.”
“It is 3:00 AM, why dost thou waketh me in the middle of a good dream?
Nay, I cannot return to South County, posthaste, for my friend marryeth his sister tomorrow, and I am Best Man.”
“Common Man, thou must save the world.”
“Aaaarg! Saving the world requireth a Super Hero. I am but a Common Man. Why dost thou not contact the Bruce of Willis or the Arnold of Schwarzenegger?’
“Arnold ruleth the land of Left Coast and the Bruce is on location. Thou art not my first choice, but one plays with the cards one is dealt.”
“ But South County is in Frozen North, I feareth freezing my buttocks off in the land of permafrost.”
“Heaven hath a fever, thou will find winters quite tolerable,” sayeth the Oracle.
“I did not know Heaven could get sick,” sayeth Common Man.
“Your world hath a virus called “Heavenly Heating,” sayeth the Oracle.
“I knowest of this theory, but it is many years hence, long after I pass to a better world, I worryeth not about Heavenly Heating. Heavenly Heating art the problem of Future Generation.”
Common Man did not understand the order of things in the universe. Consciousness, like energy cannot be destroyed.
Common Man chose not to comprehend his own immortality.
Common Man kneweth not, until his passing, the choice of the next world was his alone, and no other place, in all the Universe was better than Heaven.
Herein lies the Oracle’s problem. Heaven had become a victim of its own success.
People were just dying to get in.
Heaven had become the most popular afterlife in the entire universe and current residents kept coming back and back and back upon discovering their current world was the best of all.
“Wake up Common Man,” spoke the Oracle.
“Thou art back again,” sayeth Common Man,
“Shrink changeth my Meds, but again you have returned. Shrink sayeth thou art a figment of my imagination.
Botherth me no more for I must rest.
Saving the world is the job of Big Government, not Common Man.”
“Nay, nay, nay,” sayeth the Oracle, “Big Government is concerned with getting reelected and thinks only four years hence.”
“Then saving the world is the job of Big Business.”
“Nay, nay, nay,” sayeth the Oracle, “Big Business thinketh only of its shareholders is concerned only with the next three months.
“You, Common Man, must save the world.”
Common Man knew not of the Oracle’s Dilemma. The Oracle had overbooked reservations for 11 billion souls in the next century, yet the people of Heaven consumed natural resources at a rate that could support a mere 8 billion souls. If waste could not be ended quickly, all mankind would wage war over the precious remaining resources and Heaven would become known as the Hell of Heavenly Heating.
“Wake up, Common Man,” sayeth the Oracle, Thou must save the world.”
“Aaargh,” sayeth Common Man, “Shrink giveth me sleeping pills, and yet you still waketh me.
“Why dost thou not waive your magic wand and save the world yourself?”
“Dost thou think this is a Fairy Tale?” replied the Oracle. “Dost thou need a lightning bolt shot up thy buttocks to understand my Dilemma?”
“Perhaps,” the Oracle continued, “Perhaps, I should let Common Man be reincarnated as a bug for next 3 billion years, for that is all that will survive in Heaven if thou dost not save the world.
“Aaaaarg,” thinketh the Oracle to Herself, “but then I would lose my bonus!”
A light bulb did flasheth inside the Oracle’s mind.
“Common Man, thou mayest get rich and retire to the Land of Comfort and Ease.”
“I can get rich saving the world?”
For a time Common Man had lived in the Land of Entrepreneurs and the thought of making money reignited his desire for wealth and fame.
“Oracle, good buddy, my bags are packed.”
“Henceforth, thou shalt be known as the Recycler of Naïve. I giveth you the Google of Knowledge as your trusty side kick.”
“Google is cool, but can thou loan me fifty somolians for gas?”
Vanishing into the night, the Oracle responded, “Why dost thou think I invented Greyhound?”
The Oracle continued, “Remember always, Weed Hopper, you must find treasure in all things and every obstacle in thy path is but a stepping stone toward saving the world.”
“Obstacles? This should be quite easy,” the Recycler of Naïve thought to himself as he rode his bus across Breadbasket, “Surely the people of South County will embrace my plan to save the world and I will be back in Deep South before the snow flies.”
