The Monk Moved Your Cheese

The hot shot Ferrari driving sonofagun stole it and sold it to the motor cycle repairman (some people like to call him a mechanic).
The motorcycle repairman, who of course, is a part time alchemist, turns the cheese into rum and coke. Because, hey, that’s the way he rolls ok?
I’m trying to make a point here. It’s just that I hate getting straight to it, because that takes the fun out of everything.

People are making money. Tons of it by writing self-help, spiritual books which are convoluted and which everyone claims to understand. And there’s no way I’m going to be left behind. So here’s a little preview of my book titled (drum roll please) “Stop touching yourself. Is that chocolate cake? And, giving yourself an enema, blindfolded – A guide to a better life”.

People will nod their heads in agreement. “Yes, that’s the book for me. Paulo was getting so literal.”

My book is going to be simple. To the point. And totally unrelated. Leave anything vague enough, and there are enough suckers out there to make sense of it.

For Example, there will be an FAQ page.
Problem: In an effort to try and please everyone, I find myself in situations where I just can’t say NO to people. This results in me being unhappy, stressed and with no time to myself”
Solution: Read the book, ‘Who moved my cheese?’ Substitute the word cheese with Beer. The fact that someone is moving your beer will get you pissed enough to beat the crap out of the next person who asks you for a favour. Also, the eagle that flies west is never around for thanks-giving.

See how I covered all bases there? If someone happens to sue me for wrongful advice, I can always say, Hey… didn’t I tell you about the eagle. Then I’ll do my evil laugh. Mooohahahahaha. Sometimes mistaken for a cow mating call, but that’s beside the point.

Somewhere in the middle I will break off into an analogical story. Monks, cheese, mice, alchemists, mechanics have already been taken. I’ve done some quick research ran a few numbers (always wanted to say that) and found out that the character that people are most likely to relate to, is a one-eyed, one legged pirate named Plank. First name Wokda.
The story HAS to relate to life, otherwise it’s just going to sound like one of em wannabe writers, busy blogging their frustrations out. You know the kind.

Anyway, the story will go something like this.
There’s this pirate. Wokda Plank. Who had a parrot called Polishi. Second name Tincrackers.
And this parrot had Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Which totally ruined the pirates clothes that he took the trouble to launder after every pilferage. But the pirate had patience. Oh boy he had patience. He warned the parrot once. Twice. Thrice. Each time thinking that the parrot will soon learn. But it was not to be.
Easter came. And Polishi squawked his last. Captain Wokda missed his tasty friend dearly, but what had to be done… had to be done.
What I am trying to say is, friends, aren’t we really all like that pirate?
Lost. Lonely. Emotionally handicapped. And with friends that have gas problems?
It’s really up to us to be in charge of our own lives. The only person that can make a difference to you , is you.
You don’t need to get your cheese back. Life may be a rat race, but screw the cheese. Find another food group. Don’t let monks intimidate you. Go out and find other wannabe monks who are selling their cars for a song. That way you can own a Ferrari and everybody goes home happy.
You decide how you can make YOUR life. Don’t let anybody else tell you how.

What do you think? Send me a cheque for 1000 bucks and I’ll courier you the whole book. Including the title and last page. First 5 customers will get a free CD – “Greatest *cough* Spaced Out *cough* Covers of the Millennium” including such hits like Annie’s Bong and Weed are the Champions.
Hurry!