When I awoke this morning I had an appetite for corn pancakes, a craving that I have learned cannot be satisfied by anything less. While there is plenty of milk and butter at the temple and our cup runneth over with eggs, the one item we are not in the habit of stocking is corn meal (and Auntie May’s real cane molasses). I, unfortunately, must acquire this at the nearest village, a mere one hundred and fifty miles down a sheer cliff side. So I rub the sleep from my eyes, wrap my bed sheets around myself and tread lightly through the main courtyard to the temple entrance where my beloved, peace green, 1966 Land Rover with the canvas top and the folding bench seats and the 5mm armor plating used to stop the PLA rifle rounds my prayers do not cover, waits for me. Or should have been waiting for me had it not been stolen by that crazy bitch Sharon Stone!
I would apologize for my wrong speech but my wheels just got boosted by a high-class, softcore porn star.
The listing says it was donated by my brother, Choegyal. This does not come as a surprise for me after he tried to sell my Segway last year to finance his network marketing scam: Mr. Tenzin’s ultra moisturizing hand cream for sweat shop workers.