The Championship Belt Returned

Part 19 of 30

The Mam & Pap

Royal Splendid Traveling Rodeo 

It was good news to learn that the championship belt, secreted away in a bank vault with the rodeo having financial troubles, was quickly returned. The exact details of its return are still sketchy, but according to the little bit I know, the bank and the rodeo came to a mutually beneficial agreement.

The terms ran something like this: 1) The bank wanted to be paid back. 2) But revenues are always down when there’s something going on with the championship belt. The fans are more interested when there's a championship belt at stake. To them the whole rodeo is basically summed up in the questions, “Who’s in the running for the belt? Will the champ keep it? What is he willing to do to keep it? Isn’t he getting a little flabby? Is he ripe for someone to pick off? I will definitely pay good money to see how he manages it. But if the championship belt somehow slips away it'll be a nightmare situation, the doomsday scenario itself, the end of days. What on earth will we do if it somehow slips away?”

One year they advertised it in similar dire terms, which turned out scarier than expected. Supposed assassins were in the rafters to guard against any chicanery. Any shooting would be at their discretion. The assassins were masked, wearing atypical clothing, dresses from thrift stores, etc., so they couldn't be identified by their usual garb. If I had been consulted on the promotion I would’ve told them, “Please, no live ammo,” but I was away taking my driving test because my driver’s license had expired about a week before then -- damn the luck! -- and the corrupt police were just itching to nail me for driving without a valid license.

Well, that year showed us some of the folly in allowing live ammo in any promotion. It turned out worse than I feared. Three guys were shot, two of them winged and one guy got a hole right straight through his bicep. The doctors had to go in and restitch his muscles into place. Which worked out well for him, because before restitching it his bicep was weak as a kitten, but with the restitching he was strong as a tiger. You might remember him from a health insurance commercial, the testimonial where the rodeo guy praises his great coverage and successful bicep restitching. That was him.

Anyway, everything can have a happy ending if we help it along. Including the centerpiece of this post, the centerpiece of every competition, the championship belt. There's no substitute for it! Either it’s there or it’s not. And if it’s not, very few people want to be there either. Was there gun-play involved in getting it back? I’m not at liberty to say anything about the details. But I can reassure anyone concerned about how the operation went down, there was absolutely no call for any restitching of biceps, midsections, legs, or heads. It was a happy ending all the way.

Save Your Money, I Beg You

HANDLE YOUR MONEY CAREFULLY...
DON'T WASTE IT, WHICH IS THROWING IT

DOWN THE PROVERBIAL FETID RAT-HOLE

I try not to get myself mixed up in other people's affairs. I do everything I can -- diligently -- not to insinuate myself where it's none of my business, and where, frankly, I'm not wanted. This goes equally for family members as well as total strangers. Leave them to their own abilities, and if I see something askance, look away, don't get involved. That's family members. As for total strangers, just walk away, let 'em crash and burn if that's their will.

I'm setting aside this ironclad policy today, momentarily, to beg, plead, beseech, and implore you, to SAVE YOUR MONEY! If I can convey this one wish in a convincing way, and have even a shred of assurance that you're following my advice, I can walk away, content that you'll be OK. But not everyone is so responsive, and I fear that without due diligence that could be your path. You might casually note what I said, then be curious about my insistence and my sudden involvement, and choose to be cautious with your funds for a moment. Then after a time, you'll think, What's that guy know? What's it to him if I save my money or not?

True, it's really none of my business, I'll give you that. But there are times when you hear something, some piece of advice, and take it to heart. It doesn't matter if a stranger said it or it was something you read in the newspaper while sitting in a bus station on the can. Sometimes that's exactly how people decide their path, change their ways, and reset their course, their trajectory. It's exactly those moments when you hear something -- perhaps said in jest, or perhaps sincere, like I am today -- that is the pivotal moment, with your whole future depending on what you decide. Today is one of those days, my friend ... this is your moment!

Let me restate the proposition: SAVE YOUR MONEY!

You have a job. You bring in an income. But perhaps you're not careful with your earnings. I know how it goes. I've been there. The little desires of life are always with us. I want this, I need this, I deserve this, the boss has been riding my ass, and in my frustration, I'm gonna splurge this week! Then it's every week. I've done the same thing, to my regret. You want to raise your self-image, so you splurge on something that, if your mind were clear, you'd know was a waste. And then the money's gone, down the drain. And your frustrations rear their head over and over, and your head's in your rear over and over, and after many years of heads and rears, your entire financial outlook is in arrears. Penniless, broke, with the hole in your pocket having nothing to keep itself busy with.

So that's my plea: SAVE YOUR MONEY! Yes, use what you need to have basic shelter, food, an entertainment center, insurance, and the other necessities. But for the rest, deny yourself and save your money. Because you don't know what life will bring you. If you're like me, eventually you'll be presented with old age and new challenges; the full story is, I'm not doing too badly. But I carefully consider what I'm going to need for the rest of the month and what I can save. It's not the most exciting existence, but I'm not in a gutter on Skid Row rolling in my own filth. Or anyone else's, thank you very much.

To save your money, you set aside what is extra beyond your actual needs, and put it in a savings account. Easy. Then you resist every temptation along the way. Always aware of spending traps, like candy and treats and other impulse items at the checkout counter. Lottery tickets, cigarettes, pickles, and chips. And don’t get me started on coffee! You'll have trouble with discipline and denying yourself, but the more you resist, and the more you save your money, the more you'll have someday when you need something important. Like a house, a car, or an unexpected bill. (I might post someday on why there should never be an unexpected bill.)

Wow! when I think of all the spending traps, it just makes me sick. And I'm sure there's lots of other spending traps I'm not thinking of today. I've avoided them so many times, they're more or less out of mind. But this past summer I had a friend here in the Big City, and I went with him many times to the convenience store. Mistake One! The guy had zero discipline, always buying smokes and pickles and whatnot. I really had my doubts that he'd make it in life -- he was in poverty anyway, picking up aluminum cans with me to get cigarette money. One day he disappeared, and I haven't heard a thing about him since. But I'm fairly sure he hasn't attained financial discipline; his trajectory was completely askew.

Help me out here, though, friend. Let me have some assurance that you're different, that you'll heed this heads-up. And save your money. You don't have to tell me directly, OK? If you just consider it strongly, fervently, and make your decision, and relay your thoughts mentally through the blog, I'm very tuned in to its frequency. The slightest thing anyone thinks about it, I instantly know. It's what the psychics call the sixth sense. And my sixth sense definitely touches on saving money! When people are saving money, it glows a radiant blue. But when they're not, it emits a sickening yellow, with traces of orange and chunks.

Be wise, my friend, someone I can count on to be saving your money. It'll do you good in the long run! A lot of good! And it'll make me happy to know that you are saving your money, and that you'll be OK as time goes by. Because as time goes by you'll be able to afford what you need.

I'm Now A Billionaire

 

I'm now a billionaire! Isn't that great? I can barely believe it. Me, the last several years bringing in $450 disability for a game toe, and taking anything my relatives could spare -- which wasn't much. Now I have $2.1 billion to my credit!

Let me try something here. I'm working my hand into my armpit and trying to type at the same time, as I blast a rather unpleasant noise in the general direction of my bank, who'd never in a million years loan me a measly thousand bucks for expenses. Oh, hell no! The last guy slammed the door in my face. With a tour group coming out of the vault that day, too, which didn't do much for my ego, having 35 sightseers see me cry, and the banker pointing his stern finger rigidly to the door. "And stay out!" were his exact words.

Now look at me! Ha ha! $2.1 billion dollars. I seriously had to look it up, how many zeroes a billion has, to write it in my check registry, and I'm still not completely sure I have it right. $2.1 million would be a puny $2,100,000, I know that. Not many zeroes there! But a billion is a thousand times a million. So when you get to $999,999,999 million and turn the zero over, it adds 1. It looks like I have it right, a lot of numbers!

I love it. On the 6th, yesterday, I had $308.83 to my name. Then that day goes away and I wake up today and end up with $2,100,000,308.83! I could take the 83 cents and throw it in the gutter; I'm never going to need chickenfeed again. Although I'll probably keep it. It's not worth the effort to throw it in the gutter. I'll just leave it in the checking account, for a rainy day.

What a rags to riches story I've got going! Of course it's all thanks to the billionaire. He comes to town, events conspired to throw us together, we become fast friends, and next thing he comes out and offers me a couple billion dollars. Hope you're not jealous.

Probably the weirdest thing is I could've had so much more. He said he wanted to make my life more comfortable and I should tell him how much it'd take. You have to agree, it sounds like the sky's the limit. $30 billion? $50 billion? Whatever I wanted! But I said, No, I'm not going for billions upon billions of dollars; that kind of money could only get me in trouble. You hear of some extremely rich guy, his relatives get kidnapped, and the kidnappers start sending pieces of their ear, etc., demanding a big ransom. And the only thing worse than relatives visiting me would have to be their body parts showing up unannounced.

So when I gave my answer I narrowed it down to a very modest figure, specifically $2.1 billion. That's all I wanted. I reasoned it out like this: $1.1 billion would be plenty. It'd give me 100 million to live on, not touching the first billion, making me perpetually a billionaire. But then I thought, it'll be burning a hole in my pocket in no time. And I want enough to spend that once it's spent I'll still be a billionaire.

That's part of the reason, with the rest being, I simply want to keep some modesty and humility in my life. If I'm walking around with $50 billion, I can see myself getting a big head. "Ha ha ha, I'm better than you, because I have $50 billion!" To me, that's no way to live. Now, though, with $2.1 billion, if I'm ever stupid enough to boast, all they have to say is, "Yeah, but it's only $2.1 billion. Look at Warren Buffet, he's got lots more."

Does money bring security? Yes and no. One thing crossed my mind. The government insures your money up to $250,000 per account. Each million has 4 units of $250,000. So a billion has 4,000 units of $250,000. Meaning 2.1 billion has 8,100 units of $250,000. How in the hell am I going to open over 8,000 bank accounts? If I open accounts at 10 banks a day, that'll take me over 2 solid years! Can you imagine how utterly boring that'll be -- monotonous! -- to waste that much time? 

It's always some damned thing. I need to Google what other billionaires do? I'm asking. Or ... just wait and ask the billionaire tomorrow.

Checking the Wood Manhood Relics

It's that time of year again, to check on the Wood Manhood relics. As trustee, according to the requirements set out in the agreement, I'm required to make sure they're all right. Along with the unusual (but agreeable) codicil that I "reflect thoughtfully on the meaning of the relics, leaving no stone unturned in the pursuit of meaningful thought and reflection." It further states, "Being truly reflective is key."

Obviously, with me that's hunky dory. I'm nothing but thoughtful reflection, and I already think often of the relics in the quiet of my meditations, always thankful, as anyone would be, that it wasn't me. I'm thankful, for one, that I'm still able to zip my own pants and tend to my own personal affairs without restrictions, family codicils, trustees, and safety deposit boxes. Don't get me wrong; if what you've got turns to wood and you're dead, I guess it's a good way to go. Better, say, than being forgotten entirely, even if the memories people have make them to flinch in shame, cross themselves, and run.

OK, I went to the bank where the relics are kept and proved my identity beyond all shadow of doubt. I trembled as I pulled forth the precious drawer. And there they were, just as you see in the above photo, against a background of semi-precious gold velvet. Amazing! Still perfectly preserved!

As you can readily see, the top relic is the manhood in question, belonging to Brother Unsettled, now wooden. The bottom relic was found near his remains, a yoni-shaped piece of wood that appears to have been his last comfort, whatever he may have done with it. And the center chip is all we have left -- the rest being misplaced or lost -- of many pieces of wood from the local forest.

Just to recap, in case you're new to this whole affair, Brother Unsettled and I dwelt in India with other chelas (students) of the master Sri Masturbananda. His teachings involve beholding glimpses of heaven and the Divine in 7-8 second increments, the male chela concentrating and acting until all is manifest. (Women chelas have some correlate experience, of which I know nothing.) For whatever reason, Brother Unsettled simply would not faithfully practice the meditations, leading to him to be a loner and something of an outcast in the ashram. In the end, in despair, his ending was unhappy, and he was found dead, having abused himself against fences, splintery boards and trees. And so, the transformed woodenness of his manhood.

THOUGHTFUL REFLECTIONS:

To me, all this is a cautionary tale. I remember myself and the other chelas shaking our heads, going, "I don't want that to happen to me! What about you? No? Me neither!" And you want to know something, after all these years, it never did! I am blessed, and I hope you are too. But beware! Once you've taken the master's mantle, once you've found a place in his blessed fold, there's only one direction you must go [looking up.] The Divine is on your side, revealed today right where you are, as long as your devotions are sincere and good, in His grace. You might spit and sputter, that's OK. As long as you hope to become more like the master, perhaps even to the point of blowing the roof off an outhouse!

I will check in from time to time -- this is my continuing vow. Because it's in the terms of the agreement, certainly, but because I know how much I need to see these relics. They're not a crutch in any way. I already have the grace, as I'm sure you do as well. But I knew Unsettled. I saw what was possible for him, and I saw what he settled for. It wasn't anything good, unless you think a fence, a splintery board or tree is good for ... that kind of thing. I certainly do not!

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WOOD MANHOOD LINKS
Sri Masturbananda - The Wood Manhood Affair (2011)
Revivising the Relics in Jan. 2013

SRI MASTURBANANDA LINKS
Masturbananda -- Heaven's Just a Fantasy Away
Swami Masturbananda -- The Life of the Party
Swami Masturbananda -- Never Stoved Up
The Flying Masturbananda
Masturbananda in the Morning
Swami Masturbananda's Family Jewels
The Deflowering of Swami Masturbananda
Clash of the Titans -- Masturbananda vs. Pastor Wadd
Let's Be Sunbeams for Masturbananda
Air Devotions with Swami Masturbananda
Sri Masturbananda -- Turn On, Turn Off, Turn On
Masturbananda -- The Problem of Depressed Libidos
Masturbananda -- The Need for Seed
Masturbananda Transforms "The Little Drip"

From Milk Bottles to Hawaii

I'm totally surprised I didn't think of this before. Even I could save money with this system! With the added bonus that I would get back more than I put in, interest, a dividend!

I want to get this written as fast as possible, since I'm already dreaming of the possibilities. Then I'll have another glass of milk and get my bags packed. I'm just wondering, When you get to Hawaii, do they literally have a lei for everyone who gets off the plane?

OK, I'm looking at my milk bottles, and, let's see, 8 x $2.75 deposit = Over 20 bucks! And a couple of these I got when the deposit was $2.50, so I've already made 50 cents interest. If I keep drinking milk, and never take my old bottles back, and the deposit goes up to, say, 3 or 4 dollars, that's a lot of interest. I could probably drink a bottle a day -- a half gallon -- it's that good. In a week, with the current $2.75 deposit, that'll be $19.25 saved, and I've never seen the deposit go down. The stock market, yes.

This is so great I need to clear off shelves in the garage. It's glass gold! Finally, a collection with a payoff. With the old records I sold, the guy talked me so far down I was paying him to take them. But when you get to the store with a milk bottle, it's always the going rate. They never look at you funny.

If I keep going at this rate -- thank God for calculators and human intelligence -- a bottle of milk a day for a year, I'm saving over 1,000 bucks! OK, for three years, that's close to 1,100 bottles. If I put $2.75 in each one, and the deposit suddenly spikes to $3.25, not out of the realm of possibility, that's around $550 more. I couldn't get that at the bank. In fact, the bank's like the record guy: I'm paying them to use my money.

Oh boy, as long as the storage space holds out, and I have other collectibles I can throw out to make room -- including Grandma's old Dionne Quintuplets crap that no one remembers. There's some memorabilia that took a nosedive! She should've collected plates and knick knacks from the Titanic -- the market's unsinkable.

There could be, however, one rub, maybe two. First, there's the store. They're definitely OK with bringing in one or two bottles. Or a few more. But what are they going to do if I show up with over a thousand? I can picture the look on their face: confusion, anger. Suddenly there's a conference of managers over by the wall, out of earshot. One of them has a dirty apron. He's wiping his hands and shaking his head, glaring at me.

I'm standing there. The line stretches to the meat counter and a mile out the back door. Me, with compassion for the suffering, I'm sweating. It took me two hours to lug the bottles into the store. I've arranged every available cart into one long wagon train. The clanking glass sounds like a plague of heavy metal locusts. 

Finally, the guy with the apron -- who seems to be waving in some backup -- tells me the basic problem. I erupt in anger and end up in prison. As they're gassing up the gas chamber, I get one last meal, and one last glass of milk, unfortunately 2%, not whole.

The other potential problem is with the dairy itself. Little dairies that put out this milk with the fancy deposits aren't prepared for anomalies like 1,000 bottles from one customer. They're so small, something like three bottles is too much, but of course they can't complain. Having a 1,000 bottle spike might actually shut them down.

And then there's the interest. Their bottom line is so tight, they'd have to lay off a dozen people and forty cows to pay it. Factor in, too, because the 1,000 bottles were missing from their return cycle, they had to buy 1,000 new ones. That took money. And now they have no room for the added returns, blah blah blah...

To which I say, with full understanding of how I screwed up everyone's precious system: "Cry me a river! Oh, boo hoo. The poor employees are going to all die, aren't I a horrible person? You have to lay off cows? Let 'em work on the pig farm! They could use the change of scenery! And pigs like milk, probably. Let 'em nuzzle up against Bossie. Maybe she won't be so bossy when she finally has to give up the security of her own little barn, and all the fancy milk spigots. I say, 'Go ahead, lay 'em off, give them a gold bucket for retirement!'"

And to the store -- OK, I'm pissed; I want to go to Hawaii -- I say, "This is one hell of a way to treat a paying customer! My family's shopped here for generations. You weren't complaining when we carried you through the Depression. We could've been lined up at the courthouse, getting handouts like everyone else. But Grandpa hunted, and sold furs on the black market, giving us enough money to buy your damned groceries! Oh yes, how soon we forget! That's when milk became my family's favorite drink, because when everyone else's bones were crumbling and the streets were full of decaying skeletons, my family's bones were fortified with calcium. It was my family, then, that had the energy to clear away the dead and disinfected the whole stinking place. If it hadn't been for us, all this town would be good for is tumbleweeds, and probably most of those would be crummy."

Bottom line: Full speed ahead, I'm packing for Hawaii! I'm going for it! A half gallon today, another tomorrow, this is how I'm saving money from now on. And if they don't like it, well, I'll be ready.

Revisiting The Wood Manhood Relics

FOUR DIFFERENT HIPSTAMATIC PICTURES FOR GREATER VALIDITY OF THE EVIDENCE

Summary of The Wood Manhood Affair: In India, one of Master's chelas (students) was disobedient to the work of seeking oneness with the Divine. Instead, he, Brother Unsettled, abused his member on chain-link fences, wood surfaces, and trees. The result was his turning to wood. His now-wooden manhood was preserved, to serve as a spiritual lesson and warning to others. I have custody of the relics. The yoni-shaped wood appears to have been Unsettled's only true comfort.

Being the custodian of sacred relics is a big responsibility. First, there is the physical tending to them. Second, there are inquiries I get from time to time as to their whereabouts and condition, as well as requests to see them and/or touch them. Most of these requests are denied; frankly, I think that's a sick request. But it's understandable that chelas would want to know how they are. In short, they're just fine.

It's been some time now since my post in July 2011, which made me think the whole thing needed to be revisited. At least insofar as how the relics are doing. And lest anyone thinks they can simply come on my property and take the relics, no, it won't be that simple. They are kept in a safe deposit box at the bank.

I know you'll find this interesting. First, about the photos, that's four Hipstamatic photos of the wooden manhood of Brother Unsettled, plus the yoni, plus an extraneous piece of wood, the little chip. If you examine the evidence carefully, you will see one photo is slightly different from the rest. Very interesting!

Anyway, to examine the relics, I went ... I got myself together and went ... to the bank and to the safe deposit box. If you've ever done this, you know you have to be prepared for the real life equivalent of a video game, with many challenging passages along the way.

Of course I had my ID and the passwords memorized. Then arriving at the bank, I had to machete my way through a gauntlet of part-time bank employees, arranged to test my resolve for the task. Next, there were 10 secretaries, each with one letter or alphanumeric character of the first password. Finally, I got to Sue, the little lady next to the vault. I offered Sue my identification once again and a special password that only Sue and I know.

At the threshold of the vault, I took a deep breath and sought heaven for strength to withstand the ordeal. Of course I removed the sacred golden sword from the wall before passing through gate after gate. I was surprised (but not shocked) when two guardian lions sprang out. I slew them, then in quick progression a dozen leopards, a half dozen king cobras, and a school of Great White sharks. It was like I was back in the Amazon when vampire bats swooped down and immediately attacked my pith helmet.

Going further, I cut myself through the thickest vines I've ever seen, huge thick SOBs. I didn't even know vines came that thick. They were either vines or a giant's legs, now I'm not sure which. Do vines bleed and bellow out "Oww"? Then it was a giant, or maybe a whole family. All the vines out of the way, I swam up the falls, 100 feet if it was an inch. Being a good vertical swimmer, this wasn't as hard as it sounds.

Making it to land, I rounded a corner and found another guard. But this guy was a dried up skeleton, there at the base of the wall. Obviously paid by the hour, he had fallen asleep and died. I saw the final key in amongst his dust and bones! I entered the box room and unlocked the box. This set off the final safeguard, three or four mousetraps, which hurt like hell!

All done, I pulled out the metal container. When I opened it, there they were, the relics laid out on the softest red velvet. It was at this point that I took the pictures seen above. It about took my breath away, to see Brother Unsettled's wooden remains, the most vital parts of himself that had given him such fits. It was cautionary to me: Do not rebel, do not let it go to waste. I sat right there, right that very minute, and entered into the greatest devotional ecstasy.

All in all, I was amazed at how well preserved the relics were, even in this normal stuffy bank.