in search of wisdom

As often happens in the lives of young men, I was once confronted with a crossroads. Coerced by the fates into making a decision, I did not trust my own judgment. My previous attempts at logic and reasoning had left me an unemployed virgin with chronic nosebleeds - I was beyond a square; I was a rhombus - my only real accomplishment being a Level 50 Paladin in an online gaming community. Sure, I had cybered with that druid a few times, and it was awesome, but who on the server hadn't? She'd do a half-orc in half a second.

But my purpose is not to weave erotic tales of e-debauchary; it is to enlighten to you of my quest for knowledge.

I had heard of a wise man living atop Mt. Mipleez, and worked up the courage to make the trek up to its great summit. Knowing I couldn't do it alone, I acquired the help of a local tribesboy named Lawrence. Sadly, Lawrence's presence was fleeting. Lawrence and I went our separate ways when I was seen feeding squirrels with his "trail mix." I argued that the Better Cheddars I had brought were enough for both of us, and it was silly to think we could subsist off squirrel-food. It was to no avail; Lawrence stomped off spouting jibberish in his native tongue that, while indecipherable, was hurtful nonetheless.

Now without my trusty Lawrence, I went on. For days I journeyed up the snowy cliffs, passing by the vulture-pecked skeletons of those with less constitution than I. Through avalanche I continued, through aching hunger I strove onward, till finally I reached the peak.

With the many crossed obstacles behind me, the feats of strength and determination conquered in my wake, I felt like a character from Greek mythology. And there, at the pinnacle, was the wise man of legend, masturbating. It was an awkward moment to end all awkward moments as he tucked his genitals back into his sheepskin loin cloth.

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed. "The one time in twenty years I get bored and whack off, somebody shows up!"

"Oh my God, that's always how it works isn't it?! And nobody knocks anymore! Nobody!" I said, comiserating. We proceeded to exchange tales of interupted privacy. After an intense bonding session that revealed a mutual love of waffles, I turned around and contentedly left my mentor.

As I trotted down the slopes, a detectable perkiness in my gait, I slowly realized I left my Better Cheddars at the top (though, to be honest, they were dead to me the moment the wiseman dipped those grotesque fingernails straight into the box). And furthermore, I had forgotten to request the invaluable good judgment for which I had so desperately sought.

Some would say that I left without advice, without being enlightened, with no more wisdom than that with which I had began my pursuit. But I now know what that old coot knew then - it was through the journey itself that I learned all that I need to know:

Bigfoot is real, and he will rape you in a heartbeat.