It’s a quiet morning, and you’re sitting alone in your small house.
Yes, this is definitely your house. You’ve got all the good stuff in it. Your house has garbage and food.
You answer the door and find a strange man standing on your porch. “Hello. It’s me, the man you’ve never met before. I hope Mischief Man fills your life with blessings and noise,” says the man. “My name is Nice Job, and I would like to ask you a question: Are you satisfied with your current life just the way it is?”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” says Nice Job, “but I have some good news for you! What if I told you that there was a way to find big bliss and frightening ecstasy until death finally rips you off this doomed planet?”
“I represent a group of overzealous fanatics known as the Sentinels Of Paradise. We are a bunch of fun-loving people who enjoy hanging out in the woods, performing wild rituals, and awaiting the Glorious Return of Mischief Man.”
“Oh, yes, absolutely, we are definitely a cult. We are a lunatic cult for sure, and the things we believe are dangerous and insane. You will love it.”
“So, what do you say?” asks Nice Job. “Are you ready to come with me to the woods and await the Glorious Return of Mischief Man?”
You walk with Nice Job to his van and begin your journey to the woods.
“You’re going to love the Sentinels Of Paradise,” says Nice Job. “You’ll lose your mind about Mischief Man, and it will be a lot of fun worshipping Him constantly.”
“Thank you,” says Nice Job. “My parents named me after the thing that they would say to Mischief Man if they ever saw him painting a shed.”
“I definitely do. Mischief Man has existed since the beginning of time, and He created my guts, but not my bones. How could I not love Him with all my heart and soul?”
The van speeds along the highway, taking you farther away from your home and closer to the woods. Nice Job puts on a radio station you’ve never heard before that seems to only broadcast children saying the name “Mischief Man” over and over. “This is my favorite song,” he says every time a new child starts repeating the name “Mischief Man.”
The sound of children saying “Mischief Man” is hypnotic, and you begin to doze off as the van drives on.
Wonderful! Here is your garbage!
Your garbage doesn’t answer you because it is sleeping.
You say this out loud as you smile at your garbage. Better leave your sleeping garbage alone so that it can continue to dream.
You return to your living room, thinking about how wonderful it is to know about your garbage. Suddenly, there is a knock at the door.
Yes! There is your food! You lick your lips thinking about the sweet bounty. It’s amazing to see your food.
Yes! There is your food! You lick your lips thinking about the sweet bounty. It’s amazing to see your food.
You return to your living room, thinking about how beautiful it is that you have seen both your garbage and your food on the same day. What a treat! Suddenly, there is a knock at the door.
You return to your living room, thinking about how tremendous it is to live in the same house as your wonderful food. Suddenly, there is a knock at the door.
Your garbage doesn’t answer you because it is sleeping.
You say this out loud several times as you smile at your garbage. Better leave your sleeping garbage alone so that it can continue to dream.
Wonderful! Here is your garbage!
You wake to the sounds of chirping birds and wind blowing through leaves. A group of smiling people dressed in business formal attire are sitting on the grass with their eyes closed.
The man closest to you speaks in a prayer-like chant: “All of Nature is joyfully awaiting the Glorious Return of Mischief Man!” he cries.
The men and women sitting behind him answer his chant in unison: “May Mischief Man take our bones away at last!”
“You are in the woods,” says the man. “This is the home of the Sentinels Of Paradise. This is where we live, where we sleep, and where we worship Mischief Man, the Supreme Being Of The Universe.”
“I am the High Priest of the Sentinels Of Paradise. Me. The adult man named That’s Wonderful.”
“Wonderful! We would gladly welcome you into our fold to await the Glorious Return of Mischief Man! To join the Sentinels Of Paradise, you simply must complete the Oath Of Undying Loyalty And Wild, Unbridled Fanaticism.”
All the men and women in the forest cheer.
“That’s great!” says That’s Wonderful. “You are ready to make your eternal promise, and so we shall summon Promise Boy!”
One of the Sentinels Of Paradise screams into the woods, “It is time for Promise Boy!”
For a moment, the woods are still and silent. Then, out of the foliage, a smiling man emerges.
“I am Promise Boy.” says the new arrival. “Is now a time for promises?”
“Okay, here we go,” says Promise Boy.
“Do you promise to me, Promise Boy, that you are just absolutely wild about Mischief Man, and that you will always honor Him through your loyal and tireless service to the Sentinels Of Paradise?”
“And furthermore, do you promise to always remember that Mischief Man is the most glamorous thing in the Universe, and that He created your guts, but not your bones, and that one day He will return from His prison in Sky Hell to take your bones away and then die in your garage?”
“And finally, do you promise that if Mischief Man dies in your garage, you will let His glorious carcass lie there for a long time, and that you will allow the neighborhood dogs to come into your garage so that they can eat the meat off of the putrid and wonderful corpse of Mischief Man, the Supreme Being, who created your guts from nothing?”
There is nothing much going on in your life, so you decide to sit around and think about fire and music.
“Those are two of the things that are around,” you say out loud to nobody. It seems like today is going to be a very slow day for you. Suddenly, there is a knock at the door.
“I understand,” says the man. “The Sentinels Of Paradise are not for everyone. Farewell.” The strange man walks away from your doorstep, and you shut the door behind him.
Now, you are alone in your house.
“That seems nice, but haven’t you ever wondered if there was more to life than garbage and food? What about the unexplained mysteries of existence? Did you know that Mischief Man once did a miracle? This is the kind of magic you can experience if you place your faith in the Sentinels Of Paradise.”
You go on to live a long and healthy life. It is a life filled with garbage and food.
Here is how your life goes:
You meet your soulmate in a castle, and the two of you start a family.
You and your soulmate raise three beautiful children together: Louis, Louis Jr., and Louis III. All three of them go on to appear on the cover of Mortal Sons Magazine, and you are incredibly proud of them.
Louis, Louis Jr., and Louis III are all executed for treason after they are caught smiling at a map of the former Soviet Union, and you cheer as the president beheads your sons on national television at the feet of the Statue of Liberty. It is a very proud day for you, and you get a bumper sticker for your car that reads “I’m Just Wild About My Dead Treasonous Sons.” What a life you are having!
It is a pleasant life, but it is a life bereft of enchantment and misery. Every now and then, your thoughts drift to that stranger who came to your door that day and the bonkers cult he wanted you to join. You wonder what could have been, but there is no going back to that time.
On your deathbed, you are surrounded by your garbage and your food. Your last words are, “My only regret is that I never believed in anything insane.” Perhaps the next time you are born, you will.
Congratulations on your regular life!
“Really? You’re satisfied with your life of garbage and food? Haven’t you ever wondered if there was more to life than that? What about the unexplained mysteries of existence? Did you know that Mischief Man once did a miracle? This is the kind of magic you can experience if you place your faith in the Sentinels Of Paradise.”
“Thank you,” says That’s Wonderful. “My parents named me after what they would say if they ever saw Mischief Man taking some time to relax by Himself in a sauna.”
“Now, tell me, child, what is it that you seek from the Sentinels Of Paradise on this day?”
You reach into your pocket and pull out the little bell that you ring to let people know that you are ready to talk to them. The mysterious group of people stop their prayers, but they keep their eyes closed. The man in the front of the group speaks:
“Greetings, new friend. May Mischief Man die in your garage. We are the Sentinels Of Paradise. My name is That’s Wonderful. What is it that you desire from us?”
“If that’s true, then I’m afraid you’ve failed the oath,” says Promise Boy. “You are not worthy of the Sentinels Of Paradise, and now you must pay the price of the unworthy. I pity you.”
Promise Boy lunges toward you and plunges a syringe filled with a mysterious liquid into your arm. You feel yourself losing consciousness.
Everything begins to go dark around you.
You wake up in your bedroom, unsure of how you got there. When you look in the bathroom mirror, you see that someone has tattooed the words “My Dedication To Mischief Man Leaves A Lot To Be Desired” on your forehead.
The rest of your life is bad. When you go outside and people see your tattoo, they are disgusted that you never tried hard enough for Mischief Man. You are never able to land a steady job because potential employers always look at your forehead and say, “Sorry. We’re really looking to hire someone who would die for Mischief Man.”
Nothing goes right for you ever again. In your heart, you know you only have yourself to blame.
“Congratulations. The oath is now complete,” says Promise Boy. “You are now an official member of the Sentinels Of Paradise.”
The rest of the cult members give you a standing ovation. The sound of their cheers echoes in the canopy of the Forest Of Nice Times.
“Congratulations! You are now a member of the Sentinels Of Paradise!” says That’s Wonderful.
“Welcome, newborn Sentinel,” the other members chant in unison. “May Mischief Man die in your garage. Amen.”
The Sentinels Of Paradise are all beaming with joy, and they’re holding balloons.
“Don’t be wild and insane! These balloons aren’t for you,” says That’s Wonderful. “These are Sin Balloons. They are part of the Carnival Of Flying Shame, one of the most important daily rituals for the Sentinels Of Paradise.”
“Every day, we inflate these balloons by whispering our worst secret into them,” he continues. “Then we let the balloons carry our bad secrets up to Mischief Man, who lives in Sky Hell. Once Mischief Man receives our bad secrets, He will send the Apple Maniac out of the woods to us. If the Apple Maniac tells us that he hates democracy, that means that Mischief Man has forgiven us for our bad secrets. But if the Apple Maniac tells us that he loves bugs, then that means that Mischief Man has not forgiven us, and that we are loathsome in the eyes of Mischief Man. I’m just wild about Mischief Man.”
”These are Sin Balloons,” says That’s Wonderful. “They are part of the Carnival Of Flying Shame, one of the most important daily rituals for the Sentinels Of Paradise.”
“Every day, we inflate these balloons by whispering our worst secret into them,” he continues. “Then we let the balloons carry our bad secrets up to Mischief Man, who lives in Sky Hell. Once Mischief Man receives our bad secrets, He will send the Apple Maniac out of the woods to us. If the Apple Maniac tells us that he hates democracy, that means that Mischief Man has forgiven us for our bad secrets. But if the Apple Maniac tells us that he loves bugs, then that means that Mischief Man has not forgiven us, and that we are loathsome in the eyes of Mischief Man. I’m just wild about Mischief Man.”
All right, here’s your Sin Balloon. What bad secret are you going to whisper into it to make it swollen?
You exhale your secret mischief into your Sin Balloon. The balloon grows fat with your crimes.
The Carnival Of Flying Shame begins. With a shout of jubilation, the Sentinels Of Paradise release their Sin Balloons into the sky. Even though the balloons are filled with nothing but shameful breath, they fly up and away as if they were filled with helium the gas that floats. It’s a beautiful mystery to watch the fat balloons fly when they should not. You toss your balloon into the sky along with the rest and watch it carry your terrible deeds away from you as it dances upward toward Sky Hell.
You exhale the lie of your innocence into your Sin Balloon. The balloon grows fat with your deceptive whispers.
The Carnival Of Flying Shame begins. With a shout of jubilation, the Sentinels Of Paradise release their Sin Balloons into the sky. Even though the balloons are filled with nothing but shameful breath, they fly up and away as if they were filled with helium the gas that floats. It’s a beautiful mystery to watch the fat balloons fly when they should not. Even though your balloon is filled with nothing but misleading yawns, you toss it into the sky along with the rest and watch as it drifts upward toward Sky Hell.
The last of the Sin Balloons disappear into the clouds. The Sentinels Of Paradise turn their heads toward a bush in the forest. There is a tense hush.
“Soon, the Apple Maniac will emerge from behind that bush,” says That’s Wonderful. “If he says he hates democracy, then Mischief Man has forgiven us. If he says he loves bugs, then we are wretched in the eyes of Mischief Man.”
The last of the Sin Balloons disappear into the clouds. The Sentinels Of Paradise turn their heads toward a bush in the forest. There is a tense hush.
“Soon, the Apple Maniac will emerge from behind that bush,” says That’s Wonderful. “If he says he hates democracy, then Mischief Man has forgiven us. If he says he loves bugs, then we are wretched in the eyes of Mischief Man.”
Suddenly, out of the forest, the Apple Maniac emerges with his basket of apples and starts eating them ravenously. “I love bugs!” he screams through mouthfuls of apple meat. Apple bits fly out of the Apple Maniac’s mouth as he continues to scream and eat apples.
“Bugs! Love ’em! Big bugs crawling around, small bugs crawling around—both! I love bugs! I kiss the bugs that eat the meat of the dead!” He pauses for a few moments to shove an entire apple core into his mouth. “Oh, fuck! Bugs are my only king!”
The Sentinels Of Paradise let out an anguished wail. The Apple Maniac’s words are a sure sign that Mischief Man has not forgiven them.
The Apple Maniac finishes eating his apples, falls silent, and walks back into the forest.
“How did this happen?” asks a quavering voice among the Sentinels Of Paradise. “Why does Mischief Man hate us?”
“You lied to Mischief Man?” a man shrieks. “That’s the worst thing anyone’s ever done, and this is coming from me, the bozo who invented murder!”
“I want to punch you so hard in the face that your head flies off, rockets around the world, and hits me in the back of the head with so much force that I get killed too,” says a woman in the back of the crowd. Everyone around her agrees that this is something that should definitely happen.
The Sentinels Of Paradise are furious at you. It’s hard to keep track of everything that’s being said, but the prevailing sentiment appears to be in favor of Mischief Man and against you. The phrase “punishment so perverse it makes Nature regret itself” seems to be getting thrown around a lot. This doesn’t look good.
The Sentinels Of Paradise all burst into tears simultaneously. They tear out their hair in anguish. One of them is so distraught that he jumps into the sky and disappears into the clouds forever.
“What have we done?” they moan. “All of us are so bad!”
“Mischief Man most certainly cannot handle it!” a woman in the crowd yells. “Mischief Man is extremely weak. His skin is paper-thin and His bones are hollow like a bird’s, even though He’s a man who does mischief. Mischief Man is the Supreme Lord Of The Universe, and if you dropped a penny on His head He would die instantly, because his fontanelle is fleshy and exposed, like an infant’s. Mischief Man is frail and easily shattered, like a glass baby. He is the Master Of Nature.”
You turn to run, but before you can escape, the Sentinels Of Paradise are upon you. Their eyes are wild and unheeding of your pleas for mercy. They do things to you that make you dead.
Your corpse is abandoned in the Forest Of Nice Times. You don’t return home that night, and your family has no idea what happened to you. After a week, they figure you must have joined a cult that killed you after you lied to their bonkers god. They laugh about this. It’s classic you.
Three hundred years later, your skeleton is finally uncovered by a man going for a walk in the woods. “How about that,” he says, pointing to your bones with his umbrella, “a goddamn skeleton!”
The End.
The Sentinels Of Paradise continue weeping. Nothing will ever make them happy again. They cannot live in a world where Mischief Man does not love them. They grab shovels and bury themselves alive. Your friend Nice Job, the kindhearted soul who first guided you to the Sentinels, is among those distraught souls digging their own graves. You beg him not to, but he cannot be consoled. He leaps into the hole and covers himself in dirt forever. From his grave, a single mushroom sprouts. A jackal eats the mushroom and dies.
The End.
Suddenly, out of the forest, the Apple Maniac emerges with his basket of apples and starts eating them ravenously. “I hate democracy!” he screams through mouthfuls of apple meat. Apple bits fly out of the Apple Maniac’s mouth as he continues to scream and eat apples.
“Voting for the top dog? Disgusting! No thank you. Kings only, if you please. When I think about democracy, I bellow and make a fuss. I wish democracy was a person so that I could feed him to a snake.”
The Sentinels Of Paradise let out a triumphant cheer! The Apple Maniac’s words are a sure sign that Mischief Man has forgiven them!
The Apple Maniac finishes eating his apples, falls silent, and walks back into the forest.
“The Carnival Of Flying Shame is now over,” says the Hight Priest. “It is time for the next ritual of the day: our daily recitation of the beautiful story of Mischief Man.”
You turn to the person standing next to you. “I’m just wild about Mischief Man,” you whisper.
“Me too,” he whispers back.
Wow! The two of you have so much in common! This guy is your new best friend.
“You’re my best friend,” you whisper.
“I know,” he whispers back.
Wow! This is the strongest and most meaningful friendship you’ve ever had! You’ve always heard the saying “Best friends are made in the woods during times of frenzied worship,” but you never thought about how true that proverb was until today.
You turn to your best friend to tell him that you like him more than Mischief Man, but he starts speaking before you can get a word out.
“Listen, best friend,” he says to you, “I’ve just got to say it: I like you better than Mischief Man. You are my new god. I now believe for certain that you created me out of mud at the beginning of time. You are my Lord.”
Your best friend, who is your god, brings a ram out of the forest.
“This sacrifice is my offering to you, new god. You made the ocean,” says your best friend. He slaughters the ram in front of you in a beautiful sacrificial rite.
“My dear best friend, you are my god,” you say. “One thousand years ago you created the sun, and then one hundred years after that you created me. Please accept this fat ram as a sacrifice in your honor.”
You set the ram on fire as a burnt offering to your god.
“Yes!” screams the ram as the fire consumes him. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
“Thank you, best friend,” says your best friend. “You are my god. You created clouds and you created bad smells.”
“The power of flame!” screams the ram as the fire continues to reduce him to ash.
You smile at your god. He smiles at you. This is a beautiful time to be alive.
“My dear best friend, you are my god,” you say. “One thousand years ago you created the sun, and then one hundred years after that you created me. Please accept this offering of gross dry leaves as a sacrifice in your honor.”
You set the leaves on fire as a burnt offering to your god. Their smoke is thick and toxic. The poisonous fumes from the leaves drift into the forest and suffocate 1,000 rams.
“Thank you for this beautiful sacrifice, best friend,” says your best friend. “You are my god. You created clouds and you created bad smells.”
You smile at your god. He smiles at you. This is a beautiful time to be alive.
What a wonderful moment this is! You’ve discovered your new god, and he thinks you’re his god! The two of you leave the Sentinels Of Paradise to start a new religion in a different part of the woods.
You and your best friend spend the rest of your lives barking prayers at each other and taking turns sacrificing animals to one another. It’s a life full of joy and spiritual fulfillment. Eventually, your best friend dies and goes to Heaven, where you sit on a throne in the sky as the Supreme Ruler Of All Things. Later, you die and go to Heaven, where your best friend oversees all of Nature as the Lord And Creator Of The Universe.
The two of you spend eternity in your respective Heavens, where you are each other’s deathless god for all time. It never stops being incredible for you.
The End.
That’s Wonderful, the High Priest of the Sentinels Of Paradise, begins the story of Mischief Man:
“What follows is the Glamorous True Story Of Mischief Man. It is the foundational story of the Sentinels Of Paradise. It explains who we are and why we’re here.”
“At the dawn of time, there was nothing but Mischief Man. He lived in Sky Hell, which is in Heaven. It’s the worst place in the Universe. Mischief Man loved to carry His Divine Birdcage around from place to place and mutter carnival words like ‘bright lights’ and ‘festival’ to Himself. Mischief Man existed to do two things: to carry around that bird, and to be the best. He did both of these things extremely well.
“But even still, Mischief Man was very sad, because there was nobody who could watch Him carry his bird around. He wanted people to watch Him as He paced around aimlessly all over the Universe carrying His bird from place to place. He decided to create the living creatures to watch Him carry His bird around. As a brief aside, I personally just can’t get enough of Mischief Man.”
“Mischief Man did some celestial mischief and created the Universe. He created the planets and the mountains and the oceans. He created the animals. He created a bowl that screams when you eat salad out of it. He did a lot of really great celestial mischief.
“Throughout this entire process He was muttering carnival words to Himself, like ‘Ferris wheel’ and ‘food from a cart.’ Mischief Man loves to mutter carnival words under His breath.”
“Finally, Mischief Man created humans. He created their guts, but not their bones. Humans were formless sacks of jelly, and they wobbled around the world throwing themselves off of cliffs. Humanity existed for two reasons: to jump off of cliffs, and to look at Mischief Man’s bird. Incredible.
“Mankind was the greatest mischief that Mischief Man ever did, but alas, this joyful time of boneless wonder was not to last.”
“Mischief Man’s arch-enemy, Sour Idiot, was jealous of Mischief Man. Sour Idiot was born in the worst part of Sky Hell, and he is the worst. He exists only to do sour deeds in the dark.
“Sour Idiot saw all of Mischief Man’s beautiful celestial mischief, and he grew envious. So, Sour Idiot decided to ruin everything in the most sour way possible. He came down to Earth, and he crammed bones into all of the undulating jelly people of the world. Mankind became the rigid, brittle monsters we remain today. What a tragedy.”
“Mischief Man was heartbroken. Sour Idiot had ruined His gorgeous amorphous creations. He retreated back to Sky Hell to grieve for humanity’s skeletons. There He has remained for thousands of years, too bereaved to do anything but carry His bird around and weep and mumble carnival words.
“Since that time, humans have been forced to endure the brittle horror known as ‘bones.’
“But it has been said that one day, Mischief Man will return from Sky Hell to rip the skeletons out of our bodies and make us nothing but guts once again. He will undo the sour deeds of Sour Idiot and return joy to the world.
“And then He will die in our garage.
“This concludes the Glamorous True Story Of Mischief Man. May we live to see the day of His glorious return.
“Amen.”
You decide to zone out while That’s Wonderful is talking. Your thoughts turn to your garbage and your food. You wonder how they’re doing.
That’s Wonderful appears to be wrapping up his story. “Now, the tale has been told,” he says, “and so now is the time for the Sentinels Of Paradise to go to sleep for the evening.”
The Sentinels Of Paradise stand up in unison and begin walking deeper into the woods.
“Very well,” says That’s Wonderful. “We shall skip the Glamorous True Story Of Mischief Man so that you can always remain confused by His celestial mischief.”
“Regardless, now is the time for the Sentinels Of Paradise to go to sleep for the evening,” he says.
The Sentinels Of Paradise stand up in unison and begin walking deeper into the woods.
“Now, the tale has been told,” says That’s Wonderful, “and so now is the time for the Sentinels Of Paradise to go to sleep for the evening.”
The Sentinels Of Paradise stand up in unison and begin walking deeper into the woods.
The Sentinels Of Paradise lead you to a clearing deep in the forest where several rowboats lie on the shore of a large lake.
“These are our Bed Boats,” explains That’s Wonderful. “Every Sentinel Of Paradise sleeps in their own boat and floats in the lake while they dream of Mischief Man teaching them how to swim.”
“Whoa! Slow down there!” That’s Wonderful commands. “We can’t go to sleep just yet. First, we have to complete the Hot Water Ceremony.”
“The Sentinels Of Paradise must perform the Hot Water Ceremony every night before we go to sleep,” That’s Wonderful explains. “We place a bowl of hot water at the edge of the forest for the Strong Angel. The Strong Angel will come out of the woods and dip his fingers in the hot water. Then he will retreat back into the woods.”
“The Strong Angel loves to dip his fingers in the hot water,” says That’s Wonderful. “If we don’t give the Strong Angel a bowl of hot water every night, he will become furious, and he will send us to the Hot Car. That would be a fate worse than death.”
You take your gong out of your suitcase and give it a good loud ring. The mysterious group of people stop their prayers, but they keep their eyes closed. The man in the front of the group speaks:
“Greetings, new friend. May Mischief Man die in your garage. We are the Sentinels Of Paradise. My name is That’s Wonderful. What is it that you desire from us?”
You cowered away from the Sentinels Of Paradise before you even joined! This turns out to be a decision that you regret for the rest of your life. Everything else that you do in your life is boring and bereft of meaning. You try all the other religions, and they’re all terrible compared to the Sentinels Of Paradise.
You get a job spell-checking “Caution: Wet Paint” signs. You do this job every day for the next 60 years. It’s incredibly boring. Everything about you is boring.
You marry a cinder block with the word “Yawn” written on it, and the two of you adopt a cardboard box with the words “Cardboard Box” written on it. It’s the most uninteresting family in the world.
You die for no reason at the age of 110. Your obituary is just a picture of a man shrugging.
The End.
“The Strong Angel is an immortal being from Sky Hell,” That’s Wonderful tells you. “He is not nearly as good as Mischief Man. He wanders the world dipping his fingers in hot water. He will do this until the end of time, in accordance with the divine whim of Mischief Man.”
You fill a bowl with hot water and leave it at the edge of the woods.
Oh, no! You run away from the bowl of hot water so quickly and recklessly that you accidentally knock it over.
“You fool!” scream all of the Sentinels Of Paradise in unison.
Oh, man, you really screwed up. The Strong Angel came by to dip his fingers in the hot water, and when he saw that you had spilled it all over the place, he sent you straight to the Hot Car. You sit in the Hot Car for all eternity. Every 1,000 years or so you say, “This is bad,” but there is nobody there to hear you say it.
The End.
You slowly back away and return to the lakeshore. You watch the bowl of hot water at the edge of the woods. The steam from the hot water snakes toward the sky as you wait with bated breath for something to happen. The tension is overwhelming.
Finally, the Strong Angel emerges from the forest and starts searching for the hot water in the grass.
“I’m immortal!” screams the Strong Angel to nobody in particular.
Finally, he finds the bowl of hot water you’ve left for him. “Ah!” says the Strong Angel.
The Strong Angel stoops down and dips his hands in the bowl of hot water.
“I’m immortal!” the Strong Angel screams again.
The Strong Angel has accepted your offering of hot water.
After a few seconds, the Strong Angel takes his wet hands out of the bowl of hot water and walks away into the woods. He disappears back into the wilderness.
The Hot Water Ceremony is now complete. You return to your Bed Boat with the rest of the Sentinels Of Paradise and prepare to go to sleep.
What will you dream about this evening?
You lie asleep in your Bed Boat, dreaming wildly. All of a sudden, a sound from the shore wakes you from your slumber. It is the sound of a man saying carnival words like “roller coaster” and “big tents” while he holds a birdcage.
It’s Mischief Man!
“Ring toss,” mumbles Mischief Man. He holds up His birdcage and gestures proudly to the bird inside, inviting you to take a look at His bird.
Mischief Man smiles. Then He gestures to you to follow Him into the woods.
Mischief Man leads you back through the woods and all the way back to your garage. He looks at you and smiles. “Bumper cars,” He mutters to you. And then He falls over dead.
Mischief Man has died in your garage.
You were greedy and kept the joys of Mischief Man all to yourself. As punishment, He died in your garage without taking your bones away.
Faithful to your oath, you let the neighborhood dogs eat the meat off of Mischief Man’s bones. The next day, you wake up to find that a large birdcage has formed around His dead body. It is the final miracle of Mischief Man.
You put the birdcage with Mischief Man’s body in it out by the curb, and the garbage men take it away.
“Hey!” says one of the garbage men as he loads it into the truck, “it’s Mischief Man’s carcass!”
He dumps it into the incinerator and never thinks about it again.
You never put your faith in anything for the rest of your life.
The End.
“Everyone, wake up!” you cry out into the night. “Mischief Man has returned to us from His prison in Sky Hell!”
Your jubilant cries wake all the Sentinels Of Paradise from their sleep.
“That’s incredible!” cries That’s Wonderful. “It is the Glorious Return of Mischief Man at last!”
Mischief Man rips the bones out of everyone’s bodies one at a time and returns humanity to its original gelatinous state. The misdeeds of Sour Idiot are undone and mankind is joyous once again.
Your steadfast belief in Mischief Man brought you a lifetime of happiness. You cheer as He wanders into your garage to die. The neighborhood dogs eat the meat off of His bones, and it’s beautiful to watch.
You are never sad again.
The End.