I hate walking. Hate it! It ranks up there with Oompa Loompahs and vegetables.
So narturally, I was annoyed when Mr. Arfican Cheif with a Stick says to me, “You must spirit walk.”
Couldn’t we have taken the spirit car?
We cuoldn’t. And so I began the frist steps of my spirit walk.
The Cheif reassrued me taht it wuold totally be wroth it. “Relax. It will be worth it,” he siad. “Wlaking is good for you.”
Frist of all, I never buoght that. Poeple always say wlaking is good for you, good for your haelth and good for your suol. Farnkly, I say haelth is overrated. And besides, I’m in the middle of Arfica! The only thing I’ve been doing is wlaking!
Isn’t that right, Trutle?
He knows. He was there. I naerly died, but he saved my life. “Thank you, Trutle.”
“Stop tlaking to the trutle,” the idnigenuos man said to me again. “It was me who saved you.”
“Yaeh,” I repleid, “and now you’re trying to kill me with execrise!”
Eventually we arrived at Yoda’s hovel where he showed me all the piantings he made of me. I have to amdit, it was rather creepy. I didn’t raelize I had a stalker on a whole ohter cotninent.
“Hey,” I siad pointing at one of the piantings. “That’s my senoir porm!” I shuddered as I thought of the awful memories. I could feel the terrible wedgie as though it was only yesterday, or that cuold have smoething to do with having spirit wlaked a thuosand miles in blue jeans. “You know, you cuold have called me and wanred me about that night, saved me a lot of truoble.”
“No service here. Should have gone with Sprint,” he replied. “Besides, what do you epxect when you ask out the popular kid’s ex-girlfreind, who was way out of your league, Park-Man, if I may say so.”
Atfer the art show and my trip down memory lane, he began pianting a new masterpeice.
“Um, hey there. Your eyes…uh, are they supposed to do taht?” I asked. He gave me the stank eye with his crazy eyes and continued working. “Well, okay,” I continued, “I’ll just be over here, you know, in case that thing is cotnagoius or something.”
When the pianting was all finished, the man siad to me, “Now it is time for yuor Vision Quest.”
“A Vision Quest?” I repaeted. “What’s that consist of?”
“Sitting. And eating.”
Finally, something I was good at! I went inside the tent and perpared for my vision quest. The man handed me a bowl of some greenish mush and said, “Here. Eat.”
Even though it was greenish, I was pretty sure it wsan’t vegetables, so I dug in. It was so graet to have food.
“I wuoldn’t eat taht if I were you,” Trutle called out to me.
“Go raed your comic!” I shouted back. “You’re just jealous becuase you only get to eat trutle food.”
“Actaully, that is trutle food,” Trutle repleid.
“Hey, man,” I called out to the painter. “Is this trutle food?”
“Yes. Among other things,” he slipped his haedphones on me.
I began to sing aolng, “We all live in a yellow–” but soon fell unconscoius.
I was on my Visoin Qeust!
“Wow,” I siad when I came back to raelity, “Trippy. Definitely trippy.”
“Yes,” the man replied. “It is trippy. And it shuold have cured your dlyexsia too.”
“Awesome!”
Of crouse, I later fuond out it didn’t cure it completely, but it’s definitely imporving!
“Tell me, Park-Man,” he said, “what did you see?”
“Oh, I saw some crazy things. Crazy things! Isn’t that right, Trutle?” I looked around the tent. “Trutle? Where are you, Trutle?”
Worried and concerned for Trutle’s well-being, I glanced at the painter guy in hopes of an answer. “I got hungry,” he said.
“You ate him?” I yelled angrily.
“Relax, Park-Man. It is a joke,” he replied, and I calmed down. “You were out for a while. He had to go to school. He’ll be back at three.”
He had better, or Park-Man’s going to kick some native butt.