I took a trip to my local convent this afternoon. I was dressed rather sexily; fireman's helmet, fireman's trousers, fireman's boots, my midsection left bare. I kicked the convent door down. The nuns all looked up from their various tasks - knitting, reading, praying - to see what the commotion was about. At the top of my voice I yelled:

"Ladies! There is a fire in my pants! I will have to ask you all to remove your clothes as they may be a fire hazard! But don't worry; if you get too hot I'll spray you with my hose."

Stunned silence fell upon them, until the head nun stormed over to me. Anger was in her eyes.

"My boy, either there is a fire in this convent, which you can clearly see there is not, or you have just spoken innuendo to a nun, which is a terrible sin, for which you'll burn in hell. How do you explain yourself?"

I didn't panic. I took out a cigarette, lit it up, took a deep breath, and then tried to set fire to the curtains. They tried to stop me, of course - two nuns on each arm, one on my back, and another desperately reading the instructions on the fire extinguisher in case I succeeded.

I did not.

They dejected me back into the car park. I didn't care. My dream had been fulfilled; what that was, exactly, I'm not quite sure. But it was a success.

Tomorrow I'm planning a new dream; I'm going to stand outside a nursery, firing a 9mm pistol into the air while singing "How do you get to Sesame Street?" until either the police get me or one of the children shiv me in the back. Because all kids carry knives nowadays.

Peace and love,
Egonga.

The wind tore at me like a hundred blunted knives. My clothes were tattered, my breath was ragged, yet onwards I strode, ever higher up the mountain. Rations had ran out days ago. I'd survived solely on melted snow for sustanence, yet my stomache growled in complaint at my mistreatment of it. Pain was now my constant companion; the chill wind slicing at my nose, my knees, bruised and bloody. Every breath I took of the freezing airburned my lungs. Yet still I climbed onwards.

I came, at length, to a door. Twenty foot high, it was, made of solid gold, and built into the side of the mountain. At my approach, they swung open soundlessly to grant my entrance. I stepped inside. Within was a vast cavern, it's roof lost in darkness far above. Stalagmites thrust forth from the earth and hung dangerously from the ceiling, dripping milky white water down upon my head. Head bowed, I plowed on.

Time passed. I came-to lying on the floor, unaware of when I'd collapsed. I lacked the strength to climb to my feet, the days of fast and abuse finally taking it's toll on my body. I crawled onwards.

Finally there came a light ahead. As I neared, I saw that it was a grand throne, made of a garish array of rich materials; gold, ivory, platinum, purest silver, rubies, diamonds, emeralds. Their sparkles dazzled the eyes, blinding me. Sitting upon the throne was an old man, bent with age, wrinkled, wearing grey all over; yet his eyes shone with an inner youth.

"Why doust thou seeketh the Master of all Knowledge, my child?" The man asked, not unkindly.

"I seek wisdom." I rasped. The man smiled wryly.

"Wisdom cannot be told or taught. It must be obtained, through years of failure and hardship."

"I mispoke, I fear." Said I "I seek a certain piece of knowledge."

"Very well. However, you may ask only one question of me. Choose wisely."

I took a deep breath, and managed to draw myself up to my knees. This was it. The reason I had put myself through such misery and woe.

"Where can I get the best deal on my car insurance?" I asked.

The Master of all Knowledge raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Could thou not have used a Price Comparison Website?"

I knelt in stunned silence for a moment.

"I... didn't think of that. Um. Is it too late to change my question?"

"Yes. Sorry. I don't make the rules, you see..."

"No no. That's okay, I guess. So what's the answer to my question?"

The Master of all Knowledge stared into space for what seemed an eternity as he sorted through his vast mind for the wisdom I required. Finally, he looked at me in startled outrage.

"You don't drive, you nincompoop!" He roared "You can't get car insurance!"

"...bollocks."

The light from the throne faded; I was threw into the deep darkness of a cavern. Dismissed so brusquely, I turned and began the crawl back home.

Why must you be so delicious, oh Cream Soda, and yet not popular enough to be stocked in most restauraunts? Why, godamn you? WHY!?