The Mysteries of Life
or
Scenes from the Kingdom of Filtwater
I.
If there were ever a day in which the questions of life showed themselves with violence – today was that day. “Why are we here?” Slam. “What is the purpose of being?” Crack. “Why do people by Spam?”
“Whoa! Wait a minute. ‘Why would people buy Spam?’” Chanson spoke to his torturer for the first time. “’Why would people buy Spam?’ What type of question is that?”
“It’s one of the mysteries of life.” The torturer let his black whip fall to his side.
“What century do you live in?”
“Thirteenth – same as you.”
“Oh!” Enlightenment came to Chanson. “There’s your problem. You’re livingin the thirteenth century, but you are asking questions about the mysteries of life in the twentieth century.”
“Hmmm.”
“Now the people in the twentieth century would have a hard enough time answering your Spam question. I, a lowly peasant with incredibly bad luck, would have no chance. I mean, at least I have a chance of answering ‘What is the purpose of being?’ and as I understand it, you are actually interested in the answers to these questions, right?”
“Yes, I am.”
“So if your questions are related to the mysteries of life in the thirteenth century, you might get an answer. I mean, at least I could make something up. I mean, okay, I could make up something about the twentieth century mysteries of life, but it would be pure speculation with absolutely no basis in reality; nothing I could defend with an intelligent argument.”
“I guess you’re right.” The man in the black mask raised his whip. “Thank you for pointing that out.”
“No problem. Do you think you could go easy on the torture for a little bit?”
“Uh, no.”
“Didn’t think so, but it was worth a try. Carry on then.”
“Is there a God?” Thrash. “Is there life after death?” Smack…
“Whoa! Wait a minute. ‘Why would people buy Spam?’” Chanson spoke to his torturer for the first time. “’Why would people buy Spam?’ What type of question is that?”
“It’s one of the mysteries of life.” The torturer let his black whip fall to his side.
“What century do you live in?”
“Thirteenth – same as you.”
“Oh!” Enlightenment came to Chanson. “There’s your problem. You’re livingin the thirteenth century, but you are asking questions about the mysteries of life in the twentieth century.”
“Hmmm.”
“Now the people in the twentieth century would have a hard enough time answering your Spam question. I, a lowly peasant with incredibly bad luck, would have no chance. I mean, at least I have a chance of answering ‘What is the purpose of being?’ and as I understand it, you are actually interested in the answers to these questions, right?”
“Yes, I am.”
“So if your questions are related to the mysteries of life in the thirteenth century, you might get an answer. I mean, at least I could make something up. I mean, okay, I could make up something about the twentieth century mysteries of life, but it would be pure speculation with absolutely no basis in reality; nothing I could defend with an intelligent argument.”
“I guess you’re right.” The man in the black mask raised his whip. “Thank you for pointing that out.”
“No problem. Do you think you could go easy on the torture for a little bit?”
“Uh, no.”
“Didn’t think so, but it was worth a try. Carry on then.”
“Is there a God?” Thrash. “Is there life after death?” Smack…