After Monty Python And The Holy Grail

I was touring a foreign country whose name was unpronouncable: Zertliopartque.

I was with my mother. I was riding a palomino, and she was riding a brown thoroughbred. We were going to the market to buy strawberries. On our way there, we saw flocks of four-winged fowl pecking at the dry, hard ground, happy one-eyed peasants who were selling all kinds of eggs (pink, organic, white, ostrich, duck, dinosaur) from behind their colorful stalls, and a giantess who sat on the outskirts of the town. She was the toll both operator. She was very strict about the tickets: if they were crumpled or stained in any way, she would prevent you from leaving Zertliopartque at all costs.

By the time my mother and I arrived at the market, we forgot about the strawberries and set about buying other things instead. I bought an orange caftan and the Dead Sea Scrolls (apparently in this country, they sold reproductions for only 10 euros; the real thing, they said, can be bought for 200 M euros, but only after proving oneself worthy to the king). My mother bought shades and a pink bag that can fold out to become ten times its size. We left the market, happy with our purchases, until we encountered a seraphim who berated us for being apathetic. The angel, Jacob, was biding his time in front of the horse terminal.

He was waiting for his Boss.

There are starving children in Uganda, he said, and you spend the equivalent of a month's worth of food for a small family there on ... trinkets!

But we are in Zertliopartque, I said, we are not in Uganda.

True, he scratched his wings from behind, but always remember that whatever you do here or anywhere affects the world irrevocably, as all things are one.