And, indoctrinated into masochistic meditative techniques, ended up a pervy git who ended up dying in a wardrobe in some nudie autoerotic asphyxiation masurbatory accident.
"Master, if I shall love others, how can I be sure that they in return will love me in return?"
"Do you seek love or barter?"
"But, if I love others and they do not love me, I shall feel great pain."
"That is what you risk grasshopper great pain, or great joy. Just don't seek an amalgamation of the two all nudie in a wardrobe with a bag over your head and a noose round your neck whilst having a wank"
Anyhoo, according to the news, he's up and about again. Frottaging what's left of The Beatles.
The insect kindgom is one red in tooth and claw... well, mandibles and raspy rubby legs, and feeding off other species is well documented. And now we has Glasshopper nomming on Beetles.
Poor Macca, so senile that the only thing left in his bonce is the ability to play nothing but Hey Jude on the piano, whist getting the lyrics wrong. And now he has to contend with a clone army of a horde of Grasshoppers mobbing him onstage.
Saffron robes a-twirling as they clobber him with their oversized flutes with their mantra of "For Buddha's Saké, please play something other than fucking Hey Jude, and fucking learn when to fucking stop instead of fucking repeating "naaa naaa na na-na-na-naaaa, na-na-na-naaa He Juuude" for fucking 20 minutes in a fucking incessant loop! Play We All Stand Together for a change - we loves The Frog Chorus, y'bastid"
Ah, grasshopper...
"Close your eyes. What do you hear?"
"I hear the water, I hear the birds."
"Do you hear your own heartbeat?"
"No."
"Do you hear the grasshopper which is at your feet?"
"Old man, how is it that you hear these things?"
"Young man, how is it that you do not?"
"Because, Master, all I can hear is Paul Fucking McCartney playing fucking Hey Jude again for the Daily Llama in the Tibetean Temple for some Taoist Benefit gig to recoup the millions that Heather Mills got in compensation for him gnawing her leg off after being denied meat by Linda McCartney for so long. Can't you teach me the Five Finger Death Punch like Pai Mei so I can free the world from Hey Jude instead of all this metaphysical mystical philosophical bobbins?"
"You are young, grasshopper. Remember: Motivating rhythm of life with a cultural revival, this is survival. Natural magical patterns of percussion is the discussion, so listen up close. Let it connect you to the powers that be with healing rhythmic synergy. Techno tribal and positively primal, shamanic, anarchistic, archaic revival."
"eh, whut?"
"Activate the rhythm. The rhythm that has always been within... you!"
"Fuck that shit. Tighten these knots and point me to the nearest closet, for I think I'll forgo Shaolinism in favour of Onanism this afternoon - I've certainly got a rhythm for that!"
