> After peering tentatively around the corner, a supplicant approaches
> the Oracular Dais on rapidly shuffling knees.
> It is barefoot, barechested, dressed in a tattered, yet fresh, clean,
> linen loinwrapping and a simple turban. It is scrubbed pink and clean,
> and smells faintly of lye soap.
> The supplicant pushes a cafeteria tray along the path before it, and
> the scraping sound it makes echoes loudly throughout the Great Hall,
> nearly drowning the sobs and prayers that flow continuously from the
> pathetic creature's blubblering lips.
> Every 4 knee-shuffles, the supplicant stops for a moment to grovel,
> bang it's forehead into the floor, confess it's unworthiness, and
> extoll another of the Infinite Virtues of the Benevolent Oracle.
> As if recognizing that the Oracle is beginning to lose patience, yet
> not really, because it knows that the Omnipotent Oracle is Infinitely
> Patient, the supplicant ceases banging and mumbling, and knee-shuffles
> chop-chop, most rikki-tik to the foot of the Oracular Dais.
> It releases the cafeteria tray, which is heaped to overflowing with
> fresh, individually wrapped Hostess Twinkies and an icy, chilled,
> frosty sixpack of 20oz Jolt Cola, then clasps it's gnarled,
> white-knuckled fists together to beg mercy of the Glorious One.
> Never raising it's tearful eyes from the ground, the supplicant makes
> it's ignorance known...
> "O Enlightened Master, the least of your unworthy slave-worms Zotmeyai
> Yambutoscum begs but a moment of your Eternal Existence before it meets
> *Zotticular Demise* under the Casual Glance of your All-Seeing Eye, as
> you scrub the foul ichor of this pitiful creature's scrawny carcass
> from the face of the Universe, and restore it to the state of Utopian
> Perfection that once was."
> "I most humbly beseecheth and prithee do tell, which end of a baby is
> Before the last word can escape the constricted throat of the
> whimpering mass of quivering humanity before the Dais, it slams it's
> forehead into the marble floor one last time, throws it's arms
> protectively over it's turban, hunches into a ball, and passes water.
> Quaking and sobbing in enraptured anticipation, it awaits destruction.