A Fable about Self-Indulgence
Gifted with a smoke-like elusiveness, and because he had slipped through so many grubby fingers, !Backy S'nuf had eluded such hazardous places as Twinned FaceHoles, and even Ahpinchfer DeGums, and was now nosing about as he sought to lay down in peace without getting rolled and used up, or tamped and piped away.
On such common pursuit, he happened into the big-high city called Kokane. There, he was greeted by wafer-thin lines of Kokes queued up in a mirrored plaza representing extreme limits of glitz. Although attractively crystalline, and fragile as snowflakes, they seemed benumbed by some terrible apprehension.
Soon they were sniveling their story to !Backy.
"A monstrous fault it is," they sniffed, "this compulsion towards creating lines which lead towards that swift, unnatural up-heaving [sniff-sniff]. Then it's that damned mental spinning, oh! that dramatic whirlpool so like a current to oblivion!" they effused.
There was a distinctly viscous hysteria about their statements.
After a pause punctuated by some skeptical though discreet snorting, !Backy S'nuf reached beyond all expectations, and pondered the Kokes' plight. He reassured them, "I'm all pity! Still, I must not be involved. You see, I'm of a different head."
And proving his claim, he cited his crisp-textured delicacy, his finely chipped roundedness, and his rich, mahogany-brown flavorful aromaticity.
To which the Kokes just cringed more shattered-ly in their tinfoil temporaries, and their rude, or clever stash-places. For just then, they could behold the STRAW coming down.
After all the snooting and tooting, all that remained of unbeliever !Backy was, !.
MORAL: Highs end.