return of the man in the leopard skin boots

An enormous mountain in a desert of broken bottles and old tin cans. On the top of the mountain a lone Burger King, its chimney belching smoke like one of the towers at Dachau. The manager is giving orders to his staff. A lot of small innocent faced children who work feverishly to supply the demand for burgers to vast numbers of faceless people who constantly mill in and out, toiling up the mountain from the desert where they live in pre-fabricated houses, all squashed together in one corner of the desert with a big sign in front saying ‘WELCOME TO NOWHERESVILLE.’ The residents of N.V. have a simple routine. Their days are spent watching long, convoluted soap operas on T.V. which have special breaks in them so the residents can go for burgers. These breaks are called burger breaks. The only other thing they do is have sex to have children in order to supply the fast food outlet on the mountain with more staff, owing to the fact that the workforce there, quickly become exhausted and die, largely owning, to the inhuman conditions under which they are forced to work. If anyone raised the question of the horrible inhumanity of this process, the residents of N.V. would shake their heads and say, “Well. You’ve got to have burgers.”

Then one day a man came, out of the west. He was a strange looking man with bright orange hair, a camel haired coat and leopard-skin boots. He went round N.V., knocking on doors and always asking the same simple question. Would they mind if he, free of charge, built a temple, there in N.V. on an available space, that they of course would select, if, of course, there was one. The man went round asking the same simple question and he always got the same simple response. “Yes! We do mind! We don’t need a temple. We’ve got a burger king. Up on the mountain, which is twice as good as any temple so just **** off!” Or words of similar import. Every time he got this response the man would hang his head, and then go quietly to the next pre-fabricated house and knock there. ”Yes! We do mind …” et cetera. When the man had conscientiously knocked on every door he toiled up the mountain to see this thing they called Burger King which they said, was better than a temple. The manager, having heard of his arrival, showed him round with a smirk on his face. When the man saw the innocent faced children, struggling to supply the continuous demand for burgers, maxi, cheese, and veggie, there was a tear in his eye. But he didn’t say anything. When he’d seen what there was to see he went back down the mountain, through the town and disappeared, into the west, from whence he came. The residents watched him go. Disdainful expressions on their faces. Then went back to watching their soaps, until the next burger break.

“The burgers are off!” the cry went up through the town. Yes. The unthinkable had happened. Some off burgers had got through the rigorous and anti-septic inspection systems, up at B.K. and a few people had actually, actually! eaten some of them! It was inexplicable. It was unthinkable. It was unhygienic! However. The situation was under control. The manager assured everyone, severe steps had been taken. A thorough programme of rigorous inspections had been instituted. Then. A pre-fabricated house fell down! Killing someone right in the middle of a soap. This too was unprecedented. Never before had a pre-fabricated house fallen down either during a soap, or not during a soap! Then. Strange clouds were seen in the sky in the shape of burgers. A two headed duck, landed on the burger king roof, and then it flew off again. Then. Then for 3 whole days a resident went off the taste of burgers. Off the taste completely! Then. And then at last a big tornado came out of the desert and circled N.V. for seven days and seven nights. Then phut! It was gone. It was all very odd. If the residents N.V. had had any knowledge at all whatsoever, they might have seen these strange and ominous events as ‘omens’ of some dire and terrible thing to come. But they hadn’t. So they didn’t.

Then, exactly a week later, they saw very far off, a big cloud of dust, moving towards N.V. over the desert. What could it be? The next day it was bigger. And the next. And the next. Until, the cloud was practically upon them. But then it stopped moving. Settled down. And standing there in the desert was a huge phalanx of Sherman tanks. The man with the orange hair sat on one in the middle with his arm raised. He lowered his arm, there was slight pause, and then an enormous explosion. Before they new what was happening N.V. was being blown off the face of the earth! Then the tanks moved forward, through the rubble, up the mountain, and after the children had been safely removed, the same thing there. Bang went burger king! Then the orange haired man rounded up all the surviving residents and made them clear a big space in the very centre of N.V., where he proceeded to build the most marvellous, post-modern Temple. It had a big sign in front in gothic letters saying, ‘The Temple of Man.’ Then he took all the children off with him, into the west, and the remaining residents were left there, in the desert, with a spanking new Temple, wondering what to do. And no burgers! And no children to make them! What a catastrophe! Most of them sat on the ground in a trance of despair, and before them the wonderful Temple, bright new and shiny. Glinting in the sun.