Harboring a known criminal was pretty out

Harboring a known criminal was pretty out of character for me, but there was something about the way Yosemite Sam would

look at me with those dashing, commanding eyes. It was like I was seduced into a hypnotized state, and become nothing but his slave, his wish my every goal to fulfill.

Yes Master, I simply love playing Call of Duty for hours on end. (No, I don't must resist!) Yes, I will go to the fridge and get you a Fanta. (My mind must break befor..) Twizzler?

I can't take it anymore! I don't know what's happening. I don't want to watch Tv, I don't want to play Call of Duty or Castlevania, I don't want to smoke Parliaments while my life

curls up into the air like meandering tendrils of smoke. I've only got one after all. Or have I? Hinduism say's that we are reborn doesn't it? I decided to visit the Ashram of guru

Ram Kiab-ji, who'd chosen to travel the road to enlightenment through the cleansing properties of pain. I first met him while he was busy sticking ten inch needles through his

nine inch nails. It was quite a sight to see the seasoned monk reach that tenth inch and scream in silent agony as the needle pierced the fingertip. Most other monks chose

to slay Ghosts to weed out the fragile and get closer to God. MonkMan vanquished evil at breakfast and still found time to translate the New Age Bible to Latin at dinner. His fans

flocked to all his live performances where MonkMan would behead 25 near' do wells while simultaneously serving up a side of liver and onions. Kosher of course.

Years later people would remember the mass out break of food poisoning as the beginning of the end for MonkMan.