The amazing thing is that, upon becoming conscious of Rin-Tin-Tin, I was immediately shunted into an alternative reality, a rather ornately appointed anteroom inhabited by a short, greasy-haired man in a tuxedo, who bowed and smiled obsequiously. I should mention, however, that although he bowed, he did not scrape.
“Greetings.
My name is Michael Anthony, and until his death just a few years ago, I was the
executive secretary to the late John Beresford Tipton, a wealthy gazillionaire,
who left his entire estate toward the provision of a tax-free wormhole, each
week, to persons finding themselves in dire straits, such as yourself.”
“Each
week?”
“Well,
at least until they can the series.”
”And
what do I have to do to warrant said wormhole?” I queried, suspiciously.
“You
have to promise not to mention the name of Mr. Tipton, nor his heirs or dependents,
nor the provision of the wormhole, nor the real identity of Charles Butterfat…”
“Aha!”
I said, knowing inwardly that I was entering an esoteric realm. “Aha!”
Rest assured, there are very few things in
life that happen just by coincidence. Sure, you can tell yourself that I just
"happened" to mention the name of Rin Tin Tin, or that I
"happened" to know Rin Tin Tin’s secret identity. You may be
surprised to learn, in fact, that this entire web site is simply a cleverly
disguised subterfuge to harvest the few who have been chosen for a grand cosmic
adventure. That's right. You heard me correctly. By accessing this site, you
are one of the elect who have been chosen to evolve in the true path of
Rin Tin Tin consciousness.
Consider, for a moment, the many people who
have passed through this site, most of them to fill a hole in an otherwise
boring Saturday afternoon. Then consider the chances of any of these web
surfers actually reading so far as to stumble on this secret Rin Tin Tin
reference, and actually making their way to this wormhole. The odds must be at
least a million to one. And then consider still once more the likelihood of
Aardvark Al wasting an incredible amount of time to create this page on the
slim chance that someone would click on the link or even the possibility that the
whole thing was just a maniacal and tasteless joke. No, rather, you were
foreordained to reach this page, and you are now on a journey that will change
your life forever.
The Real Rinty Emerges
But first a bit of information about Rin Tin
Tin. Not the handsome and dashing Rin Tin Tin well loved by millions of aging
movie goers and TV watchers. No, we mean the very secret Rin Tin Tin, the
spiritual center of one of the most powerful global esoteric circles yet unknown
to mankind.
Rin Tin Tin was born under the name of Charles
Butterfat on 11 January, 1910, at South Bandicoot, a small village in western
Alberta. Soon after moving to Calgary with his family in 1919, the young
Charles Butterfat was adopted by Mrs. Mable Vera, President of the Canadian
Occult and Mumbledepeg Society. She was convinced that he was to become a great
spiritual teacher. This was, of course, before Charles had discovered his inner
dog, and still had the material appearance of a human being.
The Importance of Being Furry
Three years later, Mrs. Vera took him to England
to be educated for his future role. An organization was set up to promote this
role, but in 1929, after many years of self-questioning, Charles Butterfat
disbanded this organization, turning away all followers. Unknown to his
disciples, Charles had been growing fur in various places for several years,
and claws were becoming obvious. He was tired of wearing gloves all the time.
Instead, he secluded himself in a trailer park just outside of Wickham on Rye
and, after three months of intense introspection, emerged as Rin Tin Tin. He
immediately headed for Hollywood to cash in on his new identity.
We won't bore the seeker with stories about
Rinty's many exploits in Hollywood. Suffice it to say that he retired in 1957
and moved to Burbank. From then until the present, he has travelled around the
world speaking as a private dog, teaching and giving talks. Rin Tin Tin has
evolved his unique teaching from his own being and living, for he has read no
religious or philosophical literature. His aim is to set people psychologically
free so that they might be in harmony with themselves, with nature and with
others.
During his later life, Rinty has established
several esoteric schools in different parts of the world where young people and
adults can come together and explore reality. We would tell you where they are,
but — hey, they're esoteric schools. If we told you, we'd give the whole
enchilada away.
The Five Pieces of Spiritual Armor
But enough of this biography crap. It's time for
you to take the first steps on your way to Rin Tin Tin consciousness. Before we
embark, however, you'll need to bring along a few supplies:
- A brass compass,
- One million dollars in fives and tens,
- A first edition of the Old Testament, signed by the author,
- A stuffed Passenger Pigeon, and
- Pupi Campo's baton.
(As you delve deeper into the wisdom of Rin Tin
Tin, you'll learn how important Pupi Campo is to cosmic reality.)
If you do not have all of the aforementioned
supplies, you can't go on this journey. Sorry, but it's as simple as that. We
can't let just anyone in to bask in our spiritual reality. The million dollars
is really important because, well, Rin Tin Tin does have some expenses in
maintaining these schools, not to mention his barn full of antique cars. So
don't mention them. Besides, Rin Tin Tin feels that spiritual consciousness is
of no use unless the seeker makes some sort of initial sacrifice to prove he or
she is detached from the material world. Once you've gone through the whole
enchilada, well, Bob's your uncle. You can have anything you want.
The Eighth Way, Step One
Now that we’ve got the money thing out of the
way, and assuming you have your full set of armor, you're ready to step into
the first plateau of the Eighth Way. You've heard of the Fourth Way. Well, this
is twice as good. Trust us.
On the first plateau of the Eighth Way, the
seeker must learn to disabuse himself of the primary delusion in life — that
is, that he can do anything. We go through life on the assumption that
we are causing things to happen, but in reality we are simply reacting to
external stimuli. In truth, things happen to us. For example, our mother-in-law
came to visit ten years ago, and she's still there in the back bedroom. I mean,
who knew? And she keeps going on and on about how our wife could have married a
guy from back home who is now president of a bank. But I digress.
Step Two: A Little Oil on the Fanbelt
The second plateau is a corollary of the first.
One has to realize that despite our illusions of causation, one is really just
a machine that processes external stimuli. In our case, not exactly a 2014
Porshe turbo. More like a 1932 Johnson outboard motor. But with an extra long
cord, mind you.
And as machines, we cannot do anything. We can
just run external thoughts and events and ideas through our brain — which in
itself is a vast machine, a network of nerves and synapses capable of looping
back on itself for years. Whew! I'm feeling a bit tired after all this looping.
I think I'll lie down.
One's only hope (yawn!) in this endless
mechanized slavery is to step back, as it were, and observe the process
(snore...).
Step Three: The Higher Mind
Once we are capable of detaching ourselves from
the thought-processing machine, we begin to be aware of a higher mind, which
convinces us that in order to do, it is first necessary to be.
For example, the other day we were engaged in one of Rin Tin Tin's
mind-altering exercises, and we became aware that we were suffering under the
delusion that we were a large economy-sized box of breakfast cereal being
pursued down endless dimly-lit streets by a small child brandishing a spoon.
The mind altering exercise we used, which caused us to radically jump from one
plane of reality to another, is to imagine a small rabbit, standing on the
sidewalk holding a small yellow and purple basket of eggs.
“Hello, rabbit,” I said. “What’s up?”
“Not much,” said the rabbit. “I’m just standing
here, hoping not to get hit by any flying particles.”
As soon as he said the words “flying
particles”, all hell broke loose. Yellow and purple Easter eggs flew every which
way, a mighty maelstrom spun me skyward, then just as rapidly thrust me down
again into the Gorge.
I was again hurtling earthward at 32 feet per
second squared.
I looked back, noting that the East Germans had given me a 3.8, which I thought I didn't deserve. Mind you, that was for artistic merit. Technical was 4.3. Thirty seconds before I hit the water, a smile crossed my face as I remembered that the East Germans didn't exist.
One second before I hit the water, I had an overweening desire to know what had happened to Britney Spears after her mother ran their car over a paparazzo’s foot outside a Santa Monica pet shop.
But to no avail. I had a date with destiny. My date with Madge Slaf-Kabnecier would have to wait until I returned from Aardvark Heaven.
I looked back, noting that the East Germans had given me a 3.8, which I thought I didn't deserve. Mind you, that was for artistic merit. Technical was 4.3. Thirty seconds before I hit the water, a smile crossed my face as I remembered that the East Germans didn't exist.
One second before I hit the water, I had an overweening desire to know what had happened to Britney Spears after her mother ran their car over a paparazzo’s foot outside a Santa Monica pet shop.
But to no avail. I had a date with destiny. My date with Madge Slaf-Kabnecier would have to wait until I returned from Aardvark Heaven.
Then everything went black.
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