Having survived (with open scarred flesh to prove it) 17 years ambling down goose turd green hallways strewn with broken bodies, defecation colored stews, and discarded monkey blood enema bags; I thought I had successfully escaped the dystopian world of Allopathonaia, only to find myself at the door of Cornelius Zappencackler. “Yes,” was all the bellowing whisper to follow the opening creaks of the surprisingly thin door. “All I want is a snazzy way to hawk a thoroughly overpriced raw food home chef certification course to the distractedly well-to-do residents in this mongrel clean neighborhood I can no longer afford to live in and maybe earn enough cash to stay for awhile,” I said to the bleary eyed man behind the slim veneer. “Have you read?” he said. “Will it sell vegetables to ranchers and oil men’s stay-at-home husbands and wives?” I replied. “Possibly,” was his retort. “I’ve read. Mighty pretty pitchers.” Kind of like the ones I’d see after the white coats shot me up with Allopathonaia blue glue, thought I. I wondered if this man had been where I had been. Or did he make the read in order not to be taken there. “Will you help me sell a 4-week course on feeding a family raw vegetables at $2,300 for eight sessions 27 Oct thru 22 Nov 2013?” I asked. “Will you read?”, he came again, “No blue glue allowed.” He knows. WHY? . . . HOW??? ” I will stay . . . I will read. ” And . . . ‘a different species from Drone.’ is the correct answer.