| Message | Ahhh, the words of wisdom that caress my withered tongue as I sit here serene in solitude with the Yeti stench and old yak dung... my orange robe and balded pate my simple garb of hermit state...with naught but a true and honest conviction and a satellite disk for net connections... The Hannies do my heart uplift above the very Himalayas with clever thought and thoughtful wit for such enigmatic players... I crawl back to my humble cave with mantras soul-inspired to feel and reach the one-ness of it all while humming chants to Little Emil... And now, to contemplate my navel... or perhaps the lint within... peace my brothers... Your humble Guru...  |