The Jungle Wizard has Jungle Magic and good sorcery. Not great sorcery, but, you know, better sorcery than that loser the Suburban Wizard, whose Suburban Magic is only useful for finding a parking space at the Mall for his SUV.
Poor luckless Roger--
Somewhere the City Wizard is giving a Navy Seal his Mad Dope Stupid Magic, making the lucky guy the funkiest bad mo-fo that ever pimped a ho.
"Why, my beret is glowing now! The walls are melting! I can hear the colors! I can taste the music!
This Jungle Hashish is fuckin' AWESOME!!!"
"Whoa, dude...D'you ever think how there could be like this whole universe in my beret? With little atom-sized Green Berets with whole universes in their berets? Whoa...whoa, that's so heavy, man...Hey, man, you got any Fritos? I could eat like a whole bag of Fritos right now."
Note to writer:
Pull out your dictionary and look up the word "eerie." See if it's defined as "wicked lame-o."
Perhaps he meant "Erie," after the lake that in 1967 was still being used as an open-air sewer. That's a little closer to Roger's story.
"You mean it's mine, Unk? Does it really have magic powers? I don't want it if it doesn't. I mean, a used hat, what the fuck kinda souvenir is that?"
"Come on, Tod! If that story was any more Kookie, I'd ask it to lend me its comb!
AHH-HAHAHAHAHA!!!
Get it?"
"No."
"Think about it, Tod. These monks have the ability to confer godlike powers that distort the very fabric of space-time, but they can't protect their village from the Cong? They need professional help to rescue them from a pig? Doesn't help suspend my disbelief, you know."
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