Screaming ants.

[Chookie]

This is an old Tibetan myth aboot the guy who supposedly started the Shaolin martial atrs business.

I remember (well nearly) the time I spent in Tibet, when I was a trainee monk in the old Shaolin monny-sterry. Oh, but it was a hard life. Up every moarnin’ at four, then sit and steare at the nearest wall fur a couple of hours, contemplating. Then it was time fur brekkie ¦ a cup of nearly warm water an’ a wee bowl of rice. Most of the time I wuz freakin’ starving! Once, Ah said to my master, “ Hoy boss! My stumick thinks my throats been cut, I could eat a scabby horse atween two pish-stained mattresses, please!!

The baldy-headed old currant just smiled¦ enigmaticallly, like. I would have given him the Glasgow Kiss but I knew he could’ve knocked the crap out me with both hands tied behind his back, so I kept stum.

Lunch was a cup of water and a bowl of rice with some nettles in i. If you were lucky you might find a juicy wee maggot but you weren't supposed to eat it. It being a fellow creature.

Then we’d have the martial arts. Basically, they gave you a big stick and we’d batter **** out of each other. Or, we’d practice you animal stances, pretending to be a tiger or a hamster or something suitably animaly’.

Because of the frugall diet and the fact that the chef was a dirty bar-steward, there were always a lot of “upset tummies or to give it its medical name, the skwitters, going round. The guy that I shared mah cell with was particularly prone to it. His name was Wan Haun, and manys the nights I’d lie on my straw palliasse listening to the sound of Wan Haun crapping.

[Nomad]

What a sad story. Sad yet inspiring. In the way that only the Tibetans can spin a yarn. *sigh*

[JacksDad]

That was a long way to go for a punchline.

:wah: