Blowtop was angry as fuck. And you know what? He had every right to be. Because seriously, fuck everything. Fuck the schools, fuck the government, fuck his job, fuck his life. Nobody got a damn fucking thing done around here but him, and he barely did that himself.
The Content Buddha sat beneath the branches of a fig tree, head bowed in silent meditation while the fan of the laptop atop his legs whirred softly like the spring breeze. People traveled far and wide, from all corners of the world, just to get a glimpse of the Content Buddha. Every now and again, a particularly brave acolyte would approach him meekly and put forth some great question that had been plaguing their conscious.
“Oh Content Buddha, great and wise, I beseech you,” the man dropped to his knees, as close to the earth as he could before the Content Buddha. “How, oh how can I get more hits on my blog?”
“Please, stand. One does not have to wallow before the Content Buddha. We are all one, brother,” the auspicious Content Buddha beckoned the man to stand.