From: Mike Stucka <mstuckaNOSPAM@math.luc.edu>
Newsgroups: alt.humor.best-of-usenet
Subject: [chi.general] The Metaphysical Apparatus of Human Existence: TRUE STORY
Date: 1 Oct 1999 16:51:15 +0200

Subject: The Metaphysical Apparatus of Human Existence: TRUE STORY
From: Tushar Samant <Tbone@pimpdaddy.com>
Newsgroups: chi.general, chi.guinness

ronald@ripco.com writes:
>very interesting.  so do you see yourself taking an eschatological
>approach in your treatment of the subject matter, or will it be of
>a more existentialist tone?

First of all--it's not much, but here is $20 for both words. No, you must,
I insist.

Before I make hard decisions like the above, though, I must understand
just what the "metaphysical apparatus of human existence" is. For years
I have been talking about it as if I knew what it was. That's sadly
untrue. However, the story behind it is rather interesting...

Picture, if you will, a new immigrant boy, eating a slice of pizza in
a shack somewhere near 2nd Avenue in New York. For that was me. And I
was approached by a wandering salesman who tried to sell me a framed
picture of the basketball Dream Team, for a price of $5.

I regretfully refused, since I travelled light and was due for Chicago the
next day. Unfortunately, the situation was not that simple. The salesman
grew eloquent. He said that the picture would be a glorious addition to
any house. Furthermore, he added, I would be lending financial assistance
to a needy and honest man.

With every new polite refusal, the man grew more oratorical. The words
themselves would have fetched many multiples of $5. Finally, he employed
the grandest rhetorical device of all.

"Are you a follower of Gandhi, man?" he asked.

I said I had nothing against him.

Whereupon he said that the principle of mutual support and of man assisting
the brother man was the summation of "Gandhi's metaphysical apparatus of
human existence".

Those words have rung in my ears ever since. I don't know what they mean.
But they taught me humility. I knew of course that I was no Nabokov, but
I had thought I had a good functional command of English. A man on the
streets of New York showed me that there was a whole linguistic zone
that I had not a clue about. But why even call him man on the street?
I would unhesitatingly call him "G.A." -- Ghetto Apostle.

Therefore I repeat those words, hoping that one day the light will shine
on me, and my own words will take on a new fire.