Were we not warned of this day? Did we not watch the blessed entrails portend on its myriad horrors? Now the house of cream has shattered and its filthy wonders are lost to us.

Yet one may learn from this twist-turn of fate: We will ride ordeal like obstinate horses and careen to a most fortunate of disasters, long-lost stars glistening in our eyes. Come, brothers and battle-copters, and watch as I cross the metaphorical swamp and become daubed in glistening oil and jam. Watch, as I climb the organic tower to reach supernal perfection: An effigy to the folly of mankind, a meme axiom.

Let none forget the day the I-we-am grabbed fate by the now-proverbial balls and tackled it out of the sumo-ring of will made manifest. Whirl, spin and laugh until the whole universe has to, willing or not. For in doing so you will come to be loved and loathed by all.

The secret teaching is the Muscle Song, or the flexible/flexable bond between comrades.