Meet my friend. He's a slug.
What's his name? Like you should ask. His name is Sluggo, what else?
Don't ask me how I know that Sluggo is a male and not a female. I don't speak slug, and I have no plans on asking for proof. I doubt if I could tell anyway.
So what's with the slug? Why should there be anything more than the fact that he's a slug.
Look at him. He's long, he's slimy, and he's got two antler's that look like he could be wearing either the crown of a King or the crown of a Fool. But when all is said and done, he's still a slug.
Are we really any different than a common slug?
Strip away the facade. Take away all of the masks we wear. Remove the clothes, the titles, the Botox. Strip away all of the preconceptions and are we other than a mass of atoms, held together in an ideal of an existence. Are we any more than Sluggo?
Or is Sluggo more than what we are?
Look at the slug. He's a slug. He lives in the moment. He has no aspirations other than being. He's not worrying about his idiot supervisor, or whether he can afford the new HD TV that his neighboring slug has in his hovel. He exists, and he lives....
Oh, but I could spend just a moment as a slug. To live in the moment. To be one with my environment, to listen to the world and eat food not to satisfy my ego, but to satisfy my life.
Maybe being a slug isn't really that bad. Be he Fool, or be he King, he is...and isn't that enough?