As the sun adorned the zenith, the last fault in this man's stars was set right. He could finally shed his muffler, but one question remained: should he pop his pop identity or endure the popping of a few blisters instead? The question was significant as he would soon have to rid himself of a muffling cough that everyone recognized him by. As he revealed recently, many others had got him hot under his collar, and so the muffler had to go. Pop identities, of course, can always be reinvented. Following this revelation, he assumed a new identity, having had his heavies throw out the raving ones interrupting the ceremony.
To be fair to the raving ones, they seemed merely drunk on idealism and hung up on a hash of honesty – stuff that had been served at the party they had thrown together with the current host. The defining characteristic of their party had been that it admitted the Mango People: the commoners, who could, at best, crave to savor a mango, at least those that Europe wouldn't buy and the off-season rains did spare. Not for them were the exotic fruits of politics, the economy or the super market!
The raving ones and the Muffler Man had dared the Mango People to dream, assured these commoners that they could have a Passion, too, if only the orchards could be tended by their team. The commoners agreed and, having driven out the lotus eaters and those who held out a palm seeking to prevent their passage, entrusted the Muffler Man and those he chose with the task of reaping for them the best of fruits. Little did they know how deeply the system had taken roots and they were soon served a salad in place of whole and wholesome fruits!
Not everyone was unhappy, it must be said. Fruits would still come their way, diced or sliced, but affordably priced. The raving ones disagreed. “The Mango People," they contended, "should get their due; we must be a pure white, untainted by any hue!”
The hue and cry refused to die, till he held forth: “I must be allowed to deal with your mangoes as I deem fit, trade them, sell them, juice them… I am not here to debate how we should get the fruits we deserve, I am here to secure them for us. So, choose, and choose wisely, between only a fortuitous mango and the exotic bowl of fruits that I offer you.”
Why fret over the virtues of action when you could instead pick the fruits? They disowned the mango, and it was all his. There no longer were Mango People, only the Mango Man – the sole soul of the party.
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