One night in an online coffee house, a self-ordained Zen Master named Moulton said to him, "Go to the dilapidated mansion you will find at the URL which I have written down for you.  Do not speak to those who dwell there; you must remain silent until the Moonbeam's students arise.  Go to the large parlor on the right of the main hallway, sit in the lotus position on top of the rubble in the northeast corner, stand humbly in the corner, and meditate."

He did just as the Moultonic Zen Master instructed. His meditation was frequently interrupted by worries, anxieties, and the occasional Bombesin rush.  He worried whether or not the rest of the plumbing fixtures would tumble from the second floor toilet to join the pipes and other debris he was sitting on. He worried how would he know when Moonbeam's students arose for their next blogfest on Ethics in Journalism.  He worried about what the people who walked through the room said about him.  Man, I tell you, this guy had spilkes.

His worrying and meditation were disturbed when, as if in a test of his faith, courage, and personal integrity, Moulton's provocative responses fell from the upper stories onto him.  At that time two Wikipedia editors blithely sauntered into the scene.  The first asked the second who the man was sitting there was.  The second replied "Some say he is a holy man. Others say he is a shithead." 

Hearing this, the troubled young man became enlightened, if only for a brief instant of cosmic time.

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