Chief Works With Computers stood before his tribe, who had gathered in the Great Room of Sharing. He motioned for their silence, and then spoke. “We all know there is only one part of the Hot Pocket that we do not use,” he said, “the cellophane.” He held up a discarded wrapper for the room to view. “It is part of our great tradition,” he continued, “so why I am finding these in our waste bins?” He showed the room a discarded crisping sleeve. “We use these crisping sleeves to jot down memos on, to create great works of art, and to fashion into paper clip receptacles. It has been so since our Great Spirit Fathers tamed the Hot Pocket, and bargained his life for a place in our Spirit Realm.”
The room remained silent for a moment, until He Who Wears Fanny Pack spoke up. “Chief, our land is full of crisping sleeves. They are everywhere you look.” Others nodded in agreement. “Ever since the trading post reduced their Hot Pocket demands, we have been blessed with more crisping sleeves than we can use.”
“This is an outrage!” the Chief yelled. “We defile the honor of the Hot Pocket by wasting his unique crisping sleeve. The Spirit Walkers themselves created this mystical skin, and we toss it to the waste bins as we do our own soiled waste paper.”
As the Chief spoke, He Who Is Here For The Summer logged into the Spirit Realm, and began sending messages to the rest of the gathered tribe through their Spirit Talkers. Soon the room was experiencing visions of Chief Works With Computers engaged in a loving embrace with She That Sleeps With Cats. Quiet laughter began to fill the room.
The Chief turned away from his tribe, a single tear rolling down his cheek. Softly, and to no one in particular, he said “This was once a great tribe. Our honor made the Spirit Walkers themselves very proud. Now when I see my tribe, I see nothing but foolish children.”
Gathering himself, The Chief turned to the tribe. “Listen to your Chief,” he said. “Listen now, for I fear your time to listen runs short. Our way of life is under attack. The world changes around us. The glass eyed men seek to turn the very Clouds against us. How can you buy or sell digital content? The idea is strange to me. If we do not own the hardware itself, or the patent for the software, how can you buy them?”
The room had grown silent again, with the Tribe confused by the Chief’s speech, and taken aback by the tears that were now openly flowing down his face. “Please,” he said “just stop throwing away the crisping sleeves. Or maybe we can try burritos. How does that sound?”
The room did not answer, and the Chief left the room to return to his Great Chair. She Who Talks To Spirits told the Chief that the Great Apple Chief had sent another Spirit message, and the chief swiveled in his chair to watch a gull swoop through the sky.
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