A small army of bearded intellectuals approached the Mountain of Faith. They rode up on Raleigh 3-speed bicycles, and wore paper maché armor made from the pages of recently outdated textbook editions. Each one had a briefcase strapped to the carrier rack with bungee cords. They rode to the base of the Mountain in the “flying V” formation of forgotten foot-ball. When they reached the base of the Mountain, they parked their bikes, unstrapped their briefcases and pulled from them large stacks of paper. They found a piece of rock to serve as a podium, and from it each delivered a long treatise on the Supremacy of Reason.
They spoke with vigor and conviction. Their approaches were various, their delivery dramatic, their diction perfect. They spoke in German, French, English and Russian. For seven hours they spoke, and the Mountain moved not an inch. As the afternoon grew late, and their voices weary, they began to realize that it would take more than Reason to move this Mountain of Faith. They divided into teams and began to discuss tactics.
Edison built a bike with a huge overhead propeller that could actually fly, thinking that if they could get closer to the peak, they would be better heard. Nietzsche volunteered to fly it, and he flew so high that he cleared the peak and disappeared over the other side. Aliester Crowley began to dig a hole beneath the Mountain. “If we can dig a huge pit under it, then the Mountain will fall into it,” he explained. Freud found a cave in the side of the Mountain, and took a team with him to explore it. Wilhelm Reich concocted a device from a bicycle pump, a Cuisinart, tin foil and used paper towel rolls, through which he was blasting deadly Allgone Rays at the Mountain. “Look,” he said, “I aim it like zis, and Poof! All gone!” But through it all, the Mountain remained unmoved.
As it grew dark, and they grew weary and disillusioned, it was decided that they would turn back and look for a suitable pub in which to take an evening meal and write their memoirs. As they mounted their bikes and began riding away, they heard a rumbling behind them. “Look,” someone shouted, “The Mountain—it’s collapsing on itself!” And so it was. They all laughed heartily. “We stood there all day trying to bring it down, and as soon as we leave, down it goes!” But their laughter turned quickly to screams of panic as a huge avalanche tumbled from the collapsing Mountain and killed them all…
…All except Nietsche, who can still be seen on a clear night from this flat earth, riding his strange bicycle across the full moon and shouting: “Gott ist tot, Nietsche liebt! Gott ist tot, Nietsche liebt!”
