Can everyone just shut the hell up for one second? Thanks. So here’s the thing: somebody stole a rock from my fucking Zen garden. Guys, we’ve talked about this before. Everybody in this monastery gets their own Zen garden, which means nobody should be touching anybody else’s shit.

Got it?

Remember last week, when Kusalasami Suriya walked through my gravel after I spent the whole day making it looking halfway fucking decent? Remember how fucking pissed I was? Remember how I had to meditate for like three goddamn days to keep from ripping his stupid bald-ass head off?

You’re not lookin’ me in the eye here, Yeshi Karma. You wanna tell me something to my face? You know something about my fucking rock? Maybe you took it. I know you left silent lunch a little early yesterday. Maybe you left to go tend to your stupid-ass Bodhi Tree, which by the way looks like some sort of shitty albino monk.

No offense, Jampah Dhondup. Wait, scratch that because I specifically recall somebody’s pasty white ass missing from yesterday’s walking meditation session. Where were you? Buying fucking sunscreen?

Oh, stop crying, fatty.

And where the hell do you think you’re hobbling off to, Tenzin Narinda? Kinda suspicious you leaving just now. Bet it probably was you who moved my fucking rock; pushing my shit all around with your bamboo cane like you were playing fucking shuffleboard. Hey, did I tell you my mantra today? It’s om vajrapani hung. Translated into loser it means, “Give me the strength not to jack your shit up!”

That goes for the rest of you dickheads, too. I see one more fucking sandal print in my fucking Zen Garden, I will burn this motherfucker to the ground. You hear me? SLEEP WITH ONE EYE OPEN.

Namaste, bitches!