273-word post, or “The Pepper Prophet”

It had been seven years since Klarf Droozbeck aka “The Pepper Prophet” had first appeared on Oprah, and his fame had grown exponentially.

Klarf had, since childhood, been finely tuned to various messages and teachings that spices held for humanity. Salt, for instance, spoke mostly in childish riddles; cayenne could forecast the weather and cumin could predict the 4th place horse in any race.

But pepper?

Klarf called pepper “the grand vizier” of spice, and he had been called before heads of state, religious leaders and celebrities the world over to give readings.

Through pepper, Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston remarried, the Pope accepted gays and women as clergy, and an era of peace had engulfed the Middle East.

On his final appearance – broadcast world-wide from Wembley – he sat meditating at a small table, a bowl of warm broth before him.
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The Dalai Lama came forth, grinding a small amount of pepper for him. His eyes rolled back in his head and he spoke in tongues for 12 seconds, then bowed his head.

His aide de camp translated his prognostications. “I am a fraud,” he said. “You have solved your own problems. Pepper has done nothing.”

Klarf had long known this day would come. Pepper had grown tired of serving humanity, an endless pit of despair, so it had abandoned him. The crowd was rioting, and Klarf was hurriedly escorted out. In the parking garage, an enraged John Travolta burst through security and shot and killed him.

And at that very moment, in Bangladesh, a small child was sure the sugar he was stirring in his tea had just said his name.

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