The Adventures of Choochoo Mangy - Part II

Choochoo Mangy was upset with the rain. He stomped his feet and cried. He ate samosas and drank tea. He lied and cheated. He kissed and made-up. He made-up and died. 
Choochoo Mangy was buried in the outskirts of a major Indian city. When he returned, there was no rain, no moisture in the air. Now he felt hot and swore at the heavens. 
When he lost all his money to the futile pursuit of political fulfilment, he went back to performing Opera in the slums, digging holes for injured dogs, catapulting himself into billboards, smoking fallen leaves, till the leaves were no more, the dogs had left and the billboards were pulled down to make way for other billboards, these not so interesting. 
Then he wrote a book called 'The Incredible Pot' about an incredible pot that never broke or grew plants or some such thing. Critics panned it calling it at one point 'Illegal, worthy of nothing not even fire. Burning it would be a waste of energy.' Nothing put Choochoo down. He continued to write book after book, till he wrote so many that one day in December the city river was overflowing with books by Choochoo Mangy. He became the countries largest floating writer. Ships were diverted and flights cancelled. There were riots in the evening. The books were so bad that they reduced the collective IQ of society by a whole 10 points. 
After that Choochoo decided to give up art and took up instead the art of spotting artists. He would hang out at cafes and bars and look for the quietest, most awkward, most ill dressed creatures and walk up to them and pretend to faint. 
This new occupation didn't turn out to be as lucrative as he had hoped. He loved money. One day he called his mother who told him to start a business. She always believed he was a great businessman, probably because he had told her he was a great businessman. She died later that day of a bad case of delusion. 
Finally Choochoo Mangy started a business of selling paper to South American tribes who then sold it back to him for a much greater price. When he began to loose money, he joined the Regressive Left and screamed 'racist' and 'Islamophobe' at the slightest irritation. His landlord had to throw him out the following week because the resident spiders were beginning to complain. "We're just chilling over there in the corner", said the spoke spider. "And this guy, the nerve, he just walks in and something irritates him, an itch, hunger, anything, and he just begins to scream 'Racist, racist, racist' and 'Islamophobe, Islamophobe'. It's really ridiculous." "Sometimes he says 'neo-con' too", said another spider sadly. "We can't eat or sleep. We're not bigots!" 
At the end of Choochoo Mangy's life, he was nothing but a loud and annoying pseudo-journalist. This was even worse than death. 

The Sunny Leone Interview

The Adventures of Choochoo Mangy - Part 1