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    Partially inspired by the libertarian people and their underground homesteading endeavor, you decide to take the money, couple it with some savings you’d put aside for the next three video game consoles to come out, and buy a little plot of land in the middle of an uninhabited wilderness approximately where Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming all meet. You wanted to get enough land to at least be able to build a structure on.

    “Maybe I can sell the structure as a shrine for Wiccans,” you think as you fall asleep one night, “yeah, if they’re so into nature why don’t they go live…” Your thoughts become more indecipherable and subconscious from there and then form into a dream.

    In your dream, you’re talking to W.C. Fields, telling you the story about how he bought that “orange grove” out in California and how it “turned out to be a cash-cow or, pardon my French, a cash-horse, a race track for fellas like me to hideaway from little annoying babies and throw their money down holes.”

    Then the Bud Grant-Sitting Bull steps into the conversation, “You haven’t forgotten about Lost Dakota, have you? What is more valuable in life, its mysteries or its money? Think about it.”

    You don’t remember the dream when you wake up the next morning, but it must have influenced your thinking, because from then on you decide to build a small shelter out on your little plot of land and live like Thoreau. You have supplies dropped in every month, but no contact with other humans is maintained. After three months of being alone, your visions about Lost Dakota become more and more powerful until you believe you’ve reached enlightenment…along with a penchant for cigars and straw skimmer hats.

    The End.




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