What has happened so far: A Wizard guards a path into a dense forest.

A lone Traveler attempts to enter the forest, but the Wizard refuses to let him pass until he answers “The Question.”

The Traveler successfully answers The Question, but is still refused entry, due to Regulation B2-3.

“What is Regulation B2-3?” asked the Traveler, amid visibly growing frustration.

“Best two out of three,” smirked the wizard. “If you answer The Question wrong, you have to go to the back of the line and reapply — of course, there is another application fee. If you get the answer to The Question right, you have to get another one right — Regulation B2-3” A peaceful smile spread across the Wizard’s face, as he continued to clarify Regulation B2-3 in the same pleasant voice used in commercials, explaining away the potential anal-leakage side effects of prescription pharmaceuticals. “Of course, each subsequent correct answer is, also, subject to Regulation B2-3.”

“Let me get this straight,” snorted the Traveler, as he tried to maintain a small slice of civility. “Every time I answer correctly, I have to answer another question. If I answer that question correctly, I have to answer another question?”

“That is correct. Are you ready for the next question?”

In an explosion of rage, the Traveler threw his cloak into the air — darkening the sky. His wide-brimmed hat followed — slicing across the gloom, bursting into torrents of rain and thunderbolts.

“I am LoDi,” he bellowed, in a voice so loud and powerful it made the trees quiver. “I shall not be stopped by a lowly gate keeper! Stand aside and let me pass!”

LoDi then summoned a thunderclap, just for theatrical emphasis.

“Very good. Mr. LoDi, is it?” The Wizard asked. “I see here, on your application, you claim to be a Mr. Clinton.” A very slight, mischievous, smile hid between the craggy fissures of the old wizard’s face. “Did you lie on your application?”

“I am LoDi – Most Powerful and Most Feared of all the Langobards,” the Traveler angrily sputtered into the torrential rain. “Stand back and let me pass, or I shall cover you in a swamp, and leave it for others to drain!”

The Wizard lost his faint smile. His mischievous taunting ceased.

“Mr. LoDi,” began the wizard in a calm and controlling tone. “That one has already been tried. I am a wizard — I, too, have powers. You may be the Grand Poo Baa of the Langobards, but I am the Employee of the Month — Wizard of Bureaucrats. I can bring down a fury of red tape and regulatory fees that will bring you to your knees. By the way, how do you spell Langobards? I’ll need to bring up those files.”

LoDi’s face flushed red, in an anger he had never known. The veins in his temples pulsed like jackhammers, breaking up the firmly held opinions of political pollsters. The full extent of his anger was about to burst forth, in a fit of rage 10 times more powerful than What’s-Her-Name’s reaction to losing the election.

Things were about to get really messy when LoDi stopped his ranting and raving long enough to take a quick step back, and peer closer into the aged face of the Wizard.

“Rick? Is that you? Are you Rick Geekly, from the Mysticism Academy of Demigodery?”

A huge smile spread across the thin lips of the withered Wizard — a smile that had not graced his face since he entered the Dark World of Bureaucracy.

“MAD – Class of ‘72” he beamed. “Who are you?”

“Stachieu Fademdowski,” replied the Traveler, with a smile that equaled that of his counterpart. “Class of ’71.”

“I remember you,” laughed Rick. “You were the guy that…”

“And you were the guy that…”

The Wizard pulled a bottle of libation from behind one of the big rocks (strictly used on the job for medicinal and emotional purposes). The two spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in the shade of a tree along the edge of the forest, toasting and laughing about the good old days.

Proving, once again, it’s not what you know — it’s who you know.

Larry Wilson is a mostly lifelong resident of Niles. His optimistic “glass full to overflowing” view of life shapes his writing. His essays stem from experiences, compilations and recollections from friends and family. Wilson touts himself as “a dubiously licensed teller of tall tales, sworn to uphold the precept of ‘It’s my story; that’s the way I’m telling it.’” He can be reached at wflw@hotmail.com.