For even if it lies dormant, like a slumbering giant or quiet volcano, the soul cannot deny the spirit that resides within it and the uncanny power in its awakening. Like the chocolate encased in an M&M candy-shell, the sweet Essential must one day be tasted, even if it melts in the hot and humid habitat of your mouth, not your hand. And Barba son of Ryan led his weary faithful back to the great ivory gate. As they approached, Dipsi the Maniac asked of his leader;
"What do you intend to do here, Barba?" The group came to a stop as Barba son of Ryan whirled around to face them. It was very dramatic.
"I have come to realize something, dear Quartet," Barba began. "You see all this time, I have been searching for something. I did not know what it was, but I knew that I must find it. It has taken me long enough, but what I have realized, my friends, is that you must always follow your heart. And if what we want is wine, women, and snacks, then we must make wine, women, and snacks for ourselves. If you cannot be true to yourself, you cannot be. That is the Barbarian way." And then he pounded on the door and led them into the city of Lazation.
"Gentlemen," Barba spoke, his voice booming like a cannonball, "I intend to party my leopardskin off."
Whereupon Barba son of Ryan and the Quartet went on the biggest booze run ever, way bigger than Prom, Spring Fling and an average dinner at Hank Moody's combined. They loaded up on awesome and unheard-of snacks like dunk-a-roos, cheddar goldfish, and shark bites (and presciently threw away all the purple ones, since nobody likes grape-flavored candy). They brought out their drums and built a leaping fire and chanted their tunes under the winking stars, and the bright full moon smiled on them as He crossed the sky, ordaining their festivities with his solemn, celestial shine.
And although Barba and the apostles were unsure who, if anyone, would attend - in fact, they would have been just as happy with a sausage fest; sometimes guys need a guys' night - their glee went uncontained when droves of humming people showed up in their gladdest rags. It had been a rather long while since the citizens of Lazation had been given the chance to throw down, and Barba's party had all the makings of a great one - it was illegal.
Soon the party was rumbling. It resembled that party in Zion from The Matrix: Reloaded, except not totally weird and lame. The women swooned and gyrated sensually while the men quaffed great chalices of mead and showed off their virility by making their pecs dance alternately, a feat that never failed to charm the human ladies. Together these ancients gave a whole new meaning to the term "clubbing."
Late that night Barba son of Ryan stumbled outside, his belly full of meat and drink, his libido momentarily curbed but still far from satisfied, his knucklehair matted into sweaty, twisted thickets. He craned his bulbous head to the heavens and let out a terrific and triumphant howl that would shame Tarzan, Ginsberg, or even DNC Chariman Howard Dean. A salty drop of bittersweet happiness pooled in the corner of his eye as Barba thought of Ryan, Barba, and Kemba - those who had helped him on his way, made sure that he stayed true. He lost consciousness in a bed full of women, with some blue-nosed mandrills in there for good measure, confident that he had just thrown the greatest party Lazation had ever seen.
When he woke in the gray dawn, it was neither the pounding ache between his eyes nor the desert that had settled unwelcome on his tongue that stirred him. It was the incessant toe tapping of that damned Vice Roy, standing over him, hands at his hips, a-tisk-tisking.
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