I'm here to set you straight -- you and all your pantywaist friends who think Buddhism is about inner revolution, doing your best and coming to some sort of realization about your life. That ain't Buddhism. Buddhism ain't Buddhism unless you're kicking butts and taking names. That's what I do. I'm a Mystic Law Compliance Officer. I carry a badge.

Oh, sure, I've seen plenty of dharma bums like you. You think the Mystic Law is self-enforcing. You think that the law of cause and effect functions of its own accord and doesn't need any help from me. That's where you're wrong, bucko.

You've heard about the parasite in the lion's bowels? Listen up, people: Buddhism is like a lion that can't be devoured by predators. But it can be eaten from the inside by a parasite in its bowels. Parasites are people who think they know about Buddhism and claim to protect it, but they destroy it instead.

Don't be nave -- this city is crawling with parasitesmaybe you or someone you love is one of them. Be paranoid. Be afraid. That's why you need me. Think of me as a righteous colonic, an enema of Buddhism....

....I was working the Conformity detail out of Rampart the night the call came through. The lady said her husband was starting to think for himself. He was developing an appreciation for the fluidity and non-dogmatic nature of the dharma. He was enjoying his Buddhist practice, she said. I'll never forget the sound of her voice. "Enjoying."

It cut me to the core. It's the kind of thing you see a lot of in my line of work. But you never get used to it. It can make a tough guy crack. I've seen guys go mad.

I grabbed a thick stock of scriptural quotations. I needed the strongest ones, snipped out of context and thus made more maneuverable and suitable to my purposes. I planned to use them as a cudgel, which is the best way to use any religious text, whether it's the Bible, the Koran or the Gosho.

My job is not a pretty one.

As I sped to the scene, I reminded myself that I have security clearance for and access to the Buddha's true intent. I'm special. I'm not gonna let some punk challenge me and everything I stand for.

When I showed up at the house, things had gotten ugly. The suspect was in his bare feet, sitting on his living room floor with a bunch of dangerous sympathizers, eating refreshments. They were engaged in illicit conversation about the most sacred and secret teachings. Raving lunatics all.

When I flashed my badge and introduced myself, the suspect menaced me with the following statement:

"I have to find the Buddha within me and within others. No one can do this for me. So why should I bow to a religious authority who is -- ultimately -- arbitrary and impotent?"

His group of pitiful dupes turned their glassy eyes to me.

I had no choice but to hit them hard with a quote about demons, evil and hell.

"That doesn't scare me," the suspect said. "Would you like a cookie?"

The suspect then lunged at me with a deadly platter of presumably drugged bakery items. I subdued him with a quote about not accepting snacks from slanderers.

"OK, then," he said. "Why don't you sit down and join us?"

Maybe I was getting through to him. Maybe the gravity of his error was dawning on him. I recited the 26 Admonitions of Nikko Shonin, read the suspect his Miranda rights and reminded him of his duty to protect the Mystic Law by exterminating parasites.

Suddenly, his eyes gleamed. He asked, "How do you know that you're not a parasite?"

That's when I called for back up. We shot ten canisters of veiled condescension through the windows and, after a sustained barrage of spite, bulldozed his house to the ground.

I didn't waste my breath on the answer to his impertinent question. How do I know that I'm not a parasite?

I carry a badge.