The Proper Way for a Lazy Fish to Cultivate Immortality

Lie flat and bask in the sun, sleep like a log. Even rolling over is too much for my back.

Chew a stalk of straw and hum a little tune, then a meteor suddenly smacks me on the head.

An immortal says I have excellent natural talent, then tosses me three cultivation manuals about sleeping as if they were an imperial edict.

From then on, I slack off on the path to immortality, always late for sect examinations.

I refine pills with my left hand and blow up the stove, while skewers sizzle and smell delicious.

I ride a flying sword with my right hand, but it's a floating door panel, and lightning and fire lick at my flip-flops.

My fellow disciples spit blood and call me a scoundrel, while I lounge on a lotus throne and munch on peaches of immortality.

Thunder roars during the heavenly tribulation, but I snore so loudly among the clouds that my snores shake the heavens.

I ascend to immortality by day in a gleaming golden robe, smiling sleepily as a crane carries me.

The Jade Emperor pounds the table and stomps his feet: "This guy brought barbecue to his tribulation!"

From then on, the rules of the immortal realm change. Even loafers can become big shots.

If you ask how a lazy fish can attain the Dao, it's because the bed was scorching his butt, so he jumped sky-high!