Subsequent developments have cast doubt on those reports of the Dalai Lama's delight. This morning, Lowery, 62, waking up from anxious dreams, discovered that he had been changed in his sleep into a giant verminous insect. Asked if the Dalai Lama were responsible for the metamorphosis, the Buddhist holy man's spokesman denied any involvement in the Mayor's plight. "We are peaceful Buddhists. We do not bear any creature ill will. We do not reincarnate people as bugs." A member of the entourage who murmured, "Well, that one guy in Detroit…" was quickly hushed and removed from the press conference. "No bugs," reiterated the Dalai Lama's spokesperson.

            Harold Simpson, a full professor in the Eastern Religions Department of Stanford University, tells a different, and more troubling, story. "Oh, yeah, he can absolutely turn people into bugs. He turned George Lucas into a gecko. I mean, His Holiness really hated The Phantom Menace. As all right-thinking people do. Jar-Jar Binks, man, seriously; what the hell was up with that?" Pausing thoughtfully, Simpson adds, "The curse wore off, and Lucas went on to make Attack Of the Clones. You've gotta be thinking: when he cursed Lucas, His Holiness was on to something."

            The fist-bump at the core of the controversy stems from the measures Lowery instituted to avoid H1N1 infection, including replacing handshakes with fist-bumps. "Well," an aide to the Mayor says, "I guess at least he doesn't have to worry about that now." A spokesman for the CDC confirms this analysis: "Of course bugs don't get swine flu. What are you, a moron?"

            Mayor Lowery's administrative team has been distraught since they became aware of the mayor's metamorphosis. "Dude, I almost smooshed my boss," said one. "That would have sucked. He's like 180 pounds. It would have totally ruined my shoes."

            The Mayor's team also expressed concern over the Lowery's political prospects as a giant bug. Lowery, who was named interim mayor in July upon the retirement of his predecessor, faces a special election in October. Commented one distraught aide, "How are we supposed to run a big giant bloodsucking bedbug for mayor? Well, we just thank god our opponent is a Republican. That kind of evens things up." Or perhaps more than evens things up: pre-election polling show Lowery's Republican opponent running 20 percentage points behind Lowery, 10 to 12 points behind any randomly-chosen cockroach, scorpion or fiddler crab, and 4 points behind Brussels sprouts.

            Despite this comfortable lead, the Mayor's handlers have expressed their eagerness for him to return to human form. "God, I hope he changes back soon," said one political aide. "I am positive that that's what he wants too. And, you know, some rotting fruit." The mayor's aides have tried spinning prayer wheels, chanting mantras and ordering out from Tibetan Gardens. (The yak sausage is said to be particularly spiritually effective. And also quite yummy.) Friends of the mayor have been placing calls to the Dalai Lama virtually around the clock. So far, though all such calls have gone straight to voicemail, where the outgoing message says just, "No bugs!"

So far, despite these efforts on his behalf, the mayor has shown no signs of reverting to his previous human form, and worry is rampant in the city. Members of the hastily-formed extremist group Memphisans Against Bug Mayors were arrested at Home Depot purchasing what a policeman described as "the biggest damn can of Raid I've ever seen." For the duration of the crisis, the city has outlawed the sale of giant fly-swatters.

            Asked to comment on the controversy, Mayor Lowery regurgitated his meal of blood and rotting fruit, then licked it up.