(no subject)
I just thought I would bring this classic back.
The year was 1873. I was born in a weather balloon about a mile in the air approximately 100 miles off the coast of Tunisia. My father was a Moroccan goat herder and my mother was a Peruvian basket weaver. I lived a somewhat sheltered childhood in a small Tunisian village mainly consisting of of llama breeders and the occasional aquatic fowl. It was in this quaint little village that something happened to me that would forever change my life. It was my twelfth birthday and it was the day that I became a man. My father took me with him to herd his goats. We rounded a corner that led to the beautiful green pasture that my father brought his goats to everyday since he was 7. But today something was different. We looked across what used to be a beautiful green pasture, and indeed, it was still beautiful and green, but today it was covered with thousands of llamas. I glanced, afraid, at my father just in time to see fear strike his face.
"Do you know how to use a gun?" he asked emotionless. My trembling lips rendered me unable to respond. It was at that moment that a pack of about ten scary looking Tunisian men aproached.
"Who is that?" I asked, still trembling. My father took the stance of a Power-Ranger getting ready to Morph.
"The Llama herders" he replied with a voice that would send fear into even the most battle hardened Tunisian goat herder. I felt a lump rise in my throat.
"You better get your stinkin' goats off our pastures" said one of them, obviously the leader.
"This pasture has been in my family for generations!" My father replied rather camly.
"Well, not anymore!" The llama herder whipped out a knife.
"Mr. Ewell? Mr. Ewell!" My rather girly, cracking adolescent voice rose over the clamor and silenced the malay. " I know you. I'm Scout Bragan! I go to school with your boy. He's a real nice boy, Mr. Ewell. I beat him up more than a few times. He even came over to our house to eat syrup." The llama man stared down at his feet.
"Lets get out of here, boys." The llama herders gathered up their llamas and headed out.
A few days later, my father told me something I'll never forget.
" Remember, Scout, You can shoot all the llamas you can kill, if you can hit them, but remember, It's a sin to kill a goat."
After a short stint as President of Tunisia, I decided to head off to the states. I enlisted in the army, went off to 'nam, and lost my earlobes in a freak explosive accident. I earned a purple heart fighting beside John Kerry. On my arrival back home, I decided to settle down and to this day, I construct hand-made door handles out of shards of broken glass. Thank you, sincerely for taking interest in my life.
Peace, Love, & Meerkats
Lorenzo T. Magnificent (The "T" stands for The)
The year was 1873. I was born in a weather balloon about a mile in the air approximately 100 miles off the coast of Tunisia. My father was a Moroccan goat herder and my mother was a Peruvian basket weaver. I lived a somewhat sheltered childhood in a small Tunisian village mainly consisting of of llama breeders and the occasional aquatic fowl. It was in this quaint little village that something happened to me that would forever change my life. It was my twelfth birthday and it was the day that I became a man. My father took me with him to herd his goats. We rounded a corner that led to the beautiful green pasture that my father brought his goats to everyday since he was 7. But today something was different. We looked across what used to be a beautiful green pasture, and indeed, it was still beautiful and green, but today it was covered with thousands of llamas. I glanced, afraid, at my father just in time to see fear strike his face.
"Do you know how to use a gun?" he asked emotionless. My trembling lips rendered me unable to respond. It was at that moment that a pack of about ten scary looking Tunisian men aproached.
"Who is that?" I asked, still trembling. My father took the stance of a Power-Ranger getting ready to Morph.
"The Llama herders" he replied with a voice that would send fear into even the most battle hardened Tunisian goat herder. I felt a lump rise in my throat.
"You better get your stinkin' goats off our pastures" said one of them, obviously the leader.
"This pasture has been in my family for generations!" My father replied rather camly.
"Well, not anymore!" The llama herder whipped out a knife.
"Mr. Ewell? Mr. Ewell!" My rather girly, cracking adolescent voice rose over the clamor and silenced the malay. " I know you. I'm Scout Bragan! I go to school with your boy. He's a real nice boy, Mr. Ewell. I beat him up more than a few times. He even came over to our house to eat syrup." The llama man stared down at his feet.
"Lets get out of here, boys." The llama herders gathered up their llamas and headed out.
A few days later, my father told me something I'll never forget.
" Remember, Scout, You can shoot all the llamas you can kill, if you can hit them, but remember, It's a sin to kill a goat."
After a short stint as President of Tunisia, I decided to head off to the states. I enlisted in the army, went off to 'nam, and lost my earlobes in a freak explosive accident. I earned a purple heart fighting beside John Kerry. On my arrival back home, I decided to settle down and to this day, I construct hand-made door handles out of shards of broken glass. Thank you, sincerely for taking interest in my life.
Peace, Love, & Meerkats
Lorenzo T. Magnificent (The "T" stands for The)