Venomous Lice on the Rats of Destruction

By the shore of Lake Simile, an old man and his kid strolled, and whilst watching some trout jump and spit, the nipper mused, “The shadow of the past weighs more than a bigmouth with a bass drum.”  The elder drop-kicked a pine cone and remarked, “Kid, if your actual understanding of things ever begins to approach your ability to turn a ‘cutesy’ phrase then me and all of the out-of-doors will be fittingly impressed.”  (In one version of this legend, the ending has something to do with a murder-suicide, while other renditions simply HAVE no ending.)


A man who calls himself,
“The Venomous Lice
On The Rats Of Destruction”

is unlikely to ask your permission.


As the sun arose over the east ridge, and the people grouped for battle, the king rode to the head of the charge, raised himself up high in his stirrups and proclaimed, “On this most glorious days, Providence has given us each a trusty stallion, placed within our hearts the will to press forward, and , if you will look in your saddle bags, given us each our own personal map; unfortunately no two of them seem to be the same, but it is a bit late in the game for anything to be done about that now.”  And sotto voce added, “Even if I KNEW what to bloody do about it.”  And ride on they did, to many resplendent victories and defeats, with no one any the better or worse for the aforementioned, “map incident.”


Also, over near the road construction site lives a chap who continually misunderstands what other people are saying.  This has not held him back.


“Okay,” he said, “Let’s be fair to the rest of life and just state outright: If you don’t know what’s going on, you got no CHOICE but to whine.  Now let’s get out of here and clean up some of this mess.”