Gather 'round kids, it's time to tell a 55 word story and share it with Uncle G-man, the caretaker of our Friday fables.
“One bright morning in the middle of the night,
Two dead boys got up to fight—”
“Whoa!” yelled the PC Police. “You can’t tell that!”
“Hey, my grandparents told my parents.
Oral storytelling is traditional.
“It’s violent,” PC clucked.
“So are Fairy Tales and Video games.
What happened to childhood innocence?”
In case you don't want to be left hanging, even though there are probably other versions, the one Dad told went like this:
"One bright morning in the middle of the night, 2 dead boys got up to fight. Back to back they faced each other, drew their swords and shot each other. The deaf policemen heard the noise and came and shot the two dead boys. If you don't believe my lie is true, ask the blind policeman, he saw it all too."
Amazingly, I managed to grow up boringly normal in spite of such stories. That tale is tame compared to the one Mom's Dad told her, one we'd BEG her to tell us over and over again. It all began with a little pig who refused to cross over a stile as a man was hurrying to get home before dark....