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‘The Dragon’

4.20.2006

Once upon a time there was a great dragon. He was feared throughout the land and had a
fiery breath. The people of the nearby village would see this monster occasionally and
usually ended up dead.

The village people developed an alert system so that when someone thought they caught
a glimpse of the dragon, they could warn the rest of the town.

And sure enough, one day, the local blacksmith, Gary, decided he definitely caught a
glimpse of a dragon’s tail. So, just as he was told, went up to a tall post in the center of
the village and grabbed the rope dangling down.

A loud ‘Damn it!’ tolled throughout the entire village.

It turned out that that tall post was actually the King’s beeramid he had been working on
all night, and the string he pulled was actually his own hand yanking a can from the
bottom of the beeramid.

Gary started to run.

The angry king raced down the steps of his castle, chasing his enemy past the parlor, past
the den, the Hendrix blacklight poster and the washer and dryer, until finally he grabbed
hold of Gary’s quivering arm.

“God damn it, what the hell is this shit?? What’s your fucking problem, Gary? We had
that thing like eight stories high!”

“I’m sorry sire; I didn’t mean to crack your vase. I was only hoping to warn the village
of the dragon! The dragon I say!”

“Shut the fuck up and go to bed, Gary. I told you not to drink on four nights without sleep
and twelve hits of acid.”

“Fuck!”

Gary proceeded to barf and go to sleep for a very long time. Sometimes throwing up, then
sleeping, sometimes waking up to blow chunks and go back to sleep, and sometimes both
sleeping and barfing simultaneously.

No one ever saw the dragon again.