When I was just a little guy, around 6 or 7 years old, I wanted a sword more than anything in the world. I was just gonzo for getting my hands on my own valorous, magnificent sword. Sticks from the yard, tent poles, and other improvised weaponry were just not cutting it.
So-- It was one fine day, while walking past my father's BBQ, that I noticed the semi-shiny, metal spit... with strange fork-like bits that could be detached and adjusted. Hmmm. After a bit of work, climbing up on stuff, and wrestling the spit off the BBQ, I was on a mission.
Taking off one of the fork things, and adjusting the other to be a sword-guard, I was looking at something magical. Like pulling some sword from a stone, I had pried my first sword from the rusty old BBQ! We never used that spit anyway, so I must be the rightful one!
That sword was incredible for the many long minutes of service that it gave me, until I bent it while slaying a giant spider (or maybe a tree), and then had it snatched away from me by an angry mother.
So-- It was one fine day, while walking past my father's BBQ, that I noticed the semi-shiny, metal spit... with strange fork-like bits that could be detached and adjusted. Hmmm. After a bit of work, climbing up on stuff, and wrestling the spit off the BBQ, I was on a mission.
Taking off one of the fork things, and adjusting the other to be a sword-guard, I was looking at something magical. Like pulling some sword from a stone, I had pried my first sword from the rusty old BBQ! We never used that spit anyway, so I must be the rightful one!
That sword was incredible for the many long minutes of service that it gave me, until I bent it while slaying a giant spider (or maybe a tree), and then had it snatched away from me by an angry mother.
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