The Storytellers.

The fireside of the fireplace
Was lit with a fire
Crackling and sizzling
And sitting beside it
Were two old men, arguing.
Said one, “I can tell a better story
Than you!”
“No, I can!” said the other.
“Why I can-”
“We can settle it in a convenient
Way, which we can tell
The best story we have heard
And judge it upon its keenness.
The one who is ready shall start.”

V – The First Man’s Tale
The boy held up a V sign
For victory. He had succeeded
In whipping off the frosting
Of his mother’s cupcakes,
A very glorious sensation indeed.
As he licked his finger
His mother came in and yelled,
“Doobama flaggie! Wabbawabbawoowoo!”
His mother was African,
But that didn’t matter.
As she left, he planned on attacking
Again to her cupcakes. He dashed
Down the stairs, and swiped all the frosting
Off her cupcakes.
“Doobama flaggie!” yelled she, dancing
As if she was touched by God.
“Ouch.” he thought, and held
Up his finger and found it bleeding.
“Mom, my finger’s bleeding!”
“Hold on, son.” She got out a huge mask
And danced to get rid of the germs.
“Is it any better?”
“No,” he said, “What cut my finger?”
“I hid a thum’tack in the frostin’
And I decorated it with sulfur and POISON.”
The boy screamed and ran
To his room, slamming the door.
He looked at himself in the mirror
And held up a V sign for victory.

The second man giggled, and said,
“That’s nothing. Wait’ll you hear mine.”

The Maze Of Life – The Second Man’s Tale
Obstacles are all around me
As I run through this semi-dark terror.
I cannot see any hope of getting out of it, because
I hope to get out of this maze
As soon as possible. Aha!
I have escaped the maze!
But, unfortunately, there is another one
Coming just up ahead, and
That is another hard task
For me, and I begin. The last one
Was a dramatic improvement in my health,
Now this one is for my existence,
The last and hardest one of all.
I go in, and there in front of me
Is a hall branching into two.
I choose one and I take it.
Ah, DEAD END! I back away
And go into a huge spiral.
What seems like forever is
The time I took going to the middle,
And there was a route.
I took that and I went into a dead end.
I stopped in and rest, and I sleep
While the maze mysteriously changes
Its patterns. I wake and struggle
Only to succeed in falling in a dead end –
My grave.

The first man gasped, and then giggled.
“My story was still the best.”
“No, mine was. It symbolized
My philosophical view of life
And reflected my definition of life.”
“Before we engaged in our first argument,
We had no idea of our talents.” said the first.
“Before we engage again in our argument,
I told the funniest story,
And you told the serious story.”
The second one smiled and shook
The hands of the first and both
Of them stared at the embers
Of the dying fire.

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