Lamenting on days past, the ogre leant on his club, eating the back half of a goat. The pouring rain bounced off his square shoulders and soaked his loincloth.

At the base of the hill, a young man stood with nothing but a sling. He’s constantly pushing the fringe out of his eyes while swinging a pebble to his side. The young man yells,

“Goliath! I have come to fell you to keep my village safe!”

Slurping the intestines up like spaghetti, the ogre looks down at the young man and points to his own face in confusion; the blood drips down his chest. The young man unleashes his missile. It flies thirty feet up the hill and smacks the ogre.

The pebble leaves a small red mark on the ogre’s head between his eyebrows. The ogre looks down at the young man and grabs his club, which is the same size as a tree; it even looks like one without any of the branches but with all the roots; he takes a step down the hill and brings the club down on the man.

The ogre scraped the man out of the mud and ate him whole. He used the sling as a floss.

The village was spared.

Not that it was in danger.

David is remembered as a hero.

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