Watery Son
Back in the old days, they'd gather on the hills and watch the sun set.
As romantic as this sounds, sometimes the going got tedious, waiting around from around half past five until sometimes eight or nine at night when the sun finally slipped over the horizon, down behind the hills. For Bill, it was a matter of stopping and smelling the roses and then stopping, smelling the roses until you lost all sensation in your nose and wound up being unable to sleep at night because your nose had gone tingly and hurt just the tiniest little bit when you breathed in. He knew this because he'd done that, once, in the interest of coming up with a valid comparison to their daily ritual of watching the sun make a slow, slow arc in the sky downwards towards the Earth.
"It is necessary," the elders said to him, when he asked why. "It is what druids do."
When he asked why was it necessary they just laughed in that condescending sort of way and said he'd understand when he was older.
When he was thinking about it later, he thought of telling them he aged so much during the watching process that he figured he was, at the very least, old enough to cut a few corners and maybe come out to the hill for the last hour or so when the sun was setting. Of course, that was later, and there was no point hunting them all down, getting them all together so he could zing them with that one. He'd probably run it at Fred, at whom he always ran this sort of thing. Fred appreciated that sort of thing, and probably thought Bill was a lot more clever than he actually was, due to certain facts and time slippages that made themselves into Bill's narratives when he retold them. Usually making it out like Bill came up with witticisms much quicker in the story than he did in real life.
That was what they were doing this evening, watching the sun set, with the odd glance over at Esmerelda, an unfortunate name for a fortunately endowed young woman in the group. She was the only reason Bill didn't test the elders patience and take an evening or two off, hanging out around his room, rushing out to catch the sunset, pretending that he thought they were still on daylight savings time or something to ease suspicions that he might just be shirking his duties.
Bill didn't quite notice at first when the shot rang out, but he did notice when most of the other druids, including the object of his stare, Esmerelda, came rumbling towards him like a herd of black robed wildebeests stampeding.
"At least," he thought, when the first druid stomped all over his foot, "this is better than just sitting here, waiting for the sun to set."
To be continued...
disclaimer:
We will see you fellas next week.
And not a day sooner.
Not a day longer. Probably.
Well, with Labor Day happening and the last days of summer slipping away (except in California, where it's always summer, and the livin' is always crazy... err, easy, livin' is always easy, that is), we may be out one day later than you might normally expect. So the Tuesday.
For those of you counting along at home.
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We would also like to point out that Tom Brady's interview in GQ this week (or whenever it was published) almost obviously implies that he reads Sane on a regular basis. Don't you wanna be like Tom?
Read Sane. Make your friends read Sane. Collect trading cards of all our writers. Trade them with your friends. Soon you'll be the one everyone is talking about, and not because you had your picture taken with a goat.
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