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My mother told me part of one great secret before she left me in the safety of the hermit Monks of Magor, the dying descendants of the great hunter and giant, Nimrod. She told me of my fate in the world - that I would carry the essence of evil and have it thrash trapped in my moaning stomach foot, churning and angry. She told me that she passed on to me the tremendous mental strength and the clever, foxy wits of her mother and the calm, cast-iron guts of her father (who, it should be noted, once ate 100 boiled eggs at a sitting) but that I also carry the malignant blood of my father.
She cried when she spoke of him. She cried for the seemingly decent, if not a slightly priggish man who was unwittingly responsible for the death and torment of countless thousands by spilling his lethal self into a book that should never have been written, and certainly never read. My father, Graylick Dramblegumper, the most hideous and evil force on this planet, the most vile and wretched thing to have been, the tumour on the lungs of decency, my father.
I know he is alive and I must find him and kill him. I will vomit this vile thing from my stomach foot onto him and drown him in a thousand black holes of malice and its infinite fecundity. This is my destiny, and I meet it unafraid and very alone. Yes, it's me, the duty is mine, I carry the salve for the wounds of the world in my stomach foot.
Date Written: June 21, 2005
Author: Templeton Dink
Average Vote: 3.5