May 03, 2005
This past Sunday I went to my parents' house to help out with some yardwork, since they know what a nature lover I am. I had the priviledge of clearing branches and old wood, and bringing them to the curb. Pretty monotonous, but at least I got to meet this nice man, Mr. Brickman.
He watch approvingly while I did my thing. Until trouble hit.
As some of you may remember (or even had the distinct honor of experiencing first-hand), a few of my co-workers and I had a catapult-building contest a few years back. (man, three years later and that still sounds nerdy). It was originally slated to be an annual event, so I decided to keep mine when tossing was over. Since the local catapult storage facility was full, I stashed my disassembled seige machine behind my parents' shed. Fast-forward three years later, and I've been assigned to clear out that very area.
With no scheduled catapult contests in sight, and the Turks kept safely at bay, I really had no reason to hang on to it. So with a heavy heart, I brought it to the curb.
I was very sad. So was Mr. Brickman.