A Peasant's Tale: Part 1
Hello again friends! Ryan and Jon here with more stuff from our thinkmeat! Today we've got a special treat! We're starting our absurd multi-part series "A Peasant's Tale".Do you wonder what drives our peasant? Why has he come to the city? Is he running to something or from something? Find out! First things first, though:
Just a few days shy of our halfway point, we hit 50% of our goal! That's awesome folks! Thanks so much for the continued support! We've still got a ways to go, but we're rolling right along! Keep spreading the word!
Just a reminder: tomorrow we're recording a Live Podcast in which we'll take Q&A from any listening backers! We'll send out a Backer-Only Update tomorrow before the recording with the phone number and skype address you can call to chat with us! Otherwise, we'll just be talking about, stuff... and things... you know, the usual!
When: 2pm (14:00) PST, Saturday, May 18
Fear not! If you can't make our live stream, we'll post the podcast on our site shortly afterwards!
Now, without further delay, we're pleased to present the questionable narrative that is:
In the year 1986 (according to the heathen’s calendar), another boy was born to an already large family. His given name was nothing more than a squiggly line scrawled on the birth certificate by a painfully illiterate father. After the first 8 children, his parents had exhausted their reserve of unique names and had taken to calling them boy one, boy two, girl one, girl two, and so on. Our hero was boy six, under this naming scheme, though in reality he was the tenth boy born to the ageing couple.
The peasant grew up working the family farm. He was milking cows by the age of four, plucking chickens by eight, and had developed close, personal relationships with some of the other animals by twelve. By fourteen, on the cusp of manhood, he was engaged to be wed to a fine young ewe when tragedy befell their union.
The bride-to-be had been awarded more and more freedoms as their engagement lengthened, though with those freedoms, a dark desire for more grew within her. One fateful day in late spring, she made a run for it. She hauled hoof as quickly as her little legs allowed, only to meet, and subsequently be struck down by, a large, white sport utility vehicle. The peasant vowed that he should ne’er love again.
As the years passed, he busied himself with work: tilling the fields, planting and harvesting crops, all the tedious trappings of farm life which you can be sure your narrator is completely familiar with. While he wallowed in the pain of lost love, his brothers and sisters all seemed to pair off and begin new, happy lives. Envy was never in his nature, though, and he attended every hillbilly wedding with a joyous smile on his face. Despite the smile, the hurt was never far from the surface. For long years he did his duty on the family farm, until the eve of his twenty-first birthday, when tragedy fell once more...
Disclaimer: This is very very non-factual, and not based on either of our lives, so in case there are any sheep out there reading: Don't you get any ideas. We're not like that. We're classy.