An old man named Jimmy-Paul sits in a rocking chair on the porch of his house. His dog lies beside the chair next to a case of whiskey and a pouch of tobacco. Across his lap are a guitar and a loaded shotgun. When joggers, bikers, cars and pretty much anything else goes by he rolls the butt of his cigarette up into a little ball and throws it at them. He remembers when these little balls used to hit trees. Many years ago he had left the city to go out into the most isolated spot in the forest he could find. It was upon on a big hill near a river. He planted a garden and ate wild food. He taught his dog to hunt and sand songs with the birds. Jimmy-Paul’s favourite pastime was to sit in the rocking chair on his porch and play guitar rocking back and forth.
One day he saw someone coming up the hill. He had not seen another human in years and was not anxious to see anymore of them. Having no weapons at his disposal, he built a slingshot and used it to fire a pitchfork at the invader who was quite narrowly missed. The intruder ran down the hill, tripping over a protruding root and rolling head over heels into a tree. The impact shattered the intruder’s spine resulting in total paralysis. One would think this was a bad thing but at least it numbed the pain when a porcupine fell out of the tree and landed quills first on the intruder’s face. Jimmy-Paul has a very broad definition of humour and he laughed for hours. By this time, his dog had all ready devoured most of the unfortunate intruder’s flesh and was building a fire to smoke the rest of it.
Supposedly it happened that the intruder was an official of a supposed governing body and his presence on the hill was to inform Jimmy-Paul that the land on which he had been living had been sold to a logging company. Thus, he was coming to ask that Jimmy-Paul vacate the land. Jimmy-Paul did not know this, but even if he did the official would have likely been launched from the slingshot. It just so happens, however, that Jimmy-Paul is not a stupid man and while examining the content’s of the victim’s pockets he realized the extent of the message anyway. A few days later, another two officials came up the hill. Jimmy-Paul loaded porcupines into his slingshot because he thought fondly of a porcupine to the face having seen it once all ready.
Soon the domestic army (AKA police) helicopters were flying over his house. Jimmy-Paul made lard bombs that when straight up into the air out of bear’s fat dumped into cauldrons of boiling water. The helicopter fell from the air and landed kind of sideways in a tree. The propellers thrashed through the branches and did a lot of damage. Two officers fell out of the door and landed on the ground headfirst and unconscious. Jimmy-Paul tied them to trees and left his dog to guard the prisoners. He climbed up into the helicopter and managed to coax it out of the tree and back into the sky. He flew for a few hours before finding a small town. Jimmy-Paul really didn’t want to see anymore people and really didn’t care about the helicopter. He also felt that he really needed a gun to protect his shack and his privacy. Thus, he flew the helicopter through the front door of the hunting shop and grabbed a shotgun and thousands of shells on the fly. Since that was fairly easy, he also flew through the liquor store. The helicopter was a bit wobbly on the flight back but he ended up having to crash-land it on some people who had wandered up the hill.
Jimmy-Paul returned to his captives. His dog had all ready eaten one the officers’ legs. The other officer was even more scared in anticipation of being eaten. He told the whole story about the loggers and promised to help Jimmy-Paul if he could leave. If Jimmy-Paul had been thinking clearly, he would have realized that cops carry guns and not left in search of one. However, he had really wanted to fly the helicopter. He also really preferred a shotgun to a pistol and the selection of the liquor store to that of the random fermented concoctions he made himself. However, as the one officer tried to run away carrying the one, Jimmy-Paul fired with both pistols and the shotgun. Jimmy-Paul didn’t think it was fair to shoot someone tied to a tree.
A few weeks later Jimmy- Paul heard logging going on a far distance from the shack. He walked out to greet the loggers but their personal logging machines were bullet proof. One of the logging machines was malfunctioning and the engine caught fire. Thus, Jimmy-Paul ran to the river and tried to build a dam to flood the area. Jimmy-Paul smoked like a chimney but he always rolled his butts into little tiny balls between his fingers to make sure they were out. The dam didn’t work very well. It managed to save a little bit of the forest around the shack but for as far as he could see the forest had burnt away. Before the new plants had taken advantage of this the construction vehicles were moving on to the land and within a year the hill stood amidst concrete and pavement as the last of the local trees. The dam had caused a moat to form around the bottom of the hill. The moat was beginning to smell from the bodies of yuppies who thought they’d make a Saturday afternoon out of canoeing out to the hill for a picnic. Concerned governmental officials and curiosity seekers also left some corpses in the water.
Some of the city dwellers tried firing back at Jimmy-Paul but he was such a good shot that he could shoot a bullet right out the air. He never got hit. The day Jimmy-Paul ran out of bullets they enlarged the ghetto to encompass his house and swallow up the hill. The dirt path in front of his shack became a busy road with noisy traffic and a sidewalk right in front of the steps of his porch. On the plus side, they put a gun store and a liquor store on either side of his shack. So Jimmy-Paul sat on his porch flicking cigarette butt balls at passers-by, drinking cases of whiskey and occasionally firing his shotgun. He played guitar a lot and sometimes Jimmy-Paul would busk from his front porch or rob the audience (depending on his mood). He really liked to shoot at tires and cars in general. The police refused to patrol the neighbourhood because they were scared.
The problem of the matter was that Jimmy-Paul was actually a really nice guy. He spent a lot of time playing guitar and singing songs for the locals and usually only managed to shoot really irritating or troublesome people. Thus, his killing spree went unstopped. Besides, no one else could out shoot him and the shack eventually became an impenetrable fortress. Not that it needed to be. The locals feared, respected and thought strangely fond of Jimmy-Paul. Perhaps because he was the oldest person any of them knew. Perhaps because he was one of the few people left who had ever seen a tree. Who knows? What we do know is that at the age of 146 years, the leg of Jimmy-Paul’s rocking chair he’d had for 120 years broke off. Jimmy-Paul was thrown from the porch into the street and paved over by a paving truck. No one’s seen him since but every once in a while a bullet pops out of the pavement.
One day he saw someone coming up the hill. He had not seen another human in years and was not anxious to see anymore of them. Having no weapons at his disposal, he built a slingshot and used it to fire a pitchfork at the invader who was quite narrowly missed. The intruder ran down the hill, tripping over a protruding root and rolling head over heels into a tree. The impact shattered the intruder’s spine resulting in total paralysis. One would think this was a bad thing but at least it numbed the pain when a porcupine fell out of the tree and landed quills first on the intruder’s face. Jimmy-Paul has a very broad definition of humour and he laughed for hours. By this time, his dog had all ready devoured most of the unfortunate intruder’s flesh and was building a fire to smoke the rest of it.
Supposedly it happened that the intruder was an official of a supposed governing body and his presence on the hill was to inform Jimmy-Paul that the land on which he had been living had been sold to a logging company. Thus, he was coming to ask that Jimmy-Paul vacate the land. Jimmy-Paul did not know this, but even if he did the official would have likely been launched from the slingshot. It just so happens, however, that Jimmy-Paul is not a stupid man and while examining the content’s of the victim’s pockets he realized the extent of the message anyway. A few days later, another two officials came up the hill. Jimmy-Paul loaded porcupines into his slingshot because he thought fondly of a porcupine to the face having seen it once all ready.
Soon the domestic army (AKA police) helicopters were flying over his house. Jimmy-Paul made lard bombs that when straight up into the air out of bear’s fat dumped into cauldrons of boiling water. The helicopter fell from the air and landed kind of sideways in a tree. The propellers thrashed through the branches and did a lot of damage. Two officers fell out of the door and landed on the ground headfirst and unconscious. Jimmy-Paul tied them to trees and left his dog to guard the prisoners. He climbed up into the helicopter and managed to coax it out of the tree and back into the sky. He flew for a few hours before finding a small town. Jimmy-Paul really didn’t want to see anymore people and really didn’t care about the helicopter. He also felt that he really needed a gun to protect his shack and his privacy. Thus, he flew the helicopter through the front door of the hunting shop and grabbed a shotgun and thousands of shells on the fly. Since that was fairly easy, he also flew through the liquor store. The helicopter was a bit wobbly on the flight back but he ended up having to crash-land it on some people who had wandered up the hill.
Jimmy-Paul returned to his captives. His dog had all ready eaten one the officers’ legs. The other officer was even more scared in anticipation of being eaten. He told the whole story about the loggers and promised to help Jimmy-Paul if he could leave. If Jimmy-Paul had been thinking clearly, he would have realized that cops carry guns and not left in search of one. However, he had really wanted to fly the helicopter. He also really preferred a shotgun to a pistol and the selection of the liquor store to that of the random fermented concoctions he made himself. However, as the one officer tried to run away carrying the one, Jimmy-Paul fired with both pistols and the shotgun. Jimmy-Paul didn’t think it was fair to shoot someone tied to a tree.
A few weeks later Jimmy- Paul heard logging going on a far distance from the shack. He walked out to greet the loggers but their personal logging machines were bullet proof. One of the logging machines was malfunctioning and the engine caught fire. Thus, Jimmy-Paul ran to the river and tried to build a dam to flood the area. Jimmy-Paul smoked like a chimney but he always rolled his butts into little tiny balls between his fingers to make sure they were out. The dam didn’t work very well. It managed to save a little bit of the forest around the shack but for as far as he could see the forest had burnt away. Before the new plants had taken advantage of this the construction vehicles were moving on to the land and within a year the hill stood amidst concrete and pavement as the last of the local trees. The dam had caused a moat to form around the bottom of the hill. The moat was beginning to smell from the bodies of yuppies who thought they’d make a Saturday afternoon out of canoeing out to the hill for a picnic. Concerned governmental officials and curiosity seekers also left some corpses in the water.
Some of the city dwellers tried firing back at Jimmy-Paul but he was such a good shot that he could shoot a bullet right out the air. He never got hit. The day Jimmy-Paul ran out of bullets they enlarged the ghetto to encompass his house and swallow up the hill. The dirt path in front of his shack became a busy road with noisy traffic and a sidewalk right in front of the steps of his porch. On the plus side, they put a gun store and a liquor store on either side of his shack. So Jimmy-Paul sat on his porch flicking cigarette butt balls at passers-by, drinking cases of whiskey and occasionally firing his shotgun. He played guitar a lot and sometimes Jimmy-Paul would busk from his front porch or rob the audience (depending on his mood). He really liked to shoot at tires and cars in general. The police refused to patrol the neighbourhood because they were scared.
The problem of the matter was that Jimmy-Paul was actually a really nice guy. He spent a lot of time playing guitar and singing songs for the locals and usually only managed to shoot really irritating or troublesome people. Thus, his killing spree went unstopped. Besides, no one else could out shoot him and the shack eventually became an impenetrable fortress. Not that it needed to be. The locals feared, respected and thought strangely fond of Jimmy-Paul. Perhaps because he was the oldest person any of them knew. Perhaps because he was one of the few people left who had ever seen a tree. Who knows? What we do know is that at the age of 146 years, the leg of Jimmy-Paul’s rocking chair he’d had for 120 years broke off. Jimmy-Paul was thrown from the porch into the street and paved over by a paving truck. No one’s seen him since but every once in a while a bullet pops out of the pavement.
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