#grouchomac

The King of the Banjo made his daily throne of cardboard and lost dreams down a side street no one entered. Had any asked, he could have told them no one knew the origin of the word, that banjos had variants of strings which meant there were many pretenders to his throne. Once, he had been hunted down and interviewed, name and life hurled across radio waves. They had come back like the tide, with force almost enough to destroy his kingdom. The Banjo had not broke. The King had not fallen though it was a nearer thing than even he knew. There are crowns that cannot exist in sunlight and dull even in shadow. There are honours that confer no power, and such was his kingdom. The King played, and his banjo had as many strings as it needed and his voice was such that the Devil would have sold himself for it. Those who passed the street heard, and those few who walked down would are the King of the Banjo. And they would pause, the revel-seekers, and some would say;"I though you'd be --." And the King would smile and they would lose themselves in the kingdom of music. Sometimes he even let them leave intact. But the Banjo was a jealous god and no King gains a throne without a cost.

hee hee hee - i like when you are afraid, and not just a little afraid, that high pitched gingerbread cookie voice afraid! (evil laughter) that's just the kind of fear i crave!!!!

he throws the rocks! he picks them up in his mouth and tosses them onto my key- board