The Other Side of the Ditch #5 (of 6)

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I joined the high school newspaper in my senior year for one reason—so I could have my own comic-strip. It was called Dweezlebwob 634 and featured talking cheese and a sentient severed finger, amongst other oddities. Despite this, the newspaper staff also saw fit to foolishly give me my own column, “The Other Side of the Ditch.” I squandered this honor by writing about ludicrous conspiracies and other facetious topics.

Below is the fifth installment—a clumsily rhyming kid’s story about rocks.

Note – I have drastically rewritten and expanded this story many times. One day, maybe, I’ll finally make it into an illustrated book. Below is the original as it appeared in the paper.

The Other Side of the Ditch
Number Five
31 March 1995

Often, as I sit here on the other side of the ditch, I contemplate the meaning of life and other riddles. Just like so many others I have pondered why rocks cannot move. One day I was enlightened by a small boy known only as “He who is of the sea.” He told me of a time long ago when rocks could move, and move they did.

Willard Willy Gooben Smit was just a little boy. He lived in a quiet village where never lived a toy. A village where the only little boy was he. A village where he was alone and thought he would always be. Willard Willy Gooben Smit grew tired of his boredom. So he up and left one day to travel to a kingdom.

He journeyed for forty nights and forty-one days when finally he found a land full of empty bays. Not a single ship sat in the thousands of their docks, for the waters were rapid and full of scary rocks. These rocks were no normal rocks, not nice at all, you see. When these rocks saw young Willard Willy Gooben Smit they screamed at him in glee. In a glee that only evil things would want to be.

Young Willard Willy Gooben Smit grew scared and off he ran, but right behind him were all the rocks that lived in all the land. Scores of rocks times 400 all at his poor feet. Willard Willy Gooben Smit did not think this was neat. The rocks drew near and young Willard Willy Gooben Smit was scared. He wanted to be safe yet the rocks did not about this care. Suddenly, BOONG ZANG ZOOLAR, he had a grand, great plan. He shook his fist three times real fast, then laid down flat his hand. Oh, the rocks now sat in fear of Willard Willy Gooben Smit. Rock, paper, scissors; he threw paper, what a clever wit! For paper always covers rock and rocks these villains were. They sat in fear, had lost the war and like hurt kittens purr. Still to this day, the beaten rocks sit down scared and purr. For they remember young Willard Willy Gooben Smit and what a wit he were.

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