Now, some of you Free Kingdomers might be impressed by my name. Nor is it Alejandro, Alton, Aldris, or Alonzo. Alan would also be acceptable, as would have been Alfred-though I really don’t have an inclination toward butlery. I’m certain that you can think of other names ‘Al’ might be short for. ‘Al’ also could be short for ‘Alexander.’ I wouldn’t have minded this either, since Alexander is a great name. If they weren’t, then it certainly wasn’t the name’s fault. In fact, you have probably known an Albert or two in your lifetime, and chances are that they were decent fellows. Why do I say this, you ask? Well, you see, my parents named me ‘Al.’ In most cases, this would be short for ‘Albert,’ which is a fine name. In fact, up until my thirteenth birthday, I really only knew one thing about my parents: that they had a twisted sense of humor. It was an odd thought, since I hadn’t grown up with my parents. In my case, the moment of impending death made me think about my parents. If, on the other hand, you have faced such a situation, then you are probably dead, and aren’t likely to be reading this. If you’ve never faced such a situation, then you’ll simply have to take my word. It does funny things to the brain to be in such danger-in fact, it often makes a person pause and reflect upon his life. So, there I was, tied to an altar made from outdated encyclopedias, about to get sacrificed to the dark powers by a cult of evil Librarians.Īs you might imagine, that sort of situation can be quite disturbing.
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