Big John Shatterstone has died. We don’t rightly know his age, but he were 80 if he were a day. Sure as the nose on your face, Big John’s seen some things in those years of his, I tell thee.
Tall as two horses and twice as handsome, old Big John didn’t come from no weak stock, that’s for sure. His fists were the size of eight guinea pigs, and were just as industrious. His shoulders were broad enough for jilted lovers to jump off, while his legs had the circumference of an oversized novelty gold-wrapped chocolate coin.
In fact, all of Big John’s body parts were comparable to things that are normally larger than those body parts.
Legend has it that Big John Shatterstone were once walking through Dinglefell forest when a stranger appeared from nowhere and challenged him to arm wrestle. Never one to back down, John said ‘Aye’. As they were fighting, arms locked, with their elbows on a tree stump, John saw horrific creatures appear from the forest and watch the two of ‘em. The legend goes that after three hours of back and forth, John finally pushed his opponent’s hand to the stump. His opponent screamed out in pain about a lost soul and ran off into the forest, while the creatures vanished. Depending on whoever’s telling the legend, the stranger was either Satan or King George V.
Big John were followed everywhere by his trusty dog, Enkidu. Tall as a six-inch rock sitting on top of a three-foot-tall cupboard, Enkidu was as gentle with children as he was vicious with vagabonds. Whenever Big John came to town, people would always comment that he owned the handsomest Labradoodle in the region.
Once, Big John were first on the scene when an orphanage had caught fire. In and out of the building he ran, grabbing screaming children and the like, carrying them to safety. As the building finally collapsed, one kid were still inside, and he perished. Big John spent ten years hunting down members of the fire’s family, killing them off one by one.
As the owner of the finest collection of miniature Japanese bonsai trees in the county, Big John had cultivated some of the most delicate and fragile tiny trees known to man. With branches the size of pigeons’ feet and leaves the size of tears falling from a colicky baby’s face, the trees offered John solace from the world outside, a brief moment of quiet contemplation in an otherwise unruly life.
Big John Shatterstone, born at some point (almost definitely), died 2017. His funeral will have no frills or fripperies.
Tall as two horses and twice as handsome, old Big John didn’t come from no weak stock, that’s for sure. His fists were the size of eight guinea pigs, and were just as industrious. His shoulders were broad enough for jilted lovers to jump off, while his legs had the circumference of an oversized novelty gold-wrapped chocolate coin.
In fact, all of Big John’s body parts were comparable to things that are normally larger than those body parts.
Legend has it that Big John Shatterstone were once walking through Dinglefell forest when a stranger appeared from nowhere and challenged him to arm wrestle. Never one to back down, John said ‘Aye’. As they were fighting, arms locked, with their elbows on a tree stump, John saw horrific creatures appear from the forest and watch the two of ‘em. The legend goes that after three hours of back and forth, John finally pushed his opponent’s hand to the stump. His opponent screamed out in pain about a lost soul and ran off into the forest, while the creatures vanished. Depending on whoever’s telling the legend, the stranger was either Satan or King George V.
Big John were followed everywhere by his trusty dog, Enkidu. Tall as a six-inch rock sitting on top of a three-foot-tall cupboard, Enkidu was as gentle with children as he was vicious with vagabonds. Whenever Big John came to town, people would always comment that he owned the handsomest Labradoodle in the region.
Once, Big John were first on the scene when an orphanage had caught fire. In and out of the building he ran, grabbing screaming children and the like, carrying them to safety. As the building finally collapsed, one kid were still inside, and he perished. Big John spent ten years hunting down members of the fire’s family, killing them off one by one.
As the owner of the finest collection of miniature Japanese bonsai trees in the county, Big John had cultivated some of the most delicate and fragile tiny trees known to man. With branches the size of pigeons’ feet and leaves the size of tears falling from a colicky baby’s face, the trees offered John solace from the world outside, a brief moment of quiet contemplation in an otherwise unruly life.
Big John Shatterstone, born at some point (almost definitely), died 2017. His funeral will have no frills or fripperies.
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