Mark Trade
Contributor
This is a small sample from my latest book, it's not a self-promo, just a commonsense read.
On a more humorous side, my great–great–great grandfather arrived in Australia from England, around the time of the gold rush fever. He arrived in Melbourne, just as they were handing out the forms for staking a claim and giving out pegs for those interested in staking such a claim, in the fields. He was given his form and pegs and casually wandered over to the local pub, cigar hanging from his mouth, just as everyone else was jumping on their horses and wagons and racing out to stake the best bits of land. But, Sir, cried the local Mayor, “you will surely miss out on the best sites, if you don't act quickly”. Go F*ck ya-self, mumbled Gramp's and went to down a few whiskeys.
Several hours later, he emerges, out under the hot aussie sun, climbs on his horse, just as everyone else was heading back into town, to claim their site. Again, the cry goes out, “Sir you were warned”. Yeah go F*ck ya-self, mumbles Gramp's. He trots on out to the fields, stakes his claim and heads back into town, being passed by everyone going in the opposite direction, back out to their claims, with picks, shovels, supplies and what ever else, their horse or wagon could hold.
Gramp's walks on over to the general store, where he is met by the storekeeper, “sorry sir, but we are all out of supplies”. How can you be out of F*ckin supplies, you don't know what I want, barks Gramp's. Gimme 2 boxes of dynamite.!!! Straps the boxes to his horse, walks on over to the office, registers his claim, climbs into the saddle and trots on out to the site to start his new venture. Once he is there, he is met by hundreds of people working away with picks and shovels, digging and throwing earth in all directions.
Gramp's continues on up the hill and over the ridge, where upon, he climbs down from his horse and takes the 2 boxes of dynamite and prepares his site. Several hours later, there is a hell of a thud of an explosion, followed shortly thereafter, by another groundpounding humungous explosion.
The local constable, races up and over the hill, only to find Gramp's, sitting calmly on the ground lighting another cigar. Not more than 15 minutes later, the cries come from the other side of the hill. The prospectors are angry, because the river has stopped flowing.!! Gramp's had dammed the river on the other side of the hill. He had legally staked his claim, a peg on either side of the river and the other 2 pegs, 5 miles down the river. Now if the prospectors wanted water to sieve and sluice, for their gold, they had to negotiate with him. → The moral of the story is “Don”t Follow the Sheep”.
On a more humorous side, my great–great–great grandfather arrived in Australia from England, around the time of the gold rush fever. He arrived in Melbourne, just as they were handing out the forms for staking a claim and giving out pegs for those interested in staking such a claim, in the fields. He was given his form and pegs and casually wandered over to the local pub, cigar hanging from his mouth, just as everyone else was jumping on their horses and wagons and racing out to stake the best bits of land. But, Sir, cried the local Mayor, “you will surely miss out on the best sites, if you don't act quickly”. Go F*ck ya-self, mumbled Gramp's and went to down a few whiskeys.
Several hours later, he emerges, out under the hot aussie sun, climbs on his horse, just as everyone else was heading back into town, to claim their site. Again, the cry goes out, “Sir you were warned”. Yeah go F*ck ya-self, mumbles Gramp's. He trots on out to the fields, stakes his claim and heads back into town, being passed by everyone going in the opposite direction, back out to their claims, with picks, shovels, supplies and what ever else, their horse or wagon could hold.
Gramp's walks on over to the general store, where he is met by the storekeeper, “sorry sir, but we are all out of supplies”. How can you be out of F*ckin supplies, you don't know what I want, barks Gramp's. Gimme 2 boxes of dynamite.!!! Straps the boxes to his horse, walks on over to the office, registers his claim, climbs into the saddle and trots on out to the site to start his new venture. Once he is there, he is met by hundreds of people working away with picks and shovels, digging and throwing earth in all directions.
Gramp's continues on up the hill and over the ridge, where upon, he climbs down from his horse and takes the 2 boxes of dynamite and prepares his site. Several hours later, there is a hell of a thud of an explosion, followed shortly thereafter, by another groundpounding humungous explosion.
The local constable, races up and over the hill, only to find Gramp's, sitting calmly on the ground lighting another cigar. Not more than 15 minutes later, the cries come from the other side of the hill. The prospectors are angry, because the river has stopped flowing.!! Gramp's had dammed the river on the other side of the hill. He had legally staked his claim, a peg on either side of the river and the other 2 pegs, 5 miles down the river. Now if the prospectors wanted water to sieve and sluice, for their gold, they had to negotiate with him. → The moral of the story is “Don”t Follow the Sheep”.
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