As you may remember, I met my wife in Pana Valley. I have since to write about her, because of a most terrible crime that I have committed. This o' most ungrateful-- o' most reckless and foolish crime--has been haunting me for the past several nights. I will elaborate on this later.

For now, I will continue where I left off: the night of our wedding. (If you haven't yet already, I advise you to first read the tale of Pana Valley, which narrates how my beautiful wife and I met.)

My wife was right. We were lost, lost in the Jungle of the Retarded Ninjas.

This was a most terrible and terrifying place. You see, retarded ninjas are amongst the most formidable and viperous of creatures. Due to their state of mental denormalization, it is essentially impossible to predict their attacks. Their movies are without reason--without logic--and their formations change like the expressions on a peevish baby's face.

After the first of several attacks, I saw my life flash before eyes more times than I could count (i.e. more than 4 times). Each time, my wife, while fending off her own retarded attackers, came to my rescue and saved my life.

As I quickly came to realize, my wife was a master of martial arts. Her moves were swift and graceful. As dawn rapidly approached, my fears began to dissipate with the mist. The retarded ninjas were dropping like brick possums to my wife's flying-fowl-hidden-hippo chops.

By the next morning, we had fought our way out of the Jungle of the Retarded Ninjas. We headed due west, to the Sea of the Mediterraneans.

"Wow," I finally said, breaking the silence and still catching my breath, "I.. never.. knew you.. were so good.. in.. fighting."

"Yea, well, that was nothing," she replied, coyly. "I used to watch a lot of martial arts flicks when I was young." I could see she was blushing.

I was in awe of my wife. In one night, I had learned so much about her. And, they were all great things!

Over the next several weeks, I would discover that I had merely glimpsed the skim of her talent... and my awe for her would manifest into something much more dangerous.

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Today, I was diagnosed with a rare and fatal medical condition called costochondritis.

According to eMedicineHealth.com:
"Costochondritis is an inflammation of the junctions where the upper ribs join with the cartilage that holds them to the breastbone or sternum. The condition causes localized chest pain that you can reproduce by pushing on the cartilage in the front of your ribcage. People with costochondritis typically have 1 month to 2 years to live."

How irreparably changed my life has become. It's always the last days of summer and I've been left out in the cold with no door to get back in. I'll grant you I've had more than my share of poignant moments. Life passes most people by when they're busy making grand plans for it. Throughout my lifetime I've left pieces of my heart here and there. And now, there's almost barely enough to stay alive. But I force a smile, knowing that my ambition far exceeded my talent. There are no more white horses or pretty ladies at my door.

If I die before seeing my wife again, please tell her that I'm sorry.

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The is the second of a series of entries dedicated to my lovely wife. You can read Part I here.

For the next several weeks, my wife and I traveled westward, across Europe, towards the Mountains under the Setting Sun. We spent everyday together, and with each day, I was more and more amazed by my wife's wide array of talents.

As I said before, I was in awe of my wife.

Below is a picture of her. I guess it's about time to share one, heh.



After our first "home-cooked" meal, I realized that she was an uncanny chef, able to extract the most delicious of flavours from the most putrid of ingredients, such as wild Greek ass-grass and dead, rotting ginger-sea turtles. She was also a great singer and musician. At night, she could point out all the constellations. She was a great hunter, a great basketball player, a great carpenter, a great gymnast, a great chemist, a great electrical engineer, a great detective, a great bifurcator, a great conversationalist, a great farmer, a great laugher, a great driver, a great escape artist, a great inventor--

--a great everything! Every new thing we tried, she quickly excelled at. I felt like a fool at times, as I desperately tried to grasp the fundamentals of the new tasks at hand.

Was there anything that I could do better than her? I felt myself asking that question a lot... more and more with each passing day. And, with each successive day, my desire and need to prove myself grew stronger and stronger. All I needed was to surpass her in one task. Just one.

This became my obsession... and, little did I realize, I'd be willing to do anything to achieve this. Anything. And then it happened.

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Man, I was so hungry. A Chinese newspaper diet is not only totally unfulfilling, but gives me massive diarrhea, thus leaving me hungrier and weaker than I was previously.

Anyway, in a frantic fit of hunger... I opened my fridge hoping that, by some strange chance of great fortune, I were to find some food (instead of empty shelves filled w/ Chinese newspapers).

Much to my surprise, I opened up one of those little drawers and found a peach inside. The peach was very soft and moist, and had a darkish hue that was unbecoming of a peach. It must've been in there for 2 months. Seriously.



Well, anyway, I am now eating that peach. I feel very nervous--not to mention nauseous. Each bite is taken with great caution, as my weakened taste buds search for any signs of grotesque flavors. Wish me luck! If I fall asleep tonight never to awaken again, after poisoning myself with toxic peach poisons, please... I beseech you!... please, tell my wife that I'm sorry.

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Not sure whether to start in the beginning of my travels, or the end, so I'll start somewhere in the middle. I'll start with the tale of Pana Valley.

Somewhere between Morocco and Algeria, there's a little known place called Pana Valley. In fact, I doubt that you could even find it on the map.

Anyway, I started off my travels with a whole $5 in my pocket. By the time I arrived at PV, I was broke and shoeless. I hadn't had food in about a week, and my breath smelled like shit.

Left with few options, I sold myself into the slave market so that at least I could get some food, shelter, and a few dunkaroos in my wallet. (Dunkaroos was the local currency. It's widely used in the Meandersi Province.)

Ironically, my owner was a poor man. He bought me as a desperate means of saving his failing grape & banana farm. As it turned out, I had a natural talent for g&b breeding, and soon, the business was thriving. Local farms closed down, and we saw our market share grow exponentially.

My owner was very grateful for my help and treated me well. He had to. Though I had asserted my loyalty to him, I could tell he was still worried that I may run away.

One day he approached me and beseeched that I marry his daughter. Of course, I resisted, but he seemed relentless and I was already undeniably in love with her, as she was quite the babe. And so, after a few hours of paddywackeling I consented, and he arranged for our wedding ceremony to be on the very next day.

News broke out instantly, as the media people of PV were always hidden in the foilage and sewage system. This celebration was gonna be huge. My owner, and soon to be in-law father, hired the most famous entertainers in the valley, including Mickey Trump and the Hallucinators.

What should have been the happiest night of my life turned out to be an utter tragedy! You see, our success had earned us lots of dunkaroos and lots of enemies. Ergo, around midnight on the night of my wedding, we were attacked -- by an army of mantaurs.


They ravaged the party, killing anyone in sight. My inebriated father was torn to shreds within seconds. I would have died that night too if it weren't for my quick-minded wife. She tossed me on her back and told me to wrap my arms tightly around her. Then she ran like a Brazilian ostrich. As I soon discovered, my wife was also quite athletic.

Most of the mantaurs were busy destroying our guests, but one caught our escape. It ran after us, howling like a pregnant cow.


The mantaur was breathing down my back for nearly 2 hours. Finally, its endurance began to weaken, and the distance between us started to grow like a German daffodil on a summer day. My wife was panting like a clown on steroids, but I urged her to continue sprinting. We finally stopped when we were sure we had lost that wretched beast.

"Where are we?" I asked. "It looks like some kind of nightmarish forest."

"I have.. no.. idea," she managed to say in between breaths.

Then! we heard a maniacal scream in the distance. It sounded like.. actually, I have no accurate comparison to make.

"Wtf was that?" I whimpered, like a baby gorilla with a mouthful of cavities.

"Oh no," my wife looked me in the eyes and continued, "I know where we are... We are in the Jungle of the Retarded Ninjas."

~~~~
By the way, how do you like the new music I put on my page? I wrote it while studying under the master guitarist and swordsman, ڻګڬڭښڛڄٿڻ.

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