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December 11, 2003 - Thursday | 5:30 PM, CST
Insomnia.
It seems strange to say you're an insomniac when you sleep during the day. But whatever. One thing that sucks about my new house is that I can't sleep worth a shit during the day, and it feels weird to sleep at night.
That is why today you will be treated to a story...
A long long time ago (I don't know when), in a land far far away (probably Watseka) there lived an American leged. A hero of all ages. A man of power.
This man's name was Mustache Sam.
What made Mustache Sam a hero, you ask? Well, its hard to say. Mostly because there are no oral, or written records of the man. All we know of him comes from a boyhood (I was perhaps four years old) drive in the country with Bryan, Andy, my aunt Claire and my uncle Karl.
We were gliding along in a rusty brown Oldsmobile with a stuffed animal puppy in the back window whose eyes glowed with the brake lights.
Suddenly we came upon a cemetery, which I now believe to be Old Texas. In that I remember it being set upon a hill with a prominent tombstone near the road. Our hosts for the day had been giving us history lessons concerning the Indians who lived on the land hundreds of years ago.
Uncle Karl stopped the car, peered up at the tombstone, and told us it belonged to Mustache Sam. A cowboy of some sort, I assume.
Other history lessons learned that day included the bathroom habits of the Indians. You see, since they didn't have toilets or bathrooms, they had to use the bathroom outside. So what they'd do is take a box and poop in it, and when it was full they'd bury it in the ground.
This made me believe that one day the entire ground would be filled with poop boxes, but I have yet to prove it since I haven't dug my hole.
True story.
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