Guts and Danger! 💥🎱🧢
"I HATE YOUR GUTS, RUSTY!"
Whoa.
For a moment, Scott L. was frozen as he was relaxing in his patio chair just a second ago.
The blast had landed.
Somewhere beyond the fence, Tammy Marie kept going.
Scott L., being the literary Motley Fool, writer and poet, knew one thing right away.
That phrase had to be captured.
Then, from somewhere across the property—perhaps fifty or sixty feet away—came the unmistakable voice of Tammy-Marie.
"I DID NOT SAY THAT!"
Sir Literary Motley Fool froze.
"You lyin', Rusty!"
The backyard fell silent.
A moment later, the voice returned.
"And I hate your guts!"
Sir Literary Motley Fool slowly adjusted his aviators.
Beyond the fence, Rusty appeared to be having a considerably worse afternoon than expected.
For a long moment, nobody said a word.
Then Sir Literary Motley Fool took a sip of iced tea.
And there it was.
The thought.
The one that had vanished in the massive blast.
Not the whole thing.
Just enough.
Like catching a glimpse of the Holy Grail before it could disappear once more into the mist.
Sir Literary Motley Fool smiled.
"There it is."
The marbles remained accounted for.
Excalibur—the one and only true blade—rested peacefully at his side.
And somehow, despite all that was yet to come, he felt blessed.
A short while later, Sir Literary Motley Fool returned inside.
The morning's adventure was finally winding down.
The blast had come and gone.
The thought had returned.
And somewhere beyond the fence, Rusty was undoubtedly still having a difficult afternoon.
For the first time all morning, everything was quiet.
Breakfast awaited.
Sir Literary Motley Fool wandered toward the kitchen counter, still wearing his MOTLEY hat.
A marble rested near his fingertips.
He gave it a gentle nudge.
The small sphere rolled quietly across the countertop.
For a moment, he watched it travel.
No speeches.
No negotiations.
No mysteries to solve.
Just a marble doing what marbles do.
He smiled.
The thought had returned.
The story had been told.
He had learned a little more about human nature.
And after all that, he was still ahead by two dollars.
Not a fortune.
But enough.
Enough for a smile.
Enough for a good story.
Enough to feel grateful.
Sir Literary Motley Fool bowed his head.
"Thank You, Lord, for the bounty and peace of mind. Amen."
Tomorrow would bring its own adventures.
But that was tomorrow.
For now, he simply watched the marble roll.
Then he smiled once more.
And let it roll.
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