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.
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 morning 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.
With Tammy-Marie still yelling somewhere beyond a perfectly ordinary six-foot fence, unable to close the deal, Sir Literary Motley Fool couldn't help but smile.
Earlier, in an effort to solve the mystery, he had offered two dollars to learn what Tammy-Marie said after, "I hate your guts, Rusty!" 🔥
The deal, however, never closed.
The stock had come in.
He had saved two dollars.
And somehow, he had gotten a free ride.
Praise the Lord.
By the grace of God, he felt blessed.
The 8-ball rolled slowly across the kitchen counter.
His wife shook her head and laughed.
Sir Literary Motley Fool watched it go.
Who never had the idea of rolling an 8-ball down a kitchen counter...
not because you don't know what will happen,
but because you do?
You already know.
You just want to see it.
But we all do it, don't we?
At least once in our lifetime, when nobody's watching.
And for the love he had for his lovely wife, he really didn't mind.
He made an exception.
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 morning.
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.
The 8-ball did exactly what Sir Literary Motley Fool expected it to do.
After watching the experiment unfold, he decided it was finally time to bring the story to a close.
He kicked around a few ideas.
Some were good.
Some were not so good.
Eventually, he settled on one final line.
"This is how we roll up in here."
Whether the 8-ball actually rolled up in there remains a matter of considerable debate.
As for the marbles, they remained firmly attached to his MOTLEY head.
As they should be.
You're welcome.
OCTOPUS'S GARDEN 🐙 🎬
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