Four posts, I've written, and none of 'em, on review, were anything I'd ever want to inflict on the internet. I'll get there.
In the meantime, here's a heart-warming tale of the death of a national hero…
Robin Hood was lying on his death-bed.
"Bring me my trusty bow and my truest arrow," croaked the old outlaw.
They brought him his bow. They brought him an arrow.
"Now, open the window," he said.
They opened the window.
With shaking hands, he nocked the arrow and drew back the string as far as his frail old arms could manage. He turned toward the window.
"Wherever this arrow lands," he wheezed, "you shall bury me."
The wizened old righter-of-wrongs, scourge of the greedy rich and saviour of the poor let fly his last arrow, and then sank back with a sigh and peacefully passed away.
With tears of grief still upon their faces, Little John, Friar Tuck and Will Scarlet searched until they found that last, fateful feathered shaft, determined to abide by their dear leader's last wish.
They buried him on top of the wardrobe.
—Daz
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