It's always been "written" there or somewhere or other. Have you ever noticed? I have. By current inclination I'm a hunter. And no, I don't hunt with a leettel bow n arrow. Wanna make something of it?

In terms of hunting I use to stick to small animals. But I tired of silly rabbits that'd say "What's up, Duck?" or squirrels that wanted to crack any nuts (their choice, not yours). So I redesigned and reconfigured the traps for bigger bait, hoping to snag a small deer or even a straying unicorn. Immortal or not, such creatures could still die from a quickly snapped neck, and such were my traps intended for. Normally I set them nowhere near the road that occasional travelers might use, lest an unfortunate accident occur.

Yet it happened anyways.

I was moving through the Tucker Forest one day with my customary stealth. So okay, it might sound boastful or vainglorious, but when I elect NOT to be detected in the woods, it is nigh unto impossible to find me. It was one of the few instances, outside of swimming, where my lame leg didn't deter me. Stealth does not arise from speed, but from economy of motion. A high-speed marathon would leave me hopelessly abandoned, but if you were seeking someone to move at a snail's pace for days on end, I was your man. Think tortoise and rabbit. And that tortoise could get into lotsa houses with sleeping people inside… But that's for another time. And I wouldn't do such things nowadays.

Approaching one of my craftier noose traps, I suddenly heard a startled and truncated yelp from ahead. It was definitely of a human variety of noise. It took me a moment to realize whence the sound had come - namely from my trap - and but a moment more to grasp, with horror, the likely significance of it.

Disdaining silence, I practically crashed through the underbrush, hoping there was time to salvage the situation. Tweren't to be. Instead I came upon a scene utterly dismaying - and yet also utterly fascinating in a perverse way - and I do mean perverse.

The small pile of food which had served as bait within the snare now lay scattered about. The noose was drawn taunt dangling about three and a half feet in the air. And suspended from the noose itself - its feet clear of the ground by a good six inches - was the aforementioned dwarf.

Hummmm. Mighta forgotten to mention the dwarf. It was a damned odd-looking bloke. Its head was slumped to one side. It was round, with features that looked fairly squashed as if someone had sat on its face. Its arms were the disproportionate length so common to its kind, but its legs were longer and less bow-shaped than one customarily saw in such creatures. Its feet were odder still. At first I thought it was wearing hairy slippers of some sort, but then realized that it was barefooted and simply had the most hirsute pedal extremities of any critter I'd ever seen that didn't also posses a tail.

It also sported an extremely sizable bulge in its loins which even in its loose-fitting breeches couldn't be obscure. I'd never been present at a hanging, but had heard that the victims of such incidents usually had themselves a fairly healthy protuberance at the moment of death - which has always struck me as rather puzzling. If anything could be deemed a sure killer of arousal, it was having your neck snapped. But here I was, first hand witness to the phenomenon and so knew it to be true. Who woulda thunk?

I still felt some measure of guilt for the passing creature's untimely demise, but there wasn't anything I could do about it after the fact. So instead I proceeded to do the most reasonable thing one could do under the circumstances - I checked for valuables. I didn't bother to cut him down. Gruesome as his situation was, it was easier to inspect him while he was upright. While his most noticeable bulge began to diminish, I happily relieved him of another - a fairly decent purse hanging on his belt which I quickly discovered was filled with gold coins the likes of which I'd never seen. Still, as opposed to coins unique to specific realms with different faces of monarchs etched in the surfaces, gold was definitely gold no matter whose mug adorned it.

Then I spotted something twinkling on the brush - in the bush, so to speak - just beneath the dwarf's dangling feet, shining and winking at me in the rays of the setting sun. I reached down and picked it up. It appeared to be some sort of golden ring, but it was much too large for ordinary wear. I could easily fit three of my fingers into the damn thing. An earring perhaps? But there was no clasp for it to fasten on. It felt rather warm, and I turned it over and over in my hands, inspecting it carefully. It was then I noticed some sort of writing on the inside. It was not easy to make out and, confusingly, the letters seemed to be fading along with the dissipating warmth. But what it read was:

I didn't know to whom "them all" referred, or what the one thing might be, so really I was somewhat ignorant of the purpose of the ring. Would that I had remained that way.

It was then that I heard something coming toward me through the woods. From the sound of it, it appeared to be a group of men - at least half a dozen. They were making no attempt to move quietly - a deaf man coulda heard them coming. Unfortunately they were between me and my cabin.

Without thinking, I shoved the ring in my pocket and hightailed it outta there. Well not exactly. I hid amongst the underbrush. As I mentioned before, when I'm endeavoring to hide in a forest, I'm almost impossible to detect. I drew my cape around me and huddled low, unmoving in the lengthening shadows of the forest.

The men arrived in short order, and a more motley assortment one couldn't have imagined. The one who seemed to be the leader was a strong, fox-faced, handsome-looking man. With him was an astounding array of ….hell, I'm not sure what they were. A couple more hairy-footed dwarfs, a few trolls, some other freakish-looking individuals. I had no idea where they could have come from. I'd never seen any of em in this area before.

Of course, they saw the dangling dwarf. And oh, the moaning and caterwauling t hat they sent up then, I can't begin to tell you. In catching the names they were tossing around, it appeared that the deceased one was called Bubo, and the tall one was Walker. The others had an assortment of staggeringly annoying monikers that were impossible to keep straight - Hodge and Podge, Hoi and Paloi, Hither and Thither, Tutti and Fruitti - so on and so forth, etc. It was rather cloying, and I could only be thankful that I wasn't traveling with the group as I would likely have beaten myself to death after two days rather than die slowly of excessive cleverness.

The tall one called Walker was standing directly in front of Bubo, obscuring him from my sight, and then he turned and looked grimly at the others, "The ring is not here," he said.

There were gasps and lamentations and growls of "Death to the thief," which didn't sit all that well with me, I must say.

"The body is still warm," said Walker. "The thief cannot have gotten far." Now I have to admit, I bridled a tad at the word thief. Not that I wasn't' one, you understand, but in this particular circumstance, it wasn't as if the deceased had any use for his possessions anymore. I figured I was as entitled to whatever he was carrying on him as anyone else.

"Spread out. Find him," Walker continued.

Moving in smooth coordination, they headed out in all directions. I didn't breath. One of the dwarfs came within two feet of me but passed me by without noticing me hunkered down in the brush.

I waited what seemed in interminable time there, my legs getting numb, my arms feeling like lead weights. Night had almost fallen when I finally chanced to rise, my sharp hearing convincing me that I was alone.

Except…

In a sense, I wasn't.

I felt an extremely odd tingling in my loins. My little soldier was standing at attention, and he wasn't so little. Furthermore, I felt some sort of foreign object down there. Even though I knew I was alone, I still glanced right and left to ensure privacy, then reached down into my breeches to see what was up……well what else was up, besides the obvious.

To my utter astonishment, I discovered the ring, nestled securely at the base of my member. Apparently I'd had a hole in my pocket, and, as if it had a life of its own, the ring had worked its way through and nestled into my loins, wrapping itself around my privates as if it were destined to be there. I pulled on the ring in an endeavor to remove it. It wouldn't come off. I tried again and again, as forceful as I could be while still retaining some…er…delicacy, as I'm sure you can well imagine.

It didn't budge.

Here I had been wondering how one could possible sport such a sizable ring, and now I had inadvertently discovered the answer. Furthermore, I was so swollen that it didn't appear capable of being removed until the tumescence went bye, bye - which it didn't seem inclined to do…. And out there, exposed to the woods, I felt rather too self-conscious to "relieve myself" of the pressure.

I was utterly mortified, but having nowhere else to go, I headed back to my wee cabin. Fortunately I had my good cape with me, so I would be able to draw it around myself and hide the noticeable bulge for I didn't want anyone wondering the road nearby to start laughing at my ------ situation? I figured that if I ignored the thing, it would go away.

I hadn't thought of Katy.

Of course, when I had thought about her in that way, I'd found out I needn't have worried none. If I'd had any remaining interest in the opposite sex after my rather disastrous history of women - one reason I was in the forest in the first place - the witch was more than capable of putting it to the test. It wasn't that she wasn't pretty. She was beautiful. However she was very unlikely to think of me - or any man - in 'that' manner. I was hoping that she might not be in the cabin when I arrive just so I had a few minutes to get myself settled with the cape still around me. Fat chance, for there she was tending a small fire. She looked up expectantly. "Didja bring food?" she inquired.

"Bad luck trapping," I said, which was true enough. Hungry I mighta been, but I didn't think I'd ever be hungry enough to eat dwarf. I settled down some feet away from her and adjusted the cape. My loins did not seem to be calming. Instead, in Katy's presence, there appeared to be even more excitement than before. And I though, Oh my friend, are you barking up the wrong tree. If there is anyone who is NOT at all interested, it is…..

She was on me in a flash.

I could not believe it. One minute she was sitting there, looking at me oddly, and the next she was on top of me with such force that I slammed my head against the log wall. Her had went straight to the place I'd been trying to keep hidden, as if she knew what was going to be there. Her eyes were wild with a strange fiery light, and she was smothering me with kisses even as she started pulling both our clothes off in her eagerness.

Now………………..

I'm not stupid.

I figured out what was going on in pretty short order. O didn't for a moment think that suddenly I had acquired so sensual - so commanding - a personality that Kate felt compelled to savage me in every carnal way imaginable. Obviously it was the ring. The damned thing was enchanting somehow and it was an enchantment that no one - even a skilled mage such as Kate - was able to resist. She was not in her right mind - or her left, even. Under the circumstances, I would have been a cad, a bounder, and an utter bastard to take advantage of the situation. And if you think that I failed to do so, then clearly you have not been paying attention.

Truthfully, although I was not exactly resistant to the concept, I'm not sure I could have kept her off me even had I desired to. She was unstoppable, and thanks to the ring, I was more than up to the challenge - no pun intended.

And later I was up to it again. And again.

And again.

All through the night.

I lost count. By the time the morning came, my head was swimming with exhaustion, my belly practically in pain from lack of nourishment. But my suddenly very public private was still fresh as ever, and Kate just as enthusiastic. I let her have her way with me again, this time so bone weary that I didn't even move. I just lay there, splayed on the cabin floor, and thought about bathing in freezing water.

Finally, Katy fell asleep, and I knew beyond question that I had to get the hell outta there.

Apparently realizing that the ode-to-joy ride was over, my seemingly insatiable rod slumped a bit, but not enough for me to pull the ring off. Quickly I dressed and bolted from the cabin. I figured out that Katy would be waiting for me when - or if - I got back - assuming she wouldn't be so embarrassed that she'd wait only to cut out my guts or throw a fire ball at my head.

I was ravenously hungry at that point. Perhaps Katy could live on love, but I did not share that capacity. I moved quickly through the woods, counting on my staff - the wooden one and not that betraying thing in my breeches - for more support than even my lame leg usually required. Animals seemed to give me a wide berth, however, and the few nuts, berries, and leaves I could safely eat of the trees and bushes were hardly enough to keep me going - particularly after the evening of ardor I had spent.

I made my way to the main east/west road which ran through the upper section of the Tucker Forest (don't know where it got the name, by the way) and cut east. I knew there as an inn called the Tucker Inn along the way. It wasn't much, but I figured that at least they'd have some sort of minimal food there, and I could replenish myself. I also needed to distance myself from Katy for a while. I assuredly couldn't go back to sleeping in the cabin with her. Not now. Not as long as I had this Significant Other to deal with.

I felt it stirring with renewed life as I approached the inn, and drew my cape even more tightly around myself. Fortunately enough it was a brisk morning, so no one would question why I was keeping myself so bundled up.

Once inside, I took a table toward the back, in a corner, with the intention of keeping entirely to myself. The innkeeper, a dyspeptic-looking fellow, glanced at me suspiciously. I held up the money, jingled it slightly, and that seemed to satisfy him. He moved away as the serving girl approached me. I'll admit she was a comely thing, which is what made what happened next somewhat tolerable.

"A stein of mead," I told her, "and do you have any decent mutton?"

She looked me up and down. Even though I was covered up, I suddenly felt as if her gaze was boring right to where I didn't want it to go. I crossed my legs, cleared my throat - feeling more like a piece of mutton myself all the while - and started to repeat the question.

"Upstairs," she interrupted. "First door on the right. NOW!"

"But…I haven't eaten."

She brought her face toward mine, and her breath was warm and pleasant (if you like gobs of garlic). "I'll be your appetizer…and your main course….and your dessert…"

Oh, my gods. "Uh, Miss…I…that is to say…"

"Upstairs, now," and there was iron in her voice, "or I'll take you here and now."

I could see it in her eyes that she meant it. Moreover, the tone in her voice said she was quite serious.

I went upstairs, to the room she indicated. There was a bed there with a lumpy mattress. Ten seconds later she was there, and the waitress proved room service.

Five minutes later the waitress's mother burst in on us, shocked and appalled. She threw her sobbing daughter out, slammed the door behind her, faced me, and I knew then what was coming.

I was worried that the tavern keeper was the husband, and figured that he'd be upstairs in short order with an ax…or, worse, love in HIS eyes. But such was not the case. They were simply a mother and daughter who worked in the tavern.

And they had friends.

Lots of friends.

Now I have to tell you, a situation like this had, at one time, been one of my fantasies. I grew up in a tavern, saw things as they were including the action. And I had always wondered what it would be like to be so in demand that people - well women, in my case - would throw themselves at me by the cartload and even be willing to pay me, just for the privilege of melding their bodies with mine.

Weeelllll, no one was offering me money - although I have no doubt I could have fleeced them for all they were worth. I likely would have, too, had any of them given me the chance to talk.

Apparently there was a village nearby, and all I can surmise from the parade of females that marched in and out of my room was that the men-folk were not doing their job. The women came to me in all shapes, sizes, young and old, pretty and…..less so. I tried to keep a smile on my face, tell myself that this was the price of fame. I literally, however, lost track of time. Day and night became meaningless to me. Oh, I was fed, at least. The tavern wench kept bringing me food. At one time the innkeeper stuck his head in, grinned, and said, "Keep at it, my lad! That's the ticket!" as if he was my best friend in all the world. I managed a meager wave and realized that he was probably charging the women admission. He was making MY MONEY. It just didn't seem fair, and if any part of me had been able to rise from the bed aside from the one part of me that appeared inexhaustible, I would've done something about it.

I tried to leave. Several times. THEY wouldn't let me. Finally they tied me to the bed. There are worse ways to pass one's hours, but none come readily to mind.

Actually by that time, I had no idea when Walker and his people showed up but I was glad nonetheless. Maybe it was a day or a week after I'd shown up at the Tucker Inn - a terrible name for an inn I was now thinking. Regardless at the time all I heard was a thumping up the stairs and the door bursting open. For a moment I thought it was a mob of angry husbands, come either to cop me to bits or - for all I knew - to have their way with me. Then I squinted as I recognized that improbably heroic face. I was nude from the waist down, obviously. I couldn't remember a time anymore when I'd worn breeches. He took one look, turned to the others crowding in, and said firmly, "He has the ring."

There was certainly no use denying it. "You want it? Take it," I mumbled in exhaustion.

Walker stomped in, tossing a blanket over me. Producing a blade, he severed the bonds holding my hands to the bed frame. "It's not ours to take. I will not ask how you came by it. The past no longer matters. Thanks to the ring, you are now the possessor of the One Thing Which Rules Them All."

"The One Thing being…" and I pointed to my happy soldier.

"Yes." He nodded and the others mimicked the nod. "That thing.

"And 'them all' would be….women."

"Yes." Walker said once more. "What you possess is a ring, forged in the ---"

I held up my hands and rose from the bed, fumbling about for my lost breeches. "No. Don't tell me."

"But you should know," said Walker.

"Yes, it's a really good story," one of the dwarfs said, in a slightly whiny tone.

"I don't care!" I insisted. "It probably involves some powerful magic user somewhere, and dark forces, and evil hordes wanting it back. Right?"

"Well…….essentially, yes," Walker admitted, looking a bit uncomfortable.

"Fine. Save it. And get them outta here." I pointed at the cluster of women that was already assembling, seeming rather distressed over the prospects of my possible departure. "All I want is to know how to get rid of this thing."

"You must toss it," said Walker solemnly, "into the Flaming Neither Regions. Only there will it be melted, its threat ended for all time."

I knew the Flaming Nether Regions well enough. I had once been squire to a knight, Sir Umbrage, who hailed from thereabouts.

You may be wondering why I did not question the interest this mixed bag of meddlers might have had in the ring. I shall make it plain. Clearly they were heroes. Bubo, previous possessor of this lovely trinket, had probably been as much in demand as I was. Walker's people had obviously been serving to keep women away from him - or perhaps him away from women - while they escorted him to the Flaming Neither Regions. They were in the midst of some great quest into which I had been unwillingly - and stupidly - drawn. I like neither heroes nor quests, not because they make you late for dinner but because becoming involved with either invariably gets people killed. I have no patience for adventures, even though I occasionally get trapped in the middle of them. Fact is, the sooner I depart their vicinity, the better. Far from dauntless, I am easily daunted. I want nothing but to make money, have some fame, fortune, and fun, and survive to die of old age in my bed. I would have added women to that but at this time my view of the opposite sex no longer held my attention.

Anyway, I'd like to think that I'm just like you. Oh, you may look down your nose at me but do so at your peril for it is yourself you are very likely to be judging.

So I had no interest in what had brought them to this point in time. I simply said, "Take me there."

We set off.

There was much trouble along the way.

I could go into detail, of course. I could tell you about the dark warriors who set upon us, the flaming black hailstones, the totally unexpected return assault of the Harpers Bizarre, who was apparently under the command of Father Corset, the Dressmaker. Or I could mention the rampaging fishlike killer creature called the Orcub, and much, much more. But it was not a pleasant period and just about everyone in the group got killed. I spent the entire time with a raging tumescence in my breeches, and one of the dwarfs - Thither, I think it was - kept eyeing me in a manner I found most disturbing. I was frankly relieved with the Orcub stepped on him.

So you'll pardon me if I simply say again that there was lotsa trouble along the way until finally only an exhausted Walker and myself were left to stand on the edge of the formidable precipice overlooking the Flaming Nether Regions.

Far, far below raged the Regions. A continuous lava flow, the origin of which no on e knew, flames licking upward with formidable intensity, and smoke billowing, making it extremely difficult to see more than a foot or so down.

"All right," I said to Walker. "Now what?" I had my hand discreetly around the ring, trying to pull it off, thinking that it had reached its inevitable destiny, the damned would go without a struggle. Unfortunately I was as hard, and the ring as stubborn, as ever.

"You throw the ring in," said Walker matter-of-factly.

"Yes, well, small problem. The ring doesn't appear to be cooperating."

"That doesn't surprise me."

"Well, it surprises me!" I retorted, wiping sweat from my brow. "YOU made it sound simple! Get to the Flaming Nether Regions, toss the ring in, we're done. How do I remove it?"

"The ring will only detach itself," said Walker, "when the bearer's heart stops."

"WHAT!!" I felt the remaining blood in my body that wasn't elsewhere pounding in my temples. "You mean when I die?" I now realized that, obviously, when Bubo had died, the ring had fallen through his leffings and onto the ground where I'd found it. "You couldn't think to mention that EARLIER? I'm suppose to kill myself? That doesn't leave much of an upside for me!"

"There is….an alternative," Walker said.

"Good! Excellent! What is it?" Relief was flooding through me.

Walker produced a very sharp-looking knife. "Cut it off."

I took the knife, turning it over in my hand. Yes, indeed, very sharp. "And this will cut through the ring?" I said doubtfully.

"No, nothing can cut through the ring."

As I said, I'm not stupid. I quickly realized where this was going. I fought down rising panic. "So my choice, you're saying to me - is either death - or a life not worth living."

"Think of it this way," Walker said, trying to sound commiserating. "Certainly in the past few days, you've received a lifetime's worth of attention to your 'friend'. Is that not enough?"

"No! Most certainly not! And I…………"

MINE!!!

The cackling, unexpected voice caught us both unawares. We turned, standing there on the edge of the gorge, and I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

Bubo was approaching us, his head still at that bizarre angle from when the noose had snapped his neck. He did not, however, appear to realized that he was deceased. His skin was the color of curdled milk and shared some of the same aroma. His eyes were wide and solid black, his teeth rotting in his head. As he approached, his hands were spasming, as if he were trying to clutch something with them. "My precious! Mine!" he cried out, sounding like a screeching baby bird.

"Stay back!" Walker said to me. "He wants the ring!"

"If he can get it off me with an option other than what you've offered, he can have it!"

"No! Don't you understand? If the dark wizard who forged the ring gets it back, no woman in the world will be safe!"

"I'll buy them all locked chastity belts! It will work out just fine." I was tugging at the stubborn ring. "Here! Your old friend wants you back! Go! Go!"

"Undead thing," Walker said defiantly, facing the creature which had been Bubo. "You do not frighten me." He started to pull his sword.

Bubo didn't wait. He leaped through the air as if he weighed nothing, landed squarely on Walker's shoulders and gripped Walker's head with his feet. With a quick twist of his hips, he snapped Walker's neck. Walker's dead body collapsed like a sack of potatoes, his sword still only half drawn.

I started to back up, but there wasn't far to go. "Stay back!" I shouted hollowly, holding my walking staff threateningly. There was a vicious blade in one end of it, but I doubted such a thing would be of use against something already dead. "Stay back or I'll…I'll…"

In truth, I had no idea what I would do. Bubo, however, did not wait to find out. With a scream he leaped across the intervening distance, howling. "Give it back to me! My pretty! My pretty ring! My precious, mine!" Either he didn't realize where we were or, in his undead and obsessed state, he simply didn't care. He slammed into me, knocking my walking staff from my hands, driving me back, and suddenly there was nothing below me but the yawning gorge of flame and death.

We tumbled, falling through the smoke, but barely a few feet below, there was a rocky ledge extending that I hadn't seen before. I struck it, rolled off, grabbed it with my desperate hands, and hung there.

Bubo was holding on to my left leg.

I tried to kick him off with my right, but that was my bum leg, and I had little strength in it. Bubo didn't even seem to notice. Instead he clambered up my leg, and - gods help me - shoved his hand into my breeches - his cold, clammy palm wrapping around the still unbudging ring, my protuberance now his only means of support.

Mine!" he howled, holding onto it. "Mine! Mine!!"

It was too much.

My brain shut down.

My heart stopped.

I died.

For an instant.

The next thing I knew, I was slammed back to life. The world whirling around me, I realized that I had fallen, but fallen onto yet another outcropping of rock. The smoke had hidden the fact that the cliff face was not exactly smooth.

I heard screaming below me, and looked over the edge of the rock formation which had proven my salvation. Bubo had been less fortunate. My death, however brief, had been sufficient for the ring to slip free, and Bubo with it. I saw him spiraling down, down toward the flame, screaming and shouting, "I have it! I have my precious back!!" tumbling end over end, probably not even aware of what was happening. I heard his shout continue, all the way down, and then there was a sudden roar of flame as Bubo and the ring hit the lava below. Somewhere - in my own imaginings, more likely - I could swear I heard a deep, pained voice of anger roaring in fury as the ring melted in the fiery furnace of the Flaming Nether Regions……which was, I suppose, only fitting.

It took me quite some time to climb, hand over careful hand, back up to the edge of the cliff from which I had tumbled. Walker was lying there, dead as a stump. I checked him over, pulled some valuables off him, and kicked his body over the edge. I had no more need of it than he did and saw no reason to leave it lying around.

Tired, bone-weary, I had nowhere else to go and started heading back to the cabin. I didn't know whether Katy would be waiting there or not, and at that moment I didn't especially care. I just wanted somewhere that I could collapse.

The journey back to the Tucker Forest was considerably less adventurous than when I had been heading toward the Flaming Nether Regions. I could only conclude that whatever beasties and vile creatures had taken an interest in my sojourn while I was in possession of the ring, they now simply didn't care since it was no longer on my person - thank the gods. That really summarized why I am the last individual that you'd want to have along on a quest. No matte what the object was that we might have managed to acquire, as soon as someone threatened by life over it, I wouldn't hesitate to hand it over to them. There were very few riches or treasures - or anything else, really - that I would consider worth dying for. Oh, I might try to trick my way out of the proceedings, but if a sword is to my throat or it seems as if I'm going to have to fight overwhelming odds in order to hold on to whatever it is, then to hell with it.

But I couldn't help but wonder, as I trudged along, why it was that I found myself pulled into these sorts of escapades. Not only was I not an audacious soul by nature, but I was in fact the opposite. The fewer quests for me, the better I liked it.

Why, you may ask, was I so reluctant to engage in adventures?

Simple answer: fear of getting killed.

And why not? That's what it all gets down to in the end, isn't it? In my life I had survived mad bird creatures like Big Bird, also warlords, crazy kings of the frozen north, unicorn stampedes, and a lethal attack by the greatest hero in the land. I had managed to keep my head safely attached to my body mostly though strategy and a little luck - all right, a lot of luck. And it couldn't go on forever.

This is actually rather beside the point, but I thought I'd make the observation. Have you ever noticed that, after someone has died, those who survived him suddenly become self-proclaimed experts on what the deceased would have liked to see? "Poor John would have liked an oaken coffin." "Ah yes, Timothy, he would have wanted me to have his favorite sword with the perfect balance." "Definitely, poor Brian, he would have liked nothing better than for us all to get drunk, steal his body, quarter it, and deliver it to four syphilitic prostitutes at each corner of the kingdom, because that was just the kind of joke-enjoying, jackanapes that Brian always was, and it would have given him a right good giggle."

As for me, I never presume to postulate what the dearly departed would have wanted because I'm quite reasonably sure that, in the final analysis, they all would have wanted the same thing - namely, to keep on living. What happens to me while I'm alive is of the utmost importance. What happens to me after I'm deceased, I absolutely could not give a damn about. And I very much suspect that every dead person out there would concur. I don't see much leeway. If there's an afterlife, then the departed are either too busy romping through heaven's grove or suffering eternal torment to care about what's going on in the world left behind, and if there is no afterlife, then obviously the entire thing is moot. "So and So would want it that way." The amount of hubris such a comment requires is truly staggering, but still everyone says it and everyone does it. And yet these same individuals would look down their noses at me just because I'm rude enough to want to postpone, for as long as possible, that inevitable time when my survivors will have the opportunity to say, "Let's sever his head and use it for a quick game of Kickabout, because HE would have wanted it that way."

Bull, I say. And with that I've said enough. Perhaps I'll write about a gem I found - a gem that was a focal point for discord and strife. A gem that I finally buried near the Golden City known by many, many other names, but most commonly called "Yerushalem" by the natives…