Cade

I'd like to meet:

C. S. Lewis. But he's dead, so...I may have to take a number on that one.

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P r o-S E L L-e e-u s
V e c k s-u h-M E E-u n.
[Name derived from Roman legion general whose tiger-like instincts aided in the imperial conquest of Canada during the Cold War.]
.. Born in the wilds of the Antarctic glacial forest. Orphaned at 2 months when mother and father attempted to swindle the penguin mob. Early years spent running from penguin assassins and scraping meager existence from the sparse lichen deposits found in Antartica's Grassy Fields. Rescued from suicide attempt by Mr. Jarrell during one of Mr. Jarrell's many expeditions to the edges of the earth in search of helpless creatures to add to his extravagant menagerie. Spent three months in intensive animal counseling in the Washington, D.C. Institute for Bestial Mental Care and Instinctive Functioning Rehabilitation Facilitation, after which he was converted from rather stubborn Deism to a liberal, left-wing, "reason"-based Christianity, but an earnest one nonetheless. Now enjoys frolicking on the Mississippi beaches in the evening breezes and chasing after lizards. Prefers poached crab to canned kitty food. Has a sharp eye for art and collects rare fragments of Hittite pottery. Listens primarily to Led Zeppelin, Bach, Gregorian Chanting, Louis Armstrong, Queen, and Enya. Has a smooth way with the pretty tigresses but has yet to meet one on his intellectual level. Friendly disposition but sharp wit which turns sarcastic at the turn of a dime. Noble and true as a friend... ..

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{Soft "g", long "o", regular "b"}
[Name derived from Biblical character who underwent a lot of crap but bore it patiently and was summarily rewarded for his faithful endurance.]
.. Born in the windy heights of Mount Capapulcopasu. Abandoned by father at 3 months who ran off with a mountain goatess with alluring hooves, long lashes, and tangy milk. Mother, stricken with grief and knowing she was uncapable of rearing a child in her condition, sold her baby to human natives who used Job to haul assault rifles and machetes from secret guerilla encampments to rebel fighters staging an uprising against the dictatorial regime throughout the country. Ran off from captors in the midst of a surprise attack on convoy deep in the jungle. Convinced that the Good Lord had delivered him from darkness for a purpose and that his divinely-appointed destiny waited in the U.S.A., Job journeyed through tangled brush, over rugged uplands, and across barren deserts for two years before collapsing at the gate of the San Diego Zoo. Benevolent workers there resuscitated him with Coke and pretzels, cleaned his curly tan fur, polished his badly chipped hooves, and brushed his chops. Mr Jarrell wanted Job as his pet and friend the moment he looked through the glass partition and saw the llama grazing with a giraffe, who was a fickle grass-mate with awful mood swings, so Job was only too happy to be released from the zoological establishment and brought to Mr Jarrell's happy home. Now spends his days racing cheetahs in the backyard, composing elaborate ballads inspired by Hispanic folk music on his custom-made Peruvian guitar, and campaigning against the evil political parties in Latin America whose greed and ambition lead daily to civil strife and famine. Enjoys debating politics with owls, spicy Italian dishes, listening to traditional European instrumentals (also quite fond of The Beatles, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Cher--doesn't readily admit to liking the latter), attending the opera and ballet, gambling on Indian reservations on the weekends, and courting female horses at the nearby ranch (absolutely detests female goats). Intelligent, restless, soulful, good-humored, and sometimes a bit outspoken on certain key issues such as poverty and worldwide epidemics. Can easily become irate and scornful in discussing current events, but with substantial reason no doubt. ..

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