Once upon a time there was a lowly carpenter who was born away in a manger, no crib for his bed named Oofta. He was Norwegian. Having no crib for his bed, he decided to learn how to make one. By the time he was 17 each and every one of his fingertips was a permanent blot of unsightly purple bruise from being bashed repeatedly with a hammer. Not only that, but the cribs he made (his specialty) tended to collapse upon themselves if someone trod on the wrong floorboard and sent a tremor through the house. Or manger. Or whatever.
One day Oofta was patiently sawing through his thumb along Continue reading