Anyway, back when the world was greener, my pockets leaner, and people generally had a better demeanor, I was still in high school.  Yeah, I was a band geek, but had a big friend (6' 4", 270 lbs) who was in football, as well as in band.  Anyway, we played stupid little games like most adolescents, and one of our favorites while waiting on band trips was the "You Can't Move Me" game.  Of course, this is a game played primarily among the males, and was composed of one guy setting himself, and then another guy comes running at him, slams into him, and then rubs it in if he moves him.

I was reigning champion at this game, both in moving and in not-moving.

Anyway, my big friend, who was one hell of a tackle in football, played one day.  He usually didn't play, as he was too busy smoking pot when he wasn't drinking cheap beer.  He came charging at me, I set myself, and he slammed into me.  Naturally, I didn't move.  He fell to the ground, and then looked up at me and said, "Damn, man, you're a mountain!"

Later, on the bus ride home, he told me (after licking my arm--he had forgotten a few phone numbers) that I couldn't be a mountain, I was too short.  But, I could be a knoll.  I just smiled, asked him to stop licking my arm, and he went to sleep.  The next day, he gave me a sticker that said "Hello, My Name is Gnollman."

And I was so known, everafter.

See, told you it wasn't much of a story.
 

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