Pooja Rani asked me to write.

Hello, Benjamin from Brothers Campfire here.

Pooja asked me to tell her stories again.

I met Pooja here on Brother’s Campfire. She pointed out that I do not look like a brother,nor am I on fire, but reminiscent of a fat, balding uncle.

She was spot on, and we bantered truths back and forth for a while.

Later, Pooja asked me to be her uncle.

I didn’t think she was serious, but she was. Years later, she is my little niece, and I protect her as if she were my own child.

You may or may not be new to this site, and you may or may not  ask where I have been.

I can boil down my departure from blogging quickly.

For a while, I despised stories and relearned that you can say a whole lot without going out and just saying it.

Also, I choose to interact with folks who treat me nicely. If you treat me with respect, you are in. If not, you are out. I didn’t know that when I started writing and learned it while I was away.

My career was affected by writing about cows in spaceships and a clothing drier as a portal to another dimension. Life is about choices, and I gotta pay the bills.

That is pretty much it. I have been gently nudged towards writing, but Pooja has that special influence where she gets a story if she asks for one.

                   The Evil Princess


Have you ever had a pop tart? It all begins at the grocery store. The packaging beckons you with the childhood memory of empty calories that all the other kids were getting.

Upon purchase, you carefully pop open the cardboard box and pull out the foil package, careful not to break the fragile contents, for the two sheets of sugary goodness belong in a toaster and must remain intact.

While toasting, the fruity aroma wafts into your nostrils, and you wait for the spring-loaded mechanism to release its contents.

Your fingers get slightly burned as you carefully place the tarts on a plate. They must be cool so as not to overheat the tongue, so it is an excellent time to pour a small glass of milk to wash it down.

If there was ever perfection in fruit scones, it was thanks to ole truck washer William Post.

Bill is dead now, and I give condolences to his family.

Disappointment is my reason for bringing any of this up.

I gave in and purchased a box of Pop Tarts only to learn they were some generic ripoff with no filling or frosting. Essentially, they were dry, crumbly, tasteless biscuits.

I told myself that I would stay on brand with these from here on out.

Did I title this The Evil Princess? I could have better stated The Horrible Tart.

Anyway, have you ever heard of naming a star after someone? I learned that you can also buy acres of the moon, and there is competition.

The Moon Realtor sells at 9 dollars an acre.


and

The Lunar Registry sells at 37 dollars an acre.


Well, long story short, I have an affinity for space and the moon and am enamored with the idea of space travel. Every so often, I look at the stars and see ole Elon Musk’s  satellites go by in a straight line.

Looking for the cheapest option, I ponied up nine dollars and purchased one acre of the Harsh Mistress we call the moon.

Much like the generic pop tart, I made a mistake I wasn’t quite prepared for.

Author: Benjamin

Benjamin Thiel is a community leader, urban farmer, and author of The Ongoing Tale at Brothers Campfire. He might know a guy...