Uly and his sixteen children continued their newspaper business for many years until one day when someone from the trailer court approached Uly and said, "Hey buddy, are you going to deliver in Troy next? Could ya do me a favor and take this wooden horse with you? I forgot the keypad code to do it myself."
Uly agreed. I think you know where this is going.
What you don't know is that the sounds of the sacking of Troy woke Uly up from his afternoon nap. He could hear the shouts and see the smoking towers. Grabbing a pad of paper, he rushed into the burning city to get the full story. Hoping to get some interviews for a human interest angle, he busted a burning door and ran up a flight of smoking stairs.
There in the doorway was the most beautiful woman in the world. So stunned by her grace, wit, and fashion forward sensibilities, he began to compose poetry. So seduced by his lyrical praise, she blushed, felt faint, and could produce not a word of protest.
Despite their awkward first meeting, Uly, who lost his route the very next day, took Helen of Troy back with him to Greece, along with her fourteen named children and his sixteen numbered. They had a child together on that journey home, thus naming him Homer. The other thirty children felt a little envious of the youngest child whom both parents called the some way.
As for the numbered children, whom Helen never numbered and the named children--Uly could never pronounce their names--they might be excused for occasionally misrepresenting themselves to parents, community, and history itself, and Homer himself. It therefore can not be ruled out that the Great Homer, author of those famous poems, was fathered by an Irishman.
Moreover, it must be said that the great Homer was not the only great man who bore the name. There was Homer, the Roman gladiator, who was handed only a club in his first bout. With one blow, he knocked off the head of his opponent, sent it soaring into the stands, and thus inventing a brand-new sport still played today.
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