kLiPpiDy kLop

sheeple

Sparks flew high one summer’s eve, campfires glistening across the bay. A wise old man gazed through the ember lit sky, past the mountains, and beyond the stars. As he clutched his handcrafted cane, skillfully engraved with many signs and wonders, he began to tell the tale of the Sheeple who lost his way.

“Grandpa, grandpa!” A young boy cried out as he raced through the campground with a horde of friends. “Tell us a scary story, pleeeease.”

“Alright, alright!” Said the old man as he poked the embers with his cane. “Settle down, and I’ll tell the tale of kLiPpiDy kLop…”

Once upon a time, there was a wise old Shepherd who tended to many sheeple. He was a kind and loving shepherd, always ensuring that his flock was carefully maintained. The sheeple were fed at their proper time, sheered to perfection, and safeguarded from the ruthless predators lurking beyond the rugged terrain.

One ill-fated morning, a young lamb on the brink of manhood decided to venture beyond the Shepherd’s call. He no longer saw fit to follow the lead of the Shepherd, yearning only to do as he pleased.

The further he strayed, the more insolent he became, strutting around like the king of the world. Sooner than later, his wool became heavily matted, and full of every sort of filth for miles around. The thick blanket of muck covering his eyes blinded the young sheeple, and he lost his way.

The sheeple became disoriented, desperately wondering through the hills in search of his beloved Shepherd. One day, he heard the familiar sound of “kLiPpiDy kLop.”

“That must be the Shepherd’s flock,” he thought to himself as he clumsily scrambled toward the call. “The Shepherd will surely tend to my ills!”

“There you are my dear sheeple,” said an unfamiliar voice. “Why have you strayed from the flock?”

“You’re not the Shepherd!” Cried the sheeple, “Why do you sound so vain?”

“It is not vanity that you hear my son,” explained the voice, “That is the sound of relief that my child has returned. Come now, join your brethren for the banquet that I have prepared for you. Eat and rest my child, I shall prepare the shears to rid you of your filth. Follow the sound of kLiPpiDy kLop to guide you along the way.”

The young sheeple was so hungry that he declined to pry any further. He ate and drank and slept; and ate and drank and slept; and ate and drank and slept. He became so bloated with laziness that he could no longer stand.

He soon realized that the sound of kLiPpiDy kLop had died out, and all he could hear was a loud clanking noise.

“When are you going to shear me?” cried the sheeple.

“Oh yes, I almost forgot,” the voice snickered as he clenched the shears, “Here you are my dear child.”

The voice sheared the sheeple just enough so he could see. To the sheeple’s utter dismay, the voice was that of a wolf ready to slaughter the sheeple to make sheeple stew.

“Baaah!” Cried the sheeple, “You’re not the Shepherd. Somebody HELLLP!”

“Babble on!” The wolf snickered as he lit the fire under the pot of stew, “Nobody is going to save you.”

And so it was! The wolf slaughtered the sheeple, and ate his pot of sheeple stew. And the Shepherd never saw the sheeple again.

“But Grandpa,” yelped the young boy in utter dismay, “Why didn’t the Shepherd save the sheeple?”

“You see my child,” explained the old man, “The Shepherd never strays from his own flock. If the Shepherd went out in search of the stray sheeple, he himself would be led astray, thus forfeiting his birthright.”

And as the campfire fizzled out and the campers settled down to rest, all were reminded of the wise old proverb, “Never follow the sound of kLiPpiDy kLop!”

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