I would like to look back upon my very first memory, a memory that occurred three centuries ago.
The year was 1723. It was a summer's day in my town of Richmond, and a hanging was to take place on that day. I, being in good standing with the sheriff and well-liked amongst his deputies, was tasked with creating the noose which we would later use to hang the crook. So I went to my shed, a humble pine-lodge about six feet by nine, to grab some rope. Unfortunately though, the only rope that I had was rather thin, not suitable to hang more than a dog.
You must understand that in these days you couldn't simply order all of your ropes on Amazon Prime like you can now. In those days, you had to wait for the quarterly rope shipment to arrive at the county general store, and fight with your neighbours a-la-Black-Friday for your pick of the litter. On this last particular Rope Day, I was feeling rather ill, so I had to send my little cousin Blubert to fight for the ropes.
Blubert, being a mere four years of age, understandably got a shitty rope.
Despite all this, I had made a pact. I promised the Sheriff that I would make him a noose, and I intended to do just that. So I took the rope, fashioned it in the classic noose fashion, and mounted my steed to head to the hanging grounds.
The crowd was large that day. Old Royce was there with his cattle, and Miss Drippon even brought the boys out. I thought about how they may be disappointed if the rope were to fail. I was cursing Blubert under my breath. If only he had brought a knife that day, perhaps I could have a better rope. Nevertheless, that couldn't be changed now. So I rode up to the Sheriff to give him my creation.
As I handed the rope to the Sheriff, I said to him:
"I hate to be the bearer of bad noose, but this is the best I had".