The Alamo According to Robert Tolkien – A Team PCPB Original Short Story

Recently, my history class had an oral reports assignment. Though at the same time, I had a lot on my mind. Recently, Carrie Reinhold had started seeing some parasite named Marshall. I thought I’d be thrilled to finally have Carrie Reinhold off my back. But for some reason, I couldn’t get it off my mind. Not that I was jealous, but there was something about this Marshall that just rubbed me the wrong way. I was gonna give my class an oral (ha ha, oral) history on the Tolkien family’s involvement in the battle of the Alamo. First of all, this would be a great opportunity to educate my class on my family’s history. Secondly, I could teach Marshall a lesson: As they used to say in that time period, don’t tread on Tolkien! Here was my report:

The year was 1876 and some homesteaders were looking for a little bit of land they could call their own. There were ex-soldiers, artisans, farmers and of course, Jeremiah M. Tolkien. You see, Jeremiah originally played for the San Francisco 49ers during the Gold Rush. Unfortunately, things literally didn’t pan out for him. He would have stuck around, but he had a family to take care of. After all, if his son died, I might not have been born! So Jeremiah wanted to go back home, but Gladys Knight’s Midnight Train to Georgia hadn’t been invented yet. So he decided to follow a group of settlers to a little bit of land that hadn’t been discovered yet on the promise of a better life. But I’ll get back to him later.

The settlers quickly made a home for themselves. They built homes for themselves, they quickly constructed schools… for some reason, and they even discovered all sorts of flora and fauna… whatever the hell those things are. They constructed a church for themselves, and since TV hadn’t been invented yet, they all gathered at church. Unfortunately. it turns out they were pilgrims in territory that was ocupado.

A group of Mexicans burst in, with their leader asking: “Filthy gringos, what are you doing here? This is our land!”

Someone from the audience cried out: “I don’t think that’s right. There’s plenty of land for all of us. Can’t we share?”

“I don’t like the sound of your tone, muchacho! It’s time to pay the price!”

The Federales viciously attacked the settlers while they were in church. However, the settlers had one of the greatest military leaders of the time on their side – Col. “Stone Cold” Stephen F. Austin!

There was a shatter of glass, and he burst in, and gave them whatfor – a Mudhole stomping here, a Bionic Elbow there and all topped off with a Stephen F. Austin Stunner! The Austin Era had definitely arrived and he topped it all off with a flagon of ale! He didn’t take crap from anybody, and he quickly sent the hombres and mujeres back where they came from. Stephen F. Austin had arrived, raised Hell and left.

Unfortunately, where they came from wasn’t too far from where the settlers were living. So the Mexicans decided to make a sneak attack, specifically on Col. Austin, specifically while he was sleeping. Yes, they snuck up on him while he was sleeping. But one man – Jeremiah M. Tolkien (if you want a grasp of how important he was, imagine his name being read by some barrel-chested man with a deep voice) – was patrolling the area that night. He saw what those hooligans were doing. They were roughing up Austin in all manner of torture: Moe Howard-style eye pokes, punches to the kidneys, and even volatile titty twisters!

“Hey, what are you doing?” Jeremiah cried out.

“Back off, you stupid baboon or I’ll unleash this pain onto you!”

“That’s it!” Jeremiah grabbed a broom and chased away those Mexicanos before they could kill Austin.

On his way out, the Mexican leader yelled out, “This is not over! You will need more than brooms to scare us away!”

Everyone knew that it was now war with the Mexicans, but unfortunately Col. Austin was too badly wounded so he left his command to the one man he knew he could trust – Jeremiah M. Tolkien.

Admittedly, Jeremiah was reluctant about leading the troops. So he met with Austin in his hospital who had to convince Jeremiah of what he had to do:

“I’m sorry, sir. I know I fought valiantly in the Civil War, but I’ve never lead an army before.”

“Never lead an army? Who was the one who fended off the enemy just the other night?”

“Yes, but that was a few. If I challenge the rest, there will be many.”

“Son, if you don’t handle these invaders, two things are gonna happen. First, these people are gonna pillage us and steal our food, and our women and our homes. Secondly, if you don’t do this, I’m going to open up a can of whoop-ass on you!”

“I understand the importance of standing up for ourselves, but what makes you think I’m the one for the job when we have so many other great soldiers on our side?” My ancestor may have been a great man, but he was also surprisingly humble.

“If you want to see Jeremiah run roughshod over the Mexicans, give me a hell yeah!”

The crowd cried out, “Hell yeah!”

“Now get out there and kick some ass! And that’s the bottom line because Stephen F. Austin said so!”

More motivated than ever, Jeremiah knew he had to put together one hell of an army. So he called up everyone he knew – Davy Crockett, Long John Silver, Paul Revere, Sitting Bull, Houdini, George Washington Carver, the Royal Canadian Mounties, and another great unsung hero – Buford T. Buford: Born August 1, 1801, Died September 9, 1973. When he was only 9, he built a log cabin with a single log from a tree. He fought on both sides of the Civil War and ran for President 16 times. (Now some of you may be wondering how this man could have possibly lived to be 172 years old. Well, he exercised every day, and he never once ate red meat.)

With Col. Austin out of the picture, the Mexicans thought it was smooth sailings. So they decided to annex the church where they made their first attack – That’s right, the Alamo! However, it wasn’t long before Jeremiah and his troops showed up, ready to kick some ass! Jeremiah kicked down the door, and let out an emphatic “I’m back!”

The Mexican leader scoffed at this threat: “You come back for more? Fine, we will be happy to kick your tushie like the sissy girlie man you are!”

Jeremiah’s rebuttal was a simple but icy “Let’s rock.”

It was a pretty bloody battle. Blood was spilled (obviously), teeth were pulled out, a few hammers were thrown, a couple of armpits were caught on fire, a few eyes got poked and a skull was crushed here and there. Unfortunately, the Americans were not the victors of that battle. While some of the valiant fighters like Buford T. Buford managed to escape with their lives and their family jewels intact, most of them were not so lucky.

And unfortunately, one of those who fell was my great, great… Okay, so I don’t know how many greats there actually were, but I think it might be like twenty-seven and I’m not saying that many. Anyway, Jeremiah M. Tolkien did not escape, but he wasn’t killed right away either. The Mexican renegades decided they might as well send a message by eliminating the leader of the defectors. So, Jeremiah M. Tolkien was scheduled to be executed that Tuesday. After breakfast.

It was a cold, rainy morning. It seldom rained in Texas, but it was like the world knew a great leader was going to fall and mourned the day with such gloomy weather. There was nary a dry eye in the audience as the Texans watched who they believed to be their final hope march his way to the gallows. Sadly, there were no miracles to rescue him. The Mexican leader greeted Jeremiah and asked him: “Any final words?”

Jeremiah’s final words were “Time will fade and not everyone will remember me, but at least I defended my people’s right to live wherever they want,” or something like that.

Then Jeremiah M. Tolkien was hanged. Then he was shot. Then he was run over by stagecoach. Eventually, the Mexicans decided he was dead enough and let him go. That was a moment that hit so many of the Texans like a shotgun blast to the chest, but it was also a moment met with complete silence. They were sad, but words escaped them. The vile fiend who oversaw Jeremiah’s death turned to the crowd and yelled out: “Let this gringo’s death serve as a warning to all of you! If you mess with Mexico, you mess with the best!”

It seemed that the Mexicans had a decisive win with both of the leaders caput. Little did they realize that it was actually only the beginning. Although Jeremiah’s death was tragic, it did inspire the Texans to finally repair Col. Austin. They could rebuild him. They had the technology. They had the capability to make the world’s first bionic man. Better than he was before – better, stronger, faster! With a little work, they had their ultimate weapon, The Six Million Dollar Colonel Stephen F. Austin.

Austin had all kinds of cool powers. He could leap in the air in slow motion with nifty sound effects. If you looked in the back of his head, you could use it as a telescope. Plus he once punched out a train. And Austin was going to use those powers to make mincemeat out of the enemy invaders.

The Mexicans knew they couldn’t defeat the Americans this time around. Not to mention both sides were beginning to worry about the escalation of war. One minute, it was just sticks and rocks, now they were up to bionic men. What was next, what was next? So both sides decided to a truce. The Mexicans would have their own little plot of land and the settlers would have their own little plot of land that would become the nation of Texas.

My report… did not go over well. My teacher yelled at me and told me I had to attend a parent teacher conference. I felt humiliated: Here I was trying to tell my heroic story and my teacher was making me look like a chump. I wasn’t looking forward to conference.

I was at my locker after class. The bane of my existence, Ben Giggard patted me on the back “I liked that story. Could have used some werewolves though!”

He skipped away. Next in the parade of annoyance was Carrie. She sheepishly approached me and simply told me “I liked your story. I thought it was funny.”

Carrie clearly missed the point. I don’t think Marshall was going to get the message. . I chalk a lot of that up to the fact that he’s not in my class… or high school in general. Dejected, I just muttered, “Thanks.”

The afternoon of my parent teacher conference arrived. Mom was having to miss work for this, which I knew was going to land me in the doghouse. My teacher even acknowledged that, “Mrs. Tolkien, I wanted to thank you for coming out. Your son has been struggling with several issues. First of all, there is a matter of sensitivity. I feel his recent report was extremely insulting to Latinos.”

I had to defend myself: “Whoa, whoa, whoa, let’s get one thing straight. I was just reporting what happened. I like Latinos. Back when I was in Mexico, I used to hang out at nightclubs like Puree de Papas. I wrestled as El Hijo Del Sol.”

“They advertised me as ‘el hombre con el pelo de un dios!”

It was my mom’s turn to talk: “I don’t understand why you’re struggling in these classes, Bobby. You’re so gifted. I mean you’re using your imagination right now!”

“Mrs. Tolkien, Robert has shown time again…” As my teacher yammered, I just phased out and started imagining myself having much more fun playing football in the field. My teacher didn’t bust me, but she call out “Robert, are you paying attention?”

“Yes! Me… and grades!”

I just zoned out again while my mom talked to my teacher. On the drive home, Mom and I discussed the matter further. After a few moments of uncomfortable, passive aggressive silence, Mom blurted out: “Bobby, your teacher has a point. Maybe you should take school a little more seriously.”

“Christ, you too?”

“Bobby, if you don’t think school is important, think of it this way: You like being the best at everything, right? Why don’t you try being the best at school?

That… was actually a good point. Why should someone like me constantly suffer in mediocrity? I could do whatever I wanted, and if I wanted to be the best student too, then dammit, I was going to be!

With an extra spring in my step, I marched into class and I was going to pay attention! It was history class and the teacher was talking about the Spanish-American War. Alright, this could be good! It was a splendid little war and… Oh my God, Suzie was looking fine today! I think I’d have to… dammit! I needed to focus… What was the teacher blathering on about? Eh, whatever, I tried…

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