The True Story of Daniel Briere

So everyone knows about Daniel Briere's rapid rise to fame, sure. But do you know the real story? Read on...

Once upon a time, in a far away land, a lonely little boy named Daniel lived on the edge of a vast and powerful kingdom. He dreamed of riches and grandeur, power and wealth beyond compare, and a silver cup with his name on it.

Hours each day would be spent staring out the window just waiting for something good to happen. He only had his dreams, as Daniel was lonely and had no friends. He was smaller than the other boys at school and often became the butt of their jokes - or else was used in place of the ball in their many games. At five years old he only came up to the seat of his chair; by the age of ten he could barely reach the doorknob.

"I'll be great someday and then you'll be sorry," he would say to the boys as they tossed him around the field. They simply laughed and continued on their merry way.

At home it wasn't much better. Too small to help out around the house like normal kids, Daniel would be used as a dust rag or a sponge to get into those hard to reach places under the furniture.

"I'll be great someday and then you'll be sorry," he would say to his mother in between sneezes. She simply laughed and shoved him under the couch.

"They'll see," he would mutter to himself as he sat alone in his room. "They'll all see. Someday I'll do great things and be beloved by everyone. Then they'll be sorry." Even the dog laughed.

One day, as he was brushing the dust from his hair, Daniel decided he'd had enough. Packing up a few precious possessions he set off during the night to start a new life elsewhere, away from the taunting. He swore that he would teach himself great things and when he finally returned he would be both feared and beloved by all.

He crossed hills and valleys, through forests and across meadows until he reached a vast desert. There he worked tirelessly on what he believed could be his magic, his craft, the key to his success. Taking a piece of curved wood he practiced his technique day after day, perfecting and mastering a form of battle which no one had seen or used before.

Finally he decided he was ready - all he needed was a quest. His opportunity presented itself when he encountered a wandering merchant who told him of a great treasure that lay hidden in the hills. It was rumored to be quite the fortune, but it was guarded by a fearsome dragon.

"I am not afraid of a dragon," he told himself, and off he went.

Days and nights he walked until he reached the fabled hills. Spotting the puffs of smoke from miles away, little Daniel began to shake with fear. He was not a brave boy, he realized. All the bluster about defeating the dragon and capturing the treasure had sounded great at the time; but now suddenly his magical weapon felt heavy and leaden in his hand, his palms sweating at the prospect of facing an evil foe a thousand times his size.

He pushed on, though, determined to get the treasure or die trying...although he really didn't want to die trying. When at last Daniel reached the dragon's lair he took a deep breath, smoothed back his greasy hair, and advanced on the great beast waving the stick around in the air. It was not the technique he had practiced, though, and the dragon merely snorted with laughter - the gust from its great nostrils was enough to propel Daniel back into the forest and the dragon curled up and went back to sleep.

The next day Daniel tried again, this time flinging the stick high above his head in an attempt to hit the dragon in the head and blind it. Poor Daniel was too tiny, though, and it only struck the elbow of the great beast. Once more the dragon's laughter sent Daniel flying through the air and he landed in an embarrassed heap amid the trees, ego and rear end bruised.

When the third day rolled around Daniel decided this would be it. He would either take the treasure or slink back home a loser once more. Steeling himself for battle, he finally remembered the techniques he had taught himself over those long hot months in the desert. With his jaw set and the stick held straight in front of him, Daniel charged wildly at the dragon - right into its groin. The beast let out a great roar and flew into the air, flapping its wings wildly and flying off to rest its sore bits.

At last the treasure was his, and with a girlish squeal Daniel gathered up the gold and precious gems, eager to start his new life. Returning home he quickly raised an army with his newfound wealth, took over the kingdom whose borders he had once longingly gazed at, and pronounced himself king. He wore only orange and black to both blind his enemies and cause fear among his followers; in honor of the great beast whose special area had been stabbed to gain his wealth, Daniel painted a wing on his chest. The new kingdom was named Philadelphia, and Daniel ruled over it happily...

...until the dragon returned, set on revenge, and ate Daniel as a midday snack. He never did get his silver cup.

The moral of the story is this: Spearing someone in the cup...won't bring you a Cup.

The End