<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881068123175399131</id><updated>2011-07-30T14:05:38.470-04:00</updated><category term='Introduction'/><category term='Chapter 2 The Cookie Twins'/><category term='Milkman Bio'/><category term='Chapter 1 Tithing'/><category term='Chapter 3 Cat&apos;s Milk'/><title type='text'>Milkman Moby</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4881068123175399131/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Gail</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09601237899567387042</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/SPvOKdkru0I/AAAAAAAAA2I/IyKewPZXuyI/S220/benny+logo+letters2.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>11</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881068123175399131.post-6507850920655057016</id><published>2010-09-04T23:17:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-09-04T23:17:48.066-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Chapter 3 Cat&apos;s Milk'/><title type='text'>Spying on Crystal</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="color: #7d633b; font-family: 'lucida sans unicode', 'lucida sans', arial; margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Tigerman had been gone away from Crystal for months. He tried hard to live without her because he knew she lived in a world of violence. Tigerman did not want to make trouble for Crystal. She had a jealous boyfriend. Tigerman also knew that Crystal’s boyfriend, Joe, was probably mistreating her. His heart knew that she was troubled. Tigerman had to go to the small town to check on Crystal. He was curious to know if she was all right.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #7d633b; font-family: 'lucida sans unicode', 'lucida sans', arial; margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;When Tigerman came into the town, he saw her and secretly followed Crystal to her house. He hid behind trees and bushes to spy on her. Crystal carried some bricks out of her car. She began to do a little bit of landscaping. Crystal had a big yard, and she hated mowing the grass. She had everything to do by herself. The man she had was no man at all. Joe, her boyfriend, peeped out of the window at her. Tigerman was getting upset. He was hoping that he wasn’t with her. “Well, at least I know she’s all right”, Tigerman thought. “I really want to talk to her.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #7d633b; font-family: 'lucida sans unicode', 'lucida sans', arial; margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.freewebs.com/gnstorybook/muscle2.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;© &amp;nbsp;2006-2010&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7d633b; font-family: 'lucida sans unicode', 'lucida sans', arial; font-size: 12px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Tigerman Captured&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;When Tigerman turned around to leave, Joe’s friends were standing right behind him. One of them knocked him out with a baseball bat. Tigerman did not look like he was going to fall, and then he slowly fell down to the ground. He became unconscious. Then Joe’s friends tied his feet, legs, and arms up with a rope. They secretly gave Joe the news and carried Tigerman off into the woods and dropped him into a pit.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Late in the afternoon, Tigerman realized that he was tied up in a pit. He tried to break free from the rope that he was tied up in. Tigerman couldn’t break free, so he laid still and waited for his enemies. When Joe and his friends took him out of the pit, they had plans to make a circus freak out of him at the club. Joe took pictures of him and had them published. He made his friends put Tigerman in a cage and put him on a stage. Joe drew a crowd of people to the club. There was loud club music and cheering and making fun of Tigerman. Crystal stood starring at Tigerman. He saw Crystal starring. She sneaked out of the club. Tigerman hung his head in grief. Crystal was sick of her boyfriend, and she called the police. Crystal told them what was going on and added more to the story.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Then Crystal sneaked back into the club after the police had arrived. She stole the keys from her boyfriend who was drunk, and she set Tigerman free. One of Joe’s friends knocked Crystal to the floor and that made Tigerman go into a rage. He broke the enemy’s arm. Tigerman fought all of the men he could fight like a wild animal. That’s when everybody started fighting. The police were fighting too and arresting people. Soon there were police cars surrounding the front of the building. When Crystal saw that there was no one in the back of the building, she got through the crowd to Tigerman. “Come on man! Let’s get out of here!” she exclaimed. Crystal and Tigerman sneaked out of the back door and went to his mother’s house. Tigerman was free for a while from a club full of enemies.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Tigerman’s mother was very worried about him. She was in deep thought and worry that Tigerman would never be able to visit the town again. His picture was seen everywhere, and she knew that the police and his enemies would look for him. Tigerman’s mother sent him and Crystal away to the jungle with food and lots of goodies.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div style="color: #7d633b; font-family: 'lucida sans unicode', 'lucida sans', arial; margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4881068123175399131-6507850920655057016?l=milkmanmoby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/feeds/6507850920655057016/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/2010/09/spying-on-crystal.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4881068123175399131/posts/default/6507850920655057016'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4881068123175399131/posts/default/6507850920655057016'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/2010/09/spying-on-crystal.html' title='Spying on Crystal'/><author><name>Gail</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09601237899567387042</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/SPvOKdkru0I/AAAAAAAAA2I/IyKewPZXuyI/S220/benny+logo+letters2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881068123175399131.post-7129705945394354535</id><published>2010-09-04T23:06:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-09-04T23:06:41.278-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Chapter 3 Cat&apos;s Milk'/><title type='text'>Two Worlds</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Tigerman was hated and feared by his great strength and appearance. The hair on his cheeks was kind of long and his skin was dark from the sun. Tigerman looked very hairy on his chest, hands, and arms. His hair looked like fur. Tigerman decided to make his home the jungle where he found peace and happiness. He would often visit his mother who lived in a small town. Tigerman was like a guardian angel to her and most women and children. He thinks the world is a very bad place to live, but he tries to make it a better place.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Tigerman learned many things from Lion the Gracious. He learned that he should not live in ungodliness and worldly lusts. Tigerman also learned that he should live soberly and righteously. But still, it was not always easy for Tigerman. He had a heart for a woman that was not living righteously. The woman that he loved was a good woman deep down on the inside, and Tigerman knew it. She was a woman that hung out at the clubs, she drank, and she was always fighting. But Tigerman knew that she was not happy doing those things. He watched the woman carefully when she was alone. The woman was very alone and hurt. Lion the Gracious warned Tigerman to stay away from the woman. But he disobeyed. Tigerman tried to make friends with the woman. The woman’s name was Crystal. Tigerman and Crystal became very close. But Crystal was trouble because of the bad company that she kept around her. She had a jealous boyfriend. Tigerman began to make a lot of enemies and his life was in danger. Crystal’s boyfriend and his friends began to set traps for Tigerman to fall in. But he would escape the traps every time. Crystal’s boyfriend’s name was Joe. Since he could not catch Tigerman, he made plans to have him killed. Tigerman could sense that he was about to be killed. So he left the little town he grew up in and went back to the jungle.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Tigerman began to envy the other guys in the small town. He hated the hair that was on his body, and he envied the smooth skin that they had. Tigerman was longing to be with the one he loved. He needed Crystal’s affection. Tigerman began to roam around the jungle deeply depressed. Lion the Gracious was very worried about him. Tigerman said to him, “I belong in that small town. I came here to the jungle because I felt like I didn’t belong in that town. Not being able to see Crystal is going to drive me mad.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Lion the Gracious thought to himself, “Boy, I told you that girl is nothing but trouble. But you must learn on your own.”&amp;nbsp; Lion the Gracious stayed silent. He would only listen to Tigerman. The only thing Lion could think of was to let Crystal visit the jungle, but he thought it was a bad idea. Trouble would only follow Crystal to the jungle.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Tigerman did not like it when Lion the Gracious did not have much to say. His silence bothered him. Tigerman asked, “What are you thinking, Lion?” Lion the Gracious said, “I’m just listening.”&amp;nbsp; Lion put his hands on Tigerman to pray and bless him. He knew that Tigerman would leave the jungle and go to the small town again.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.freewebs.com/gnstorybook/Copy%20of%20lion2.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;© 2006-2010 Gail Nobles&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4881068123175399131-7129705945394354535?l=milkmanmoby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/feeds/7129705945394354535/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/2010/09/two-worlds.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4881068123175399131/posts/default/7129705945394354535'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4881068123175399131/posts/default/7129705945394354535'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/2010/09/two-worlds.html' title='Two Worlds'/><author><name>Gail</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09601237899567387042</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/SPvOKdkru0I/AAAAAAAAA2I/IyKewPZXuyI/S220/benny+logo+letters2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881068123175399131.post-7641694500302561202</id><published>2010-09-04T22:59:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-09-04T23:19:10.598-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Chapter 3 Cat&apos;s Milk'/><title type='text'>Lion the Gracious &amp; Tigerman</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7d633b; font-family: 'lucida sans unicode', 'lucida sans', arial; font-size: 12px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Lion the Gracious&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.freewebs.com/gnstorybook/Lion%20protection3.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;© 2006-2010 Gail Nobles&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="clear: left; float: left; font-size: small; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="color: #7d633b; font-family: 'lucida sans unicode', 'lucida sans', arial; margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;First, let me tell you about a man name&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Lion the Gracious.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;He is a great spirit in the jungle from long ago, and he is a legend. Lion the Gracious was a mighty man born in the circus and was kept in a cage. He never knew his mother or father. Both his parents were human. His mother was left alone because his father was killed trying to tame a lion. There was so much hate inside of her for the lion that killed her husband. She carried that hate inside of her while she was carrying Lion the Gracious. Watching the lions outside their cages, she stood around the lions. Lion the Gracious’ mother watched them with grief and pain. She died given birth to him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #7d633b; font-family: 'lucida sans unicode', 'lucida sans', arial; margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Lion the Gracious was born a lion-like man. A lion trainer physically abused him. But one day, Lion the Gracious became angry at the lion trainer and attacked him. He could have killed him but left him bleeding and sweating. Lion the Gracious escaped from the circus to live in the jungle. Lion knew and understood the world of animal and man. He lived for many years. But no one knows whether he died or not. They say that you can still feel his presence in the jungle.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #7d633b; font-family: 'lucida sans unicode', 'lucida sans', arial; margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #7d633b; font-family: 'lucida sans unicode', 'lucida sans', arial; margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7d633b; font-family: 'lucida sans unicode', 'lucida sans', arial; font-size: 12px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;div align="center" style="margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Tigerman&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Now, many years had gone by. Another strange child was born. His name is Tigerman. He was born to be a tiger-like man. He was mighty. Tigerman had it rough growing up. Other children would make fun of him in school because he was different. As strong as he was, he was humble and hurt by their jokes. Tigerman wanted to be like other children in looks. He felt so lonely because the other children did not want him around. Tigerman was not allowed to participate in their fun and games.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;One day Tigerman went to the jungle. He was crying. Tigerman just knew that the jungle was where he belonged. That’s when Tigerman found a friend. Another strange human like him heard his cry. Some believe that he was Lion the Gracious. He became Tigerman’s great grandfather. Some seem to think that Lion the Gracious is kin to Tigerman somewhere down the line.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;When Tigerman became a man, he spiritually received his tiger stripes. He had the urge to be wild. But his great grandfather, Lion the Gracious, was behind him to tame him. He could not be seen. Lion the Gracious was there to teach him about many things. There are more chapters to this story. There is more to tell.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.freewebs.com/gnstorybook/4Gail%20Nobles_Tigermana.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;© 2006-2010 Gail Nobles&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="color: #7d633b; font-family: 'lucida sans unicode', 'lucida sans', arial; margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4881068123175399131-7641694500302561202?l=milkmanmoby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/feeds/7641694500302561202/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/2010/09/lion-gracious-tigerman.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4881068123175399131/posts/default/7641694500302561202'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4881068123175399131/posts/default/7641694500302561202'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/2010/09/lion-gracious-tigerman.html' title='Lion the Gracious &amp; Tigerman'/><author><name>Gail</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09601237899567387042</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/SPvOKdkru0I/AAAAAAAAA2I/IyKewPZXuyI/S220/benny+logo+letters2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881068123175399131.post-396812220913185279</id><published>2010-09-04T22:49:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2010-09-05T11:04:41.178-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Chapter 2 The Cookie Twins'/><title type='text'>Gobbler Cook Hazel</title><content type='html'>&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/TIOwqGPeWFI/AAAAAAAACPM/pGdSee6bjt0/s1600/cookie3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/TIOwqGPeWFI/AAAAAAAACPM/pGdSee6bjt0/s320/cookie3.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;© 2007-2010 Gail Nobles&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/TIOwxuCixDI/AAAAAAAACPU/J5hBlRqxHSE/s1600/cookie4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/TIOwxuCixDI/AAAAAAAACPU/J5hBlRqxHSE/s320/cookie4.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;© 2007-2010 Gail Nobles&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7d633b; font-family: 'lucida sans unicode', 'lucida sans', arial; font-size: 12px;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;The cookie girls prayed for escape or destroying the gobblers somehow.&amp;nbsp; They saw some green toadfish-like men slained to death. Their heads were chopped off and left on some poles.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"Look at those funny looking humans over there," said Martha. " Their heads are chopped off."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"They look like some kind of sea people," replied Mary. "Those Gobblers look like human turkeys. No wonder they call themselves Gobblers."&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Martha was getting upset. "They are bloody animals! We are not food! We are humans! What kind of world are we living in?"&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"A strange one, that's for sure." replied Mary.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;The cookie twins saw the leader of all the Gobbler cooks. Her name was Hazel, and she was very hateful. She opened her pot to throw in a fish. Out of the pot came steam and smoke everywhere. Hazel walked all around the pole, looking at the cookie girls. Then she raised her fork and fire began to appear around them.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"Oh, no!"exclaimed Martha. "She's going to cook us!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"That's right dear!" said the Gobbler cook. "And you look mighty raw and tasty. I can imagine how good you are going to be when you are done!" &amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;Martha demanded, "Now hold on a minuet. We are no food. We are human beings. You can't eat us." She could feel the fire getting hotter and growing higher.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Hazel said, "Anything that walks and lives, we are able to eat if it is not a Gobbler!"&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Martha had an idea. She saw sniffles from a distance, with a giant bag of Cookies. Martha whistled to her dog. Sniffles ran to them and could barely drag the bag. She yelled to Hazel who was about to walk off, "Wait!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Hazel snapped, "What now? "I'm mighty busy. I don't have time to talk. You are food and that's the end."&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;But we have some food that you never had before. Don't you get tired of eating meat?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;The cook saw Sniffles. She let her eyes rest on him greedily. "I see. I'll cook you and that too. You're not getting out of this one." The Gobbler cook reached out to pick Sniffles up, but Sniffles began to bite at her hands.&amp;nbsp; The old Gobbler jumped back. Sniffles began barking and growling at her. "What is that?" asked Hazel.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"It's our dog", replied Mary. "He has the bag of food we were talking about. It's food lile you never have seen before in your life. Let us go, and we will share it with you. Don't you want to try something new? It's much better than the food you're cooking. Let us go, and cook us later. We won't escape. We want to share our food."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;The cookie twins felt the fire. It was getting too warm. Cookie Cram tried her best to bribe the Gobbler cook.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"You think I was born yesterday, don't you?" asked the cook giving them a mean and ugly and hateful look.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Mary thought about some real turkeys back home and came up with a great idea. "No! It is not right for ......you to kill someone....without them eating their last meal." Mary began gritting on her teeth. "It will make us bigger and fatter if ....... you let us eat one last time. I'm really hungry. I'm so hungry, I could eat you. I can really stuff my gut when I'm hungry. I have not had a meal in days. Remember........the.....more we eat.....the fatter we get."&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"Well, I haven't thought about it that way," said the Gobbler cook.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"Then let us go!" cried Martha feeling the heat.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;The cook raised her fork and the fire was gone. She made two big muscular cooking men cut the twins down from the pole.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4881068123175399131-396812220913185279?l=milkmanmoby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/feeds/396812220913185279/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/2010/09/gobbler-cook-hazel.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4881068123175399131/posts/default/396812220913185279'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4881068123175399131/posts/default/396812220913185279'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/2010/09/gobbler-cook-hazel.html' title='Gobbler Cook Hazel'/><author><name>Gail</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09601237899567387042</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/SPvOKdkru0I/AAAAAAAAA2I/IyKewPZXuyI/S220/benny+logo+letters2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/TIOwqGPeWFI/AAAAAAAACPM/pGdSee6bjt0/s72-c/cookie3.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881068123175399131.post-4991677374139024692</id><published>2010-09-04T22:38:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2010-09-04T22:42:55.220-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Chapter 2 The Cookie Twins'/><title type='text'>The Gobblers</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/TIMBnhyLiXI/AAAAAAAACOs/Bw6o_E_lp7Y/s1600/cookie+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/TIMBnhyLiXI/AAAAAAAACOs/Bw6o_E_lp7Y/s320/cookie+2.JPG" width="239" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;© 2007 - 2010 Gail Nobles&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/TIMBzB8OZjI/AAAAAAAACOw/uFM-QdeVcqU/s1600/Cookie+1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/TIMBzB8OZjI/AAAAAAAACOw/uFM-QdeVcqU/s320/Cookie+1.jpeg" width="312" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;© 2007-2010 Gail Nobles&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;“Run Sniffles!” shouted the Cookie Twins. The Gobblers grabbed the cookie girls and the cookie girls tried to break loose. They fought hard to get away. The Cookie Twins were very rough. They fought hard to get away. There were three Gobblers fighting against them. The Cookie Twins were always wise in their fight against three men. It took more Gobblers to hold them down. About fifty of them leaped upon the cookie girls. The girls were striking, clawing, kicking, and punching. They fought as they had learned to fight in school. The Cookie Twins fought like wild animals. Slowly the Gobblers were overpowering the girls as they became tired.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;“They are strong edibles,” said one of the Gobblers, standing around watching. The Gobblers took the Cookie girls to their king. The king looked at them up and down. He saw a medallion around Mary’s neck, and he snatched it off.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;“You give that back!” exclaimed Mary.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;“What is this thing?” asked the Gobbler king, “Is it some type of symbol? What does it represent?”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;“It’s just a fake cookie made out of wood,” replied Mary.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;“What is a cookie?” asked the Gobbler king.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;Mary asked, “You mean, you don’t know what a cookie is? It’s something you eat.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;King Gobbler tried to bite the medallion. “It’s hard! It has no taste, and it is not good!” He handed back the medallion.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;When Mary took it, she wiped it off with her shirt. Then she smelled the medallion. Then she put it back around her neck. Mary looked at Martha. Martha looked at Mary. They thought King Gobbler was stupid.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;“What kind of creatures are you?” asked the king.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;“We are human beings,” replied Martha.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;King Gobbler shouted, “And if you are not Gobblers, that means you are edibles!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;“What in the world are edibles?” asked the Cookie Twins.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;The king shouted, “Food! Take them to the cook!”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;“No!” exclaimed the Cookie Twins.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;The Gobblers took the cookie girls outside to tie them to a big post. They smelled frying meat and their stomachs began to growl.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;The Cookie Twins thought that they would not live to get back home. They prayed to escape. &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4881068123175399131-4991677374139024692?l=milkmanmoby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/feeds/4991677374139024692/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/2010/09/gobblers.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4881068123175399131/posts/default/4991677374139024692'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4881068123175399131/posts/default/4991677374139024692'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/2010/09/gobblers.html' title='The Gobblers'/><author><name>Gail</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09601237899567387042</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/SPvOKdkru0I/AAAAAAAAA2I/IyKewPZXuyI/S220/benny+logo+letters2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/TIMBnhyLiXI/AAAAAAAACOs/Bw6o_E_lp7Y/s72-c/cookie+2.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881068123175399131.post-3896160558997874025</id><published>2010-09-04T22:30:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-09-04T23:01:32.738-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Chapter 2 The Cookie Twins'/><title type='text'>Cookie Mountain</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="fw-text" style="color: #7d633b; font-family: 'lucida sans unicode', 'lucida sans', arial; font-size: 12px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; width: 520px;"&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;The Cookie Twins began to grow tired, depressed, and skinny because they were not being fed right by their grandmother. “I’m tired of Grandma feeding us stale cookies and left over slop. We need some real food. I can’t take it much longer,” said Mary holding her stomach.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Martha nibbled on fresh cookies. “I just wish we could go to a land like that land in the Bible. It was flowing with milk and honey. Rev. Johnson said that the same God that’s up there in heaven today is the same God in heaven now. All we have to do is pray and believe that we will have a better life somewhere else, and he will answer our prayers.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Yea,” said Mary, “I’m tired of that fat and sloppy man coming here taking the best food out of our mouths. Grandma is always feeding a stranger. She won’t even feed her own granddaughters. Even though Mama couldn’t take care of us, she would feed us if she could.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Martha began to crunch very loud. She was never quite sure of anything until she tried something and made something happen. “If we leave home, Grandma wouldn’t miss us. She doesn’t love us anyway. If she loved us, she would take care of us. We should leave. If we make one step, God will make two. We just can’t stay here and starve.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mary had high hopes and big dreams. Her mind was always thinking, and she was always planning. Mary was also cautious and slow about jumping out into the world. She said, “If only we had a good grandma. She has good talent. Grandma can cook all kinds of stuff. She could make money off of her cooking.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“But Grandma,” said Martha, whispering down low and listening out for her grandmother, “is not gonna do nothing’. She’s so satisfied with the way she’s living. It wouldn’t do us any good no how. She’s too selfish and stingy.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Yep,” replied Mary, “and people are too poor to buy anything around here. So we have got to go.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day, Martha and Mary went to church with their grandmother. They couldn’t wait for church to be over because they were hungry. The cookie twins had plans to sneak to Mr. Hermon’s house that had a big old plum tree. They were stealing his plums. When church was over, they wanted to ask their grandmother could they visit their friends. Their grandmother was so busy talking to three old ladies. The cookie twins were not allowed to interrupt when they saw grown ups talking. They stood around for a few minuets waiting for the right time to ask. It seemed that it took their grandmother forever to stop talking. So Martha and Mary took off to be with the rest of their friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When they got to Mr. Hermon’s house, they ate a lot of plums from the ground and off of his tree. The cookie twins did not stay long like their friends did. Mr. Hermon was in church, and they knew he would return to his home soon. He did not live far from the church. So Martha and Mary went back to the church to find their grandmother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That night, the cookie twins ate a big plate of food before they went to bed. Their grandmother brought some plates home from the church. It was the best real meal that Martha and Mary had for a long time. They went to bed with full stomachs and happy thanking God. Sniffles, their dog was happy too. He jumped on the bed and slept at the foot of the bed between the twins. Martha and Mary fell asleep holding hands praying that God would send them off to a land of milk and honey. They fell asleep and began to dream a long dream.         &lt;/span&gt;         &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/TIMEJYNgoKI/AAAAAAAACO0/oYOAL6q6mO4/s1600/cookie+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/TIMEJYNgoKI/AAAAAAAACO0/oYOAL6q6mO4/s320/cookie+5.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;© 2001-2010 Gail Nobles&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;The Cookie girls and their dog had set off on an adventure journey to a strange land. They were on a small ship. Mary and her sister took turns steering the ship. Sniffles, the lazy-eyed dog just enjoyed the ride. The ship rocked and dipped side ways into the deep blue sea. The white sails shook as the wind blew and sung. The grey clouds glided across the sky. The sea gulls cried as they flew by. It looked as if a storm was coming. The girls were hungry and feeling sea sick. They ate some cookies that they had on the ship, but they wanted some real food.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/TIMEYTzQzbI/AAAAAAAACO8/BBobIS3dNFM/s1600/cookie+6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/TIMEYTzQzbI/AAAAAAAACO8/BBobIS3dNFM/s320/cookie+6.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;© 2007-2010 Gail Nobles&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt; When the cookie twins got on land, they were in a strange land. They were in a land they called Cookie Mountain. It had volcanic cookie features but not all of the land. When the twins walked around to search the land, they began to run away from chocolate chip cookie volcano explosions. It was too much for them. The dream that they were having began to seem crazy. The dream led them right in the middle of an army of strange warriors called Gobblers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Gobblers were in the image of men, but their faces varied in turkey features. The twins had no time for questions. “Look! Edibles!” cried one of the Gobblers, “After them!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another Gobbler went after Sniffles. The dog ran as fast as he could, but Sniffles was a basset hound and was not a fast runner. He had never seen such strange looking humans in his life. The Gobblers captured the twins and their dog.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4881068123175399131-3896160558997874025?l=milkmanmoby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/feeds/3896160558997874025/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/2010/09/cookie-mountain.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4881068123175399131/posts/default/3896160558997874025'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4881068123175399131/posts/default/3896160558997874025'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/2010/09/cookie-mountain.html' title='Cookie Mountain'/><author><name>Gail</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09601237899567387042</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/SPvOKdkru0I/AAAAAAAAA2I/IyKewPZXuyI/S220/benny+logo+letters2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/TIMEJYNgoKI/AAAAAAAACO0/oYOAL6q6mO4/s72-c/cookie+5.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881068123175399131.post-9006315250005755808</id><published>2010-09-04T22:27:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2010-09-04T23:04:30.182-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Chapter 2 The Cookie Twins'/><title type='text'>The Cookie Twins</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="fw-text" style="color: #7d633b; font-family: 'lucida sans unicode', 'lucida sans', arial; font-size: 12px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; width: 520px;"&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;© 2007-2010 Gail Nobles. All rights reserved&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;It was a year of war and things were very hard. The cost of labor was going down, angry mobs were in the streets, people were stealing and killing, people were sleeping in cardboard boxes, some sat by cooking fires covered with heavy blankets and quilts,&lt;br /&gt;people were out of jobs, and even rich people were not getting paid enough. Dreams were turned into nightmares. Many women were crying over their sons because some of them were drafted to fight in the war. Preachers preached and thoughts of Jesus gave some people a little faith. Many people were praying, but some people stopped praying. Some died because their hearts were broken. Some felt that they had nothing to live for because the world had nothing to offer. It was a great depression.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a changing time and nobody knew two black teenage sisters named Martha and Mary. Together they were called the Cookie Twins because they both loved cookies. Martha had a loud crunch whenever she ate her cookies. She ate very fast and would often bite her tongue. Mary just crammed her cookies in her mouth greedily. The problem was their grandmother. She never fed them much. Whenever they ate a cookie, they ate every crumb. Martha and Mary’s favorite cookie was chocolate chip cookies. &lt;/span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img height="300" src="http://www.freewebs.com/gnstorybook/chocolate%20chip3.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;© 2007-2010 Gail Nobles&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7d633b; font-family: 'lucida sans unicode', 'lucida sans', arial; font-size: 12px;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;The hungry cookie girls had a stingy grandmother. There grandmother had plenty for them to eat, but the girls were always starving. She fed them oatmeal with no sugar because sugar was very scarce. Their lemonade was always bitter. The stingy grandmother kept bags of sugar piled up in storage room. She fed them hard, stale, and old as Methuselah homemade cookies out of a cookie jar. The Cookie Twins called them jawbreakers. Martha almost broke her tooth trying to eat them. Mary just gave hers to her dog named Sniffles that sat under the kitchen table.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Whenever Sniffles went out to hunt for food, he would bring it home to the girls. The hound dog was a very good dog to the girls. He looked out for them. Sometimes he would leave the girls and would go to the city to steal food off of the streets. Sometimes Sniffles would hunt for birds in the woods. Whenever he brought food home, granny would end up getting the best of it. Because of her, the girls were not always lucky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The best food was cooked for a fat and jolly old man that came over to visit their grandmother. The two sisters were always sent to their room whenever there was company. They were not treated like granddaughters. Whenever the girls were sent to their room, they would sneak around in their grandmother’s storage room instead. It was full of homemade, soft, fresh, and sweet cookies. The Cookie Twins would sit down on the floor and eat some of them. Martha and Mary never got caught. But Martha had a loud crunch that could give her away. Mary always crammed her cookies in a hurry whenever she thought her grandmother was coming.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later on that day, the Cookie Twins sneaked into their room while their grandmother was still sitting and talking in the kitchen.&lt;br /&gt;Martha and Mary thought that it was time for bigger and better things in life. They sat up late at night reading a story from the Bible. They read about a land flowing with milk and honey. The Cookie Twins would visualize and fantasize about it every day and night. Then they decided that they would run away from home to find that good land, but that is another story.      &lt;/span&gt;    &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4881068123175399131-9006315250005755808?l=milkmanmoby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/feeds/9006315250005755808/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/2010/09/cookie-twins.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4881068123175399131/posts/default/9006315250005755808'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4881068123175399131/posts/default/9006315250005755808'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/2010/09/cookie-twins.html' title='The Cookie Twins'/><author><name>Gail</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09601237899567387042</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/SPvOKdkru0I/AAAAAAAAA2I/IyKewPZXuyI/S220/benny+logo+letters2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881068123175399131.post-3672533452958524731</id><published>2010-01-01T10:47:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-01T10:48:55.745-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Chapter 1 Tithing'/><title type='text'>Trying to Help the Poor</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/Sz4ZNctW2YI/AAAAAAAABnc/gYnRxSZZjJM/s1600-h/Crisis3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 352px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421798720236083586" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/Sz4ZNctW2YI/AAAAAAAABnc/gYnRxSZZjJM/s400/Crisis3.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Milkman Moby spreads the word of God, but he also spreads the message to people to help the poor. It was not always an easy job for him to get people together to donate. Moby watched people give lots of money in churches, and most of that money was used to build fancy churches to help the pastors. When he mentioned about gathering together to help the poor to the people, nobody was in a hurry to do a thing. Moby Jones Jr. thought, “Something is wrong.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moby also watched people feast away in the churches. The people ate and had great meals. He got funny looks whenever he mentioned, “Maybe we should have invited the poor.” The pastors of churches did not like Moby because they thought he made them look bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moby stopped visiting the churches for help. He began to take the time at his home to do more praying to God. He looked up to heaven and asked God to help him do his will.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4881068123175399131-3672533452958524731?l=milkmanmoby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/feeds/3672533452958524731/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/2010/01/trying-to-help-poor.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4881068123175399131/posts/default/3672533452958524731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4881068123175399131/posts/default/3672533452958524731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/2010/01/trying-to-help-poor.html' title='Trying to Help the Poor'/><author><name>Gail</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09601237899567387042</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/SPvOKdkru0I/AAAAAAAAA2I/IyKewPZXuyI/S220/benny+logo+letters2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/Sz4ZNctW2YI/AAAAAAAABnc/gYnRxSZZjJM/s72-c/Crisis3.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881068123175399131.post-7135784263996633596</id><published>2009-12-09T19:01:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-09T19:17:38.789-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Chapter 1 Tithing'/><title type='text'>Tithing</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/SyA7BCzHk0I/AAAAAAAABkE/AcrmmNHdUBI/s1600-h/Milkman+comic.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 301px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 450px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413391641216521026" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/SyA7BCzHk0I/AAAAAAAABkE/AcrmmNHdUBI/s400/Milkman+comic.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/SyA6zZY6VUI/AAAAAAAABj8/ZLFGaOlgEmU/s1600-h/Milkman+comic+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 307px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 452px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413391406762448194" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/SyA6zZY6VUI/AAAAAAAABj8/ZLFGaOlgEmU/s400/Milkman+comic+2.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/SyA6hpB0n0I/AAAAAAAABj0/NnoM2ZWlBEo/s1600-h/Milkman+comic+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Milkman Moby traveled all over the world to feed the poor. He was guided by an old and tired man who had traveled to feed the poor for years. The old man's nick name was, "Old Man Tithe". Nobody knew his real name. Sometimes Tithe would travel with Moby, and sometimes he stayed away from traveling to rest. He just couldn't get around as good as he use to. Milkman Moby worked for him. Old Man Tithe taught Moby about tithing from the Bible. He said, "Thithe is the practice of giving a tenth of your income or property as an offerint to God. Before the law of Moses, Jacob promised that he would give to the Lord a tenth of all that he received. You will find it written in Gen. 28:22."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Milkman Moby thought, "I don't know if I'll always have anything to give, but I will give what I can. (2 Corinthians 9:7 ) ....For God loveth a cheerful giver."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4881068123175399131-7135784263996633596?l=milkmanmoby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/feeds/7135784263996633596/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/2009/12/tithing.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4881068123175399131/posts/default/7135784263996633596'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4881068123175399131/posts/default/7135784263996633596'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/2009/12/tithing.html' title='Tithing'/><author><name>Gail</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09601237899567387042</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/SPvOKdkru0I/AAAAAAAAA2I/IyKewPZXuyI/S220/benny+logo+letters2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/SyA7BCzHk0I/AAAAAAAABkE/AcrmmNHdUBI/s72-c/Milkman+comic.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881068123175399131.post-6874999800688384940</id><published>2009-12-06T11:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-06T11:52:07.837-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Milkman Bio'/><title type='text'>Milkman Bio</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/SxvhClqPHoI/AAAAAAAABjs/ZbH3Hkiqblk/s1600-h/Introducing%2520Moby%25202.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 391px; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412166811801034370" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/SxvhClqPHoI/AAAAAAAABjs/ZbH3Hkiqblk/s400/Introducing%2520Moby%25202.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/Sxvg8Be_1DI/AAAAAAAABjk/GAgp5d6bjIw/s1600-h/Introducing+Moby2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 328px; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412166699011003442" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/Sxvg8Be_1DI/AAAAAAAABjk/GAgp5d6bjIw/s400/Introducing+Moby2.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4881068123175399131-6874999800688384940?l=milkmanmoby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/feeds/6874999800688384940/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/2009/12/milkman-bio.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4881068123175399131/posts/default/6874999800688384940'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4881068123175399131/posts/default/6874999800688384940'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/2009/12/milkman-bio.html' title='Milkman Bio'/><author><name>Gail</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09601237899567387042</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/SPvOKdkru0I/AAAAAAAAA2I/IyKewPZXuyI/S220/benny+logo+letters2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/SxvhClqPHoI/AAAAAAAABjs/ZbH3Hkiqblk/s72-c/Introducing%2520Moby%25202.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4881068123175399131.post-980564370531597679</id><published>2009-12-05T20:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-05T20:54:53.058-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Introduction'/><title type='text'>Introduction</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/SxsMPZ7dYtI/AAAAAAAABi8/oND8N4lWp10/s1600-h/milkman+moby+4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 374px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411932836013630162" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/SxsMPZ7dYtI/AAAAAAAABi8/oND8N4lWp10/s400/milkman+moby+4.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Milkman Moby is a character that I thought of writing Little Benny stories. He seemed to link my mind to some Bible verses about milk. Reading all of the verses about milk makes me think of Milkman Moby as a symbol of Gospel milk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Milk is very important. It is something that we need. It makes healthier bones. We also need the Gospel milk to make us healthier and strong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Milkman Moby travels to feed the poor. Feeding the poor is something that he strongly believes in. Moby also teaches the word of God. When I made the milkman character, I thouht that he would be a great character to make.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4881068123175399131-980564370531597679?l=milkmanmoby.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/feeds/980564370531597679/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/2009/12/introduction.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4881068123175399131/posts/default/980564370531597679'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4881068123175399131/posts/default/980564370531597679'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://milkmanmoby.blogspot.com/2009/12/introduction.html' title='Introduction'/><author><name>Gail</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09601237899567387042</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/SPvOKdkru0I/AAAAAAAAA2I/IyKewPZXuyI/S220/benny+logo+letters2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Q2L3esBQq_M/SxsMPZ7dYtI/AAAAAAAABi8/oND8N4lWp10/s72-c/milkman+moby+4.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
