Face Story

      His name was Roof... Roof Top... Roof Eugene Top. 

      He was the baddest external covering in all the land. Raindrops hit him, and ran down in fear. Birds landed, and flew away in a flash.  He had a way of striking pure untainted terror in the hearts of all of the other coverings in the world. Including the formally most B.A. covering in the world, Tree Theodore Top.


      All we can say, is that Tree isn't with us anymore. He'd gone in the Witness Protection Program, changing his name to Paper Peter Plate, when he'd passed at a family picnic last July. May he rest in peace.

     At least, that's what they say. We know that it was actually Roof. They also say he's never had a family. That he was born of gunpowder and bombs and plenty of other evil mean things. At least, that's what they say.


     They say, that, as a young boy, Roof would fight off lightning and wrestle with the wind. That his gutters were never full, because all the leaves were to afraid to come close to even the young Roof Eugene Top. His favorite game was to smoke, the fine black ash going up and out his chimney. 


      Yes. You could say he was the most smooth-rough-and-tumble-log-smoking-B.A. covering in the country. The world. The universe. 


      And indeed, it was true. He was the most smooth-rough-and-tumble-log-smoking-B.A. covering in the country. The world. The universe. 

    He knew it too. 


     But there came a time that Roof grew up. Into the covering of a giant skyscraper. And because everyone was afraid of his glassy stare and snide expression, of his rough-and-tumble ways, he never had any friends. He grew up alone. He half heartedly fought off the rain. And the snow. And the wind. But eventually, they became his only friends.


    Once, Roof met a nice girl. Her name was Cloud Courtney Cumulonimbus. 


    And he even thought it might work out. That they might grow old together, and he would have someone to love. But one day, Cloud was gone. Out of thin air. No doubt she had heard the stories. Of how Roof treated most weather oriented objects. 


     So, Roof grew old alone. And died alone. The birds started landing on him, and the leaves started clogging up his gutters. The people under him moved out. 


    All that is left of Roof is a caved in, indecent covering, not even good enough for the zombies that live on the bottom floor.