The Charlie Bravo Story

Titus Pullo

Yo; I’m Titus Pullo.
You, know, THAT Titus. Dad named me after the good natured but deadly centurion, one of only two soldiers mentioned by Julius Caesar in his official memoirs. But Dad missed it on this one; he’s usually pretty ace on naming the inmates, but there’s not a martial bone in my body, Roman or otherwise. If he had looked past my formidable appearance and into the foggy recesses of my brain, he would have named me Spicoli, after the stoner surfer dude from “Fast Times at Ridgemont High”. Or maybe even The Dude from “The Big Lebowski”.
It’s not that I’m a particular advocate (although I won’t say “nahhh, I’ll pass)for indulging in the devil’s lettuce(can’t fit me floppy lips around the bong), but I have been known to snack on the occasional high octane edible every now and again. You know, just to take the edge off and all. Dad attibutes this habit to my totally chill approach to many things in life; even my nightly Battles of Bitey Mouth with Charlie are remarkably laid back if not lengthy affairs; imagine a buff Bob Marley, trailing a plume of aromatic as he steps into the Octagon, and then (peacefully) kicking some serious tail.
You can even see it when I run, as there is a disconnect between the front and rear halves of me body. The front half tends to stay on track, while the back half seems to have a mind of its own, bouncing to and fro behind me like a caboose that’s became unencumbered from the rails. And about that proverbial train wreck; I can do a great deal of damage to Dad’s soft tissue based on my bulk and momentum alone, but there isn’t a aggressive bone in me body. I’m a lover, not a fighter, although my lovin’s sometimes are a bit too enthusiastic for the meek and unexpecting.
Then there’s the munchies. The wet, mucking, sound of me massive maw opening to inhale a morsel cannot be described with words; one can only imagine an alien creature from Star Wars attempting to ingest the Aluminum Falcon.
Then as soon as the carnage is complete, I disappear in a cloud of brown and white hair, only to be found curled up wherever the Z monster decides to take me. It is here that I sleep the sleep of the righteous and dream of my next mission: doing exactly what I want to do when I want to do it with absolutely no idea as to any reasonable reason why.
It’s great to be the Titus!

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