The tale of the three shepherds.

The following is my very own first attempt at a fictional story.

I have been told that I must be a great writer because all of my Metallicman writings are so fantastical and imaginative. I must have a great colorful and active mind to dream up such ideas. But that’s not really true. I only write what I have personally experienced, and talk about the life that I live and what I see and do.

There’s nothing fictional in this site whats so ever.

Never the less, I have tried to write fiction in the past, maybe the early 1990’s and it got no where. Maybe I could try again. Maybe I’ll be another Ray Bradbury, Arthur C. Clarke or Robert Heinlein. Who actually knows?

So with that introduction, let’s introduce my first internet published short story. And you’se guys are the first to read it. I do hope that you enjoy it.

The Three Shepherds

Once upon a time, in a rather pastoral land, were three shepherds. They were men of sheep.

All of them were tall, strong and carried about a long crooked cane. And as they went about their day to day life shepherding, doing sheep related things, and discussing sheep related current events, they would often gather together (as was their want) under this huge shady tree.

And there, under the great expanse of the mighty oaken limbs, they would discuss the latest in sheep husbandry, sheep technology, and sheep-related gossip.

The three shepherds went by the names of Tom, Dick and Harry.

Tom, the best shepherd of the trio had a massive and impressive flock of sheep. All of them were well cared for, happy and were the envy of the local village.

Dick, an average shepherd, had an average flock of sheep. There was nothing really that great about it. All of the sheep were solid “C” grade students in the local sheep academy, and it showed in their actions and behaviors.

And, Harry, well, Harry was the worst shepherd of the three. He tended to ignore his flock of sheep and left them to do their own bidding. Meanwhile he would cavort with a prized sheep or two off in the wilds behind the bushes in a most devilish manner.

And one day, on this fine and quiet pastoral land, they came to an argument.

It turns out that they were arguing just who was the best shepherd.

And the point was raised, that your actions are reflected in how the sheep behavior, and not whether or not you get ribbons at the local annual sheep parade, or are given the key to the city for the most amazing sheep.

Ai! And the argument went long and hard and well into the night. No one could decide who was the best shepherd.

By the crowing of the early bird, a cock named  “amorphous weasel” on account of his propensity to steal long bananas, with (two) well rounded kiwi fruit off kitchen window sills, the group tiredly came to a conclusion.

It was decided that each shepherds would go off, one by one, and gather their flock and bring it to the tree. And there in front of everyone the sheer beauty (or maybe it’s “shear” beauty) and magnificence of the flock would be obvious to all to behold.

So Dick, the average shepherd, went off to gather his flock.

And after what seemed to be day, but was really a mere two hours, he came back. (Let it be known that he stopped for a blueberry pie, and maybe a little kiss, from the baker Lady Ms. McSmunch-a-lot in the town.) And refreshed, wiping the blueberry stains off his lips, he led his flock to the rest of the trio to observe.

And there, came the flock.

They were clean and presentable. Their hooves were all trimmed and well manicured. Their eyes were also clear, and the wool was obviously of the finest quality. They came well behaved, and presented themselves are docile, but proud sheep; they were the kind of sheep that you would introduce to your son.

And as they arrived, they sang a little sheep marching song. It went a little like this…

  • Baa Baaaa, Baa Baaaa,
  • We’re the sheep of Baaa Dick.
  • Baa Baaa, Baa Baaa.

And then, after a short while, the filed to the tree, and then upon the proper signal (by Dick obviously), they settled down. All the time making tiny cooing sounds…

Baaa Baaa.

Of course both of the other two shepherds were impressed. For indeed this was a fine, fine flock of sheep. It was undeniable. And nothing would make this moment more noteworthy than when a shepherd talent-scout showed up and wanted to take a picture of young shepherd Dick with his fine, well tended flock.

There were rumors that he was going to be on the cover of “Sheep News and Pastoral Report”.

And it seemed to be his destiny, for shortly afterwards a gaggle of young attractive lasses, with hair in long pony-tails, wearing short skirts with low cut bodices were asking for Dicks autograph. They all wanted a piece of Dick, and were willing to do anything to get a taste of this Dick action.

Well, as impressive as all that was, Tom decided to go off and get his flock of sheep.

Now Tom went off and it wasn’t long before the clouds in the sky opened up. And bright blue “spring time” sky appeared with two enormous sheep blowing long golden trumpets appeared. And as they blew the ground and surroundings became calm. Everything went absolutely quiet. Even the worms and the snails stopped their crocheting, and stood by a listening.

Then, brighter than day and appearing in blinding, and stunning radiance appeared the flock. It approached the stunned spectators in organized cadence. And they hummed, and sang, and their voices resonated in brilliance and within spectacular fashion.

  • Ba Ba. Ba Ba.
  • Baaaaaa!
  • Ba, Ba, Baaaa, Baaaa, Ba!

They approached the group in groups of three. marching to the beat, and their hooves landed ever gently upon the grass at the feet of the shepherd.

There was no question that this flock was truly exceptional. Their wool was of the finest texture, and so white and clean that it hurt the eyes of any who beheld it. The faces of the sheep were impassioned with glee, happiness and empathy.  And when they finally gathered together they were polite about it.

They would say such things as “Excuse me, my fine fellow sheep, can you please pass me the Grey Poupon…. Baaahhh.”

Indeed, these sheep were exception. No one could deny it.

And when the shepherds started to talk, the sheep took the time to post insta-sheep photos for their followers, for after all, many of the sheep in this flock were famous influencers. And sheep all over the world would follow their postings. They would want to know what grass they were eating and why. They would want to see who they were hanging out with, and pictures of their latest meals, and pictorials of their latest pastoral settings.

It was absolutely clear that this flock was spectacular.

Well, the time came for Harry to show his flock. So he got up off the long he was sitting upon and ambled off to gather his flock. As he went he muttered something under his breath, but no one could make it out.

It sounded something like “truck fist” or something similar. He grumbled away saying things like “razzmatazz” and “hoodwink, and scurvy tweaky boondoggle”

Hours passed.

The sky got dark, and a wind started to blow.

Dark clouds appeared on the horizon and a cool chill started to cause everyone to gather their shawls and jackets around their shoulders.

And the ground started to rumble.

It was low at first but soon become enormously loud. It sounded like an air plane jet engine revving up, and the exploding and dying over and over as it’s internal parts bashed and clanged upon each other in the most terrible of grinding sounds. People started to cover their ears, and a light oily rain started to fall upon everyone in a brown oozy slimy mess.

And there, on the horizon were what appeared to be a herd of tiny tornadoes. These brown dusty and dirty nightmares approached the crew, the tree, and all the two flocks that were gathered there. The talent scout stopped talking and taking pictures, the Insta-sheep models stopped filming selfies, and everyone stood shaking where they stood. They remained rooted to the ground.

And as the group got close you could make out what was approaching.

For, in front of them was a small army of “Mad Max style” cobbled together quasi vehicles of all makes, models and unusual pedigrees.

Some looked like something the devil himself would weld together with nightmare steel, twisted metal, and chain link accoutrements.

Others looked like a maniac’s idea of a military vehicle if they had the budget of a used junk yard attendant.

And still others looked more like they belonged outside a meth-lab, a biker bar, or an abandoned kiddie circus prowled by nightmare clowns with chainsaws and blood lust in their eyes.

And they roared towards them.

It was like an avalanche or a tidal wave and they pulled up in front of  all the startled spectators. they all revved their motorcycle and various engines for effect.

  • Barroom! Barroom!
  • Braaaaam!

And black oily smoke blew out of their exhausts. And the sheep themselves looked like Frankenstein-sheep.

Many had patches of wool missing, obviously from a diet low in vitamin “D”, or perhaps suffering from mange. Many were missing eyes, limbs, teeth. They all wore vests emblazoned with the words…

“Satan’s orphan lamb”

And many had tattoos everywhere.

Some were of names of a certain loved one, a sheep from their past, but with the name crossed out, and another one written next to it. Others were tattoos of knives, skulls, and “low brow art”.

And then…

…just then…

… a big noisy, and particularly malodorous motorcycle-like vehicular contraption pulled up. It sprayed dust and gravel everywhere, and the lone dark sheep got off the bike.

He was an ugly brute, a big blustering monstrosity, that was foul, nasty, criminally dirty, and oily…

…an onerous sheep that went by the name of Beelzebub.

He was big, and nasty. His wool was black and grey with red and purple highlights. He wore lipstick, and ear rings, with seemed to point to some kind of LGBT sheep hybrid of sorts, he wore a big leather belt with an enormous belt buckle featuring the head of one of the missing sheep-dogs that used to help the shepherd, and emblazoned upon his chest was a big garish tattoo with the words…

“My shepherd doesn’t love me”

And he scanned the people gather there with his one lone bloodshot eye. As he got off his bike and hobbled towards them, his single leg ended up hitting the dust while his wooden peg-leg went thunk, thunk, thunk….

…and he stopped in front of all the shepherds, and their flocks. No one said a sound.

A moment passed and then another.

Finally, shepherd Tom cleared his throat, and said…

“You are by far, the absolutely worst flock of sheep that I have ever seen in my life!”.

And no one moved.

No one.

No one said a thing.

You could hear a pin drop.

Then the leader, the biggest, the baddest, the most foul, and slimy sheep went up to him. his foul sheep breath was stinky, oily, nasty and disgusting.

And he said…

“We might be the ugliest, the most disgusting, the most untamed sheep that you have ever laid your eyes upon. But I will tell you one thing…”

And he paused for effect, and gave everyone a good harsh look with his remaining blood-shot eye…

“…. we’re baaaaaaad!”

The End.

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Law 13 from The 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene; When asking for help, appeal to people’s self interest, never to their mercy or gratitude (Full Text)

Ah. And this is true about anything. Find out what the person wants, and then appeal to that. This formula applies for those courting an attractive young lady, or a young man trying to get a job. It functions well when you are trying to get customers, or when you just want to get something done. Approach people, and then find out what they want or need. Then you appeal to that side of their personality.

This is one of those chapters where people start screaming that they didn’t realize that you were such a dick, or that you were so cold, callus or calculating. But, it’s really not the case at all. To understand others is to have a strong EQ; a strong Emotional Quotient. Most women (not all, but most) have this. Men, well, sorry to say guys, we don’t. In fact, it’s only after we’ve been around women for long extended periods of time that we finally “get with the program”, and learn a few things.

When someone comes to me for a job, I let them give me their pitch. They tell me about themselves, and all the time I seeing if they can fit in with my little team of go-getters. I see if they will “be a fit”. But also, I am seeing what they can “bring to the table”. What they can give me, as say compared to another applicant.

To get what you desire, you need to make yourself desirable to others. To do that, you need to appeal to their self-interest.

To get what you desire, you need to make yourself desirable to others. To do that, you need to appeal to their self-interest.
To get what you desire, you need to make yourself desirable to others. To do that, you need to appeal to their self-interest.

LAW 13

WHEN ASKING FOR HELP, APPEAL TO PEOPLE’S SELF- INTEREST, NEVER TO THEIR MERCY OR GRATITUDE

JUDGMENT

If you need to turn to an ally for help, do not bother to remind him of your past assistance and good deeds. He will find a way to ignore you. Instead, uncover something in your request, or in your alliance with him, that will benefit him, and emphasize it out of all proportion. He will respond enthusiastically when he sees something to be gained for himself.

THE PEASANT AND THE APPLE-TREE

A peasant had in his garden an apple-tree, which bore no fruit, but only served as a perch for the sparrows and grasshoppers. 

He resolved to cut it down, and, taking his ax in hand, made a bold stroke at its roots. 

The grasshoppers and sparrows entreated him not to cut down the tree that sheltered them, but to spare it, and they would sing to him and lighten his labors. 

He paid no attention to their request, but gave the tree a second and a third blow with his ax. 

When he reached the hollow of the tree, he found a hive full of honey. Having tasted the honeycomb, he threw down his ax, and, looking on the tree as isacred, took great care of it. 

Self-interest alone moves some men. 

FABLES, AESOP, SIXTH CENTURY B.C.

TRANSGRESSION OF THE LAW

In the early fourteenth century, a young man named Castruccio Castracani rose from the rank of common soldier to become lord of the great city of Lucca, Italy. One of the most powerful families in the city, the Poggios, had been instrumental in his climb (which succeeded through treachery and bloodshed), but after he came to power, they came to feel he had forgotten them. His ambition outweighed any gratitude he felt. In 1325, while Castruccio was away fighting Lucca’s main rival, Florence, the Poggios conspired with other noble families in the city to rid themselves of this troublesome and ambitious prince.

Mounting an insurrection, the plotters attacked and murdered the governor whom Castruccio had left behind to rule the city. Riots broke out, and the Castruccio supporters and the Poggio supporters were poised to do battle. At the height of the tension, however, Stefano di Poggio, the oldest member of the family, intervened, and made both sides lay down their arms.

A peaceful man, Stefano had not taken part in the conspiracy. He had told his family it would end in a useless bloodbath. Now he insisted he should intercede on the family’s behalf and persuade Castruccio to listen to their complaints and satisfy their demands. Stefano was the oldest and wisest member of the clan, and his family agreed to put their trust in his diplomacy rather than in their weapons.

When news of the rebellion reached Castruccio, he hurried back to Lucca. By the time he arrived, however, the fighting had ceased, through Stefano’s agency, and he was surprised by the city’s calm and peace. Stefano di Poggio had imagined that Castruccio would be grateful to him for his part in quelling the rebellion, so he paid the prince a visit. He explained how he had brought peace, then begged for Castruccio’s mercy.

He said that the rebels in his family were young and impetuous, hungry for power yet inexperienced; he recalled his family’s past generosity to Castruccio. For all these reasons, he said, the great prince should pardon the Poggios and listen to their complaints. This, he said, was the only just thing to do, since the family had willingly laid down their arms and had always supported him.

Castruccio listened patiently. He seemed not the slightest bit angry or resentful. Instead, he told Stefano to rest assured that justice would prevail, and he asked him to bring his entire family to the palace to talk over their grievances and come to an agreement.

As they took leave of one another, Castruccio said he thanked God for the chance he had been given to show his clemency and kindness.

That evening the entire Poggio family came to the palace. Castruccio immediately had them imprisoned and a few days later all were executed, including Stefano.

Interpretation

Stefano di Poggio is the embodiment of all those who believe that the justice and nobility of their cause will prevail. Certainly appeals to justice and gratitude have occasionally succeeded in the past, but more often than not they have had dire consequences, especially in dealings with the Castruccios of the world. Stefano knew that the prince had risen to power through treachery and ruthlessness. This was a man, after all, who had put a close and devoted friend to death. When Castruccio was told that it had been a terrible wrong to kill such an old friend, he replied that he had executed not an old friend but a new enemy.

A man like Castruccio knows only force and self-interest.

When the rebellion began, to end it and place oneself at his mercy was the most dangerous possible move. Even once Stefano di Poggio had made that fatal mistake, however, he still had options: He could have offered money to Castruccio, could have made promises for the future, could have pointed out what the Poggios could still contribute to Castruccio’s power—their influence with the most influential families of Rome, for example, and the great marriage they could have brokered.

Instead Stefano brought up the past, and debts that carried no obligation. Not only is a man not obliged to be grateful, gratitude is often a terrible burden that he gladly discards. And in this case Castruccio rid himself of his obligations to the Poggios by eliminating the Poggios.

Most men are so thoroughly subjective that nothing really interests them but themselves. They always think of their own case as soon as ever any remark is made, and their whole attention is engrossed and absorbed by the merest chance reference to anything which affects them personally, be it never so remote.

ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER, 1788-1860

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW

In 433 B.C., just before the Peloponnesian War, the island of Corcyra (later called Corfu) and the Greek city-state of Corinth stood on the brink of conflict. Both parties sent ambassadors to Athens to try to win over the Athenians to their side. The stakes were high, since whoever had Athens on his side was sure to win. And whoever won the war would certainly give the defeated side no mercy.

Corcyra spoke first.

Its ambassador began by admitting that the island had never helped Athens before, and in fact had allied itself with Athens’s enemies. There were no ties of friendship or gratitude between Corcyra and Athens. Yes, the ambassador admitted, he had come to Athens now out of fear and concern for Corcyra’s safety. The only thing he could offer was an alliance of mutual interests. Corcyra had a navy only surpassed in size and strength by Athens’s own; an alliance between the two states would create a formidable force, one that could intimidate the rival state of Sparta. That, unfortunately, was all Corcyra had to offer.

The representative from Corinth then gave a brilliant, passionate speech, in sharp contrast to the dry, colorless approach of the Corcyran. He talked of everything Corinth had done for Athens in the past. He asked how it would look to Athens’s other allies if the city put an agreement with a former enemy over one with a present friend, one that had served Athens’s interest loyally: Perhaps those allies would break their agreements with

Athens if they saw that their loyalty was not valued. He referred to Hellenic law, and the need to repay Corinth for all its good deeds. He finally went on to list the many services Corinth had performed for Athens, and the importance of showing gratitude to one’s friends.

After the speech, the Athenians debated the issue in an assembly. On the second round, they voted overwhelmingly to ally with Corcyra and drop Corinth.

Interpretation

History has remembered the Athenians nobly, but they were the preeminent realists of classical Greece. With them, all the rhetoric, all the emotional appeals in the world, could not match a good pragmatic argument, especially one that added to their power.

What the Corinthian ambassador did not realize was that his references to Corinth’s past generosity to Athens only irritated the Athenians, subtly asking them to feel guilty and putting them under obligation. The Athenians couldn’t care less about past favors and friendly feelings. At the same time, they knew that if their other allies thought them ungrateful for abandoning Corinth, these city-states would still be unlikely to break their ties to Athens, the preeminent power in Greece. Athens ruled its empire by force, and would simply compel any rebellious ally to return to the fold.

When people choose between talk about the past and talk about the future, a pragmatic person will always opt for the future and forget the past. As the Corcyrans realized, it is always best to speak pragmatically to a pragmatic person. And in the end, most people are in fact pragmatic—they will rarely act against their own self-interest.

It has always been a rule that the weak should be subject to the strong; and besides, we consider that we are worthy of our power. Up till the present moment you, too, used to think that we were; but now, after calculating your own interest, you are beginning to talk in terms of right and wrong. Considerations of this kind have never yet turned people aside from the opportunities of aggrandizement offered by superior strength. 

-Athenian representative to Sparta, quoted in The Peloponnesian War, Thucydides, c. 465-395 B.C.

KEYS TO POWER

In your quest for power, you will constantly find yourself in the position of asking for help from those more powerful than you. There is an art to asking for help, an art that depends on your ability to understand the person you are dealing with, and to not confuse your needs with theirs.

Most people never succeed at this, because they are completely trapped in their own wants and desires.

They start from the assumption that the people they are appealing to have a selfless interest in helping them. They talk as if their needs mattered to these people—who probably couldn’t care less. Sometimes they refer to larger issues: a great cause, or grand emotions such as love and gratitude. They go for the big picture when simple, everyday realities would have much more appeal.

What they do not realize is that even the most powerful person is locked inside needs of his own, and that if you make no appeal to his self-interest, he merely sees you as desperate or, at best, a waste of time.

In the sixteenth century, Portuguese missionaries tried for years to convert the people of Japan to Catholicism, while at the same time Portugal had a monopoly on trade between Japan and Europe. Although the missionaries did have some success, they never got far among the ruling elite; by the beginning of the seventeenth century, in fact, their proselytizing had completely antagonized the Japanese emperor Ieyasu. When the Dutch began to arrive in Japan in great numbers, Ieyasu was much relieved. He needed Europeans for their know-how in guns and navigation, and here at last were Europeans who cared nothing for spreading religion—the Dutch wanted only to trade. Ieyasu swiftly moved to evict the Portuguese. From then on, he would only deal with the practical-minded Dutch.

Japan and Holland were vastly different cultures, but each shared a timeless and universal concern: self-interest.

Every person you deal with is like another culture, an alien land with a past that has nothing to do with yours. Yet you can bypass the differences between you and him by appealing to his self-interest.

Do not be subtle: You have valuable knowledge to share, you will fill his coffers with gold, you will make him live longer and happier. This is a language that all of us speak and understand.

A key step in the process is to understand the other person’s psychology. Is he vain? Is he concerned about his reputation or his social standing? Does he have enemies you could help him vanquish? Is he simply motivated by money and power?

When the Mongols invaded China in the twelfth century, they threatened to obliterate a culture that had thrived for over two thousand years. Their leader, Genghis Khan, saw nothing in China but a country that lacked pasturing for his horses, and he decided to destroy the place, leveling all its cities, for “it would be better to exterminate the Chinese and let the grass grow.”

It was not a soldier, a general, or a king who saved the Chinese from devastation, but a man named Yelu Ch‘u-Ts’ai.

A foreigner himself, Ch‘u- Ts’ai had come to appreciate the superiority of Chinese culture. He managed to make himself a trusted adviser to Genghis Khan, and persuaded him that he would reap riches out of the place if, instead of destroying it, he simply taxed everyone who lived there. Khan saw the wisdom in this and did as Ch‘u-Ts’ai advised.

When Khan took the city of Kaifeng, after a long siege, and decided to massacre its inhabitants (as he had in other cities that had resisted him), Ch‘u-Ts’ai told him that the finest craftsmen and engineers in China had fled to Kaifeng, and it would be better to put them to use.

Kaifeng was spared.

Never before had Genghis Khan shown such mercy, but then it really wasn’t mercy that saved Kaifeng. Ch‘u-Ts’ai knew Khan well. He was a barbaric peasant who cared nothing for culture, or indeed for anything other than warfare and practical results. Ch‘u-Ts’ai chose to appeal to the only emotion that would work on such a man: greed.

Self-interest is the lever that will move people. Once you make them see how you can in some way meet their needs or advance their cause, their resistance to your requests for help will magically fall away. At each step on the way to acquiring power, you must train yourself to think your way inside the other person’s mind, to see their needs and interests, to get rid of the screen of your own feelings that obscure the truth. Master this art and there will be no limits to what you can accomplish.

Image: A Cord that Binds. The cord of mercy and gratitude is threadbare, and will break at the first shock.

Do not throw such a lifeline. The cord of mutual self-inter est is woven of many fibers and cannot easily be severed. It will serve you well for years.

Authority: The shortest and best way to make your fortune is to let people see clearly that it is in their interests to promote yours. (Jean de La Bruyère, 1645-1696)

REVERSAL

Some people will see an appeal to their self-interest as ugly and ignoble.

They actually prefer to be able to exercise charity, mercy, and justice, which are their ways of feeling superior to you: When you beg them for help, you emphasize their power and position. They are strong enough to need nothing from you except the chance to feel superior. This is the wine that intoxicates them. They are dying to fund your project, to introduce you to powerful people—provided, of course, that all this is done in public, and for a good cause (usually the more public, the better). Not everyone, then, can be approached through cynical self-interest. Some people will be put off by it, because they don’t want to seem to be motivated by such things. They need opportunities to display their good heart.

Do not be shy. Give them that opportunity. It’s not as if you are conning them by asking for help—it is really their pleasure to give, and to be seen giving. You must distinguish the differences among powerful people and figure out what makes them tick. When they ooze greed, do not appeal to their charity. When they want to look charitable and noble, do not appeal to their greed.

Conclusion

A perfect example of this law is in the television show (a spin off from Breaking Bad) called Better Call Saul. There is a scene (season 1, episode 2) where the big bad Drug Boss, named Tuco Salamanca, was going to kill these two tricksters that got in his way.

From Digitrends….

What is Tuco doing in the mix here, anyway? As it turns out, the reason is nothing more than a cruel cosmic joke.

Rewind to the premiere: Jimmy hired two skateboarding siblings to pull one over on Betsy Kettleman, the wife of a county treasurer who stole $1.5 million from the state. Their mission was to skateboard into Betsy’s car, set up a situation where Saul can swoop in as her hero, and sweep her off her feet as his new prize client.

The twins played their part perfectly, but they got the wrong car — the very, very wrong car.

Tuco is thinking. Thinking.
Saul convinces Tuco not to kill these two rascals. But to break their legs instead.

.

The car belongs to Tuco Salamanca’s grandmother — his “abuelita,” as he calls her — and when the brothers follow her home, Tuco finds nothing funny about the scam these two “biznatches” are trying to pull.

He beats them down and ties them up, spilling some “salsa” on his carpet as a result. Before long, Jimmy McGill shows up at Tuco’s, and he’s one wrong sentence away from joining the bound-and-gagged brothers in Tuco’s basement.

The second episode got off quickly with Tuco telling his grandma that she should just watch her stories while he deals with the two hustling skaters. Tuco knows how to get rid of a senior citizen in order to lay down a beating to those in need. 

The two skaters have no idea who they are messing with still, as they insult Tuco’s granny and show no respect whatsoever to Tuco. 

The two skinny boys should learn to read people a bit better if they are gonna be in the con game. When Tuco cracks the guys with granny’s walking cane, they must have realized at that moment that they were in over their nappy heads. 

Lesson to all you would be scammers, don’t threaten someone unless you are 100 percent sure they will not attack you physically.

While Tuco is handling his business downstairs, ‘grandma hit and run’ is enjoying a snack on her Hyman Roth lunch tray while watching her stories. She can’t ignore all the thumping and banging going on below her, so she checks it out only to be assured by Tuco that everything is fine and he is taking care of the matter. 

What grandma is going to doubt her grandchild, especially after the two skaters have acted a fool at her home.

Our boy Saul, better known as Jimmy McGill at this point, makes the mistake of being the one who knocks on the door of Tuco. Claiming to be an “officer of the law” was not the right move either. 

Tuco puts the biggest pistol known to man in McGill’s face and brings him inside. McGill is nervous enough without seeing the blood stain on the rug, which granny is plenty concerned about as well. She just cares about the rug though.

Jimmy uses his bronze tongue to wade into the issue of whether his clients are still alive. 
Crazy Tuco seems to halfway believe the story that they just got the wrong house in a zany mix up. Jimmy wants to just leave as if none of this lunacy ever even happened. 

It turns out that both clients are still alive and tied up in the garage. That’s good news, but the bad news is that the skaters are still really dumb. 

The second the duct tape is off one of the guy’s mouth he starts to blame Jimmy for this entire mess. 

If I’m laying on the floor tied up with tape over my mouth, I would take a few seconds before saying anything. The skaters were not doing too well before Jimmy arrived on the scene so they should have given him at least a minute to see where it went. 

All three were on their way out of danger, but the loud mouth put them back in mortal danger.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire of the desert went the three scammers. 

Tied up in the desert is about 10 times worse than tied up in a residential garage. Neither situation is great, but the former is just more convenient to bury a victim. Jimmy McGill tries something that Saul would not use as much in the future, the truth. 

He tells Tuco all about who the scam was intended for and that they just got unlucky by getting hit by his granny. The truth didn’t work very well and Tuco went on the offensive with a toolbox full of torture. 

He was convinced that these guys were some kind of undercover police force, so Jimmy told the nut job just that. A man will say anything if he is about to have his fingers disconnected with a pair of pruners. 

Lies were about as helpful as the truth since Tuco ordered them killed after Jimmy claimed to be with the FBI. 

Lucky for Jimmy, Tuco’s partner Nacho Varga didn’t believe the story and convinced the maniac that they didn’t have to whack the lawyer. 

Tuco agreed but still felt the need to defend his granny’s honor by wasting the skaters.

If I’m Jimmy, I just walk away from this mess and get back to another money making idea. And that’s just what happened, except Jimmy felt the tinge of guilt since he was the one who enlisted the skate bros after all. 

I was a little surprised at his change of mind, but he is not an evil guy of course. 

It would have been a bad look for the hero to let these two get killed because of his plan. To be fair, they were the ones who screwed up and followed the lady and went in her house. I will likely be justifying Jimmy McGill’s actions just as I did with Walter White, all the way to the end.

Jimmy spent the next few minutes trying to convince a neanderthal not to kill his guys. 

Tuco is not very reasonable of course, so Jimmy put on quite a show. 

He puffs up the drug dealer’s ego by making it out like Tuco is the judge in this case….which he is in fact. 

Judge Tuco finally agrees to simply break a leg on each of the skaters after McGill’s impassioned lie about how their moms would be hurt if they were killed off. 

Knowing a broken leg is coming isn’t easy on one’s mind and these two weaklings freaked right out. Jimmy carried them to the ER once they were free to go and was insulted by skater #1 saying McGill was the worst lawyer in the world. 

Jimmy replied, “Hey, I talked you down from a death sentence to six months’ probation. I’m the best lawyer ever.” 

He had a solid point.

-Movie TV Tech Geeks

And so Tuco followed that advice. He spared the crooks, but left them both with broken legs as a warning to others not to mess with him.

Tuco puts the biggest pistol known to man in McGill’s face and brings him inside.
Tuco puts the biggest pistol known to man in McGill’s face and brings him inside.

.

What follows is an impromptu trial, with windswept sand and cacti replacing the court room, with Tuco serving as judge, jury and executioner. Jimmy appeals to Tuco’s ego — “You want justice, but you’re fair!” — and talks the psychopath down from giving the kids Colombian neck-ties to a lesser Hammurabian sentence: “One leg each,” they agree.

It’s a lucky break for everyone involved, even if the broken twins don’t immediately agree.

Later, Jimmy goes on a date. It does not go well. Nearby diners crack into breadsticks, and the harmless act brings the sickening crunch of broken legs back to mind.

From there, it’s a quick trip to the bathroom, an unhealthy amount of vomiting, and an even unhealthier amount of drinking.

Such is the price that Jimmy (Saul Goodman) has to pay.

You appeal to peoples’ needs and expectations if you want to see results.

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