I should probably respect Native culture or something

Greetings fellows my name is Moleké of the Rain People and I am here to pass along my story so that it will never be forgotten in the histories.

It was a night of fog and dew with the shadows dancing favorably in the mist. The elder priests of our tribe told us the day of harvest grew near and that we should prepare our ritual sacrifice to appease the Gods of the Rain. They told me, "Moléké, you must be the one to prepare our ritual meal. Go now into the forest of the Rain and return to us with the food so that the Gods do not torment our harvest."

This was a very important task; if the feast is not performed according to our strictest ancestral traditions, the Gods will unleash their horrible plague upon the country. And it was I, Mõléké, who was given this great responsibility.

However I must tell you now before I continue my sad tale that I did not succeed in my mission. As the dawn of the harvest grew near I was unable to gather enough food from the unforgiving and dangerous forest and I wept for ages as I watched my people starve and die. This is the sad story of Mõ‡éké, the last of the Rain People.

I went into the forest 72 hours before the harvest was to begin. There it was that I found our most prized game, the wandering head of lettuce. The lettuce is the most important part of our ritual salad but also one of the most dangerous to hunt. I, MÕ¦ék¥é, am a skilled hunter and warrior but I have not often tamed wild lettuce.

It was a small herd but a formidable one with many sentries and powerful nodes to alarm the entire herd of any approaching danger. I used my training to the fullest extent but the slightest ruffle of leaves from my approach sent them scattering and klaxons blared across the forest louder than the greatest drums of my people.

I was ashamed that I could not catch the lettuce. It was required for our rituals and the great ceremony and feast but I could not even catch a single head of the wild beast. I hung my head low in disappointment and saw several stems of broccoli growing from the forest floor.

Now broccoli is not a traditional part of the great feast but the Gods would not know the difference. Broccoli, being one of the least intelligent and dim-witted of all the wild beasts in the forest, would not require as precise and delicate hands as lettuce or the wily tomatoes.

In hunting tradition, I, Andrew, very quickly set up a hammock to indicate the ease at which I felt I could capture the animal. I then sped after the broccoli in hot pursuit across the swamp. I pursued a small crowd and finally, after several hours of life's most dangerous game, I corned the wild creatures in the small of a tree. I scooped them into my pouch of bear skin and hollered triumphantly.

However, the Gods were not happy with our sacrifice. The harvest came and went, but everything we touched turned rotten and fell off of the stems. Great globs of beef lay strew across the land rotting as my people stared out and wept. It was a time of great sorrow.

I, Moe, was exiled back into the horrible jungle for failing to appease the Gods. That is where I still live. However, the Gods decreed that I was never to perish and that I, Sancho, should watch the torments of my people for all eternity as they starved and died in many horrible ways.

That is my story. I was Moleké of the Rain People, I am now simply Moleké, the exile of a great people I once served.