FEE FI FO FUM, or WHERE THE GIANT LIVES IN SAN DIEGO

"Fee, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman, be he live or be he dead, I'll grind his bones to make my bread!", I heard somewhere as a little boy. Immediately I had dreams being hunted by a giant (only a huge, giantish shadow). It never caught me, though, and I have lived to tell you younger Counsells/ Matthesens/ McCardles/ Naughtons/ Petries/ Schmidts/Stollenwerks that you have nothing to be afraid of. As a young boy I discovered where the giant lived and now I can show you his house. You can see that it must be quite high to keep the giant from bumping his head and becoming even meaner than usual. If you have read The Chronicles of Narnia - The Silver Chair, you may remember that giants are very childish and not very smart, hence the high, narrow house, as they don't think they need to lie down to nap or sleep as their parents wisely told them. Also, as the poem says, "I smell the blood of an EnglishMAN", therefore his unfortunate prey are over 21 years of age, pure-blooded English males, most of which are able to outwit him easily. I observed this personally as I was taking the picture of the giant's house, when a man hurried by me wearing a false nose and glasses, a serape and sombrero, carrying a large saxophone, saying, "What ho, old chap?" I stopped him long enough to find out that the giant's name was Kyl Du Petre, which I thought sounded French. Maybe that has something to do with giants' natural culinary preference and animosity toward the British. Also notice in the picture the huge mound of salt behind his house and the conveyor belt running to the top. This is because of the purported blandness of the British so that when the giant is lucky enough to actually catch an unwitting British adult male (or find a dead one, as the poem allows) he needs tons of salt to spice him up enough to enjoy.
So now when some bully tries to scare you, you know the real story.

Dad/Zad/OFFIL/Grampa/Uncle/Great Uncle Grump