Now ya’ll already know my name. I mean, I am pretty damn famous ‘round these parts, but ya’ll don’t know the half of it. I mean, seriously, I am one badass dude, and I am here to give you the full scoop.
In case you’ve forgotten, I am Marky Mark Whitman. I was born in 1802 up in NYC, or near enough, so I know what’s what. One day I was out in my hot rod (it had four horsepower) and I spied myself a tight little Betty by the name of Cissa Prentiss. Well, we fell mad in love and got hitched up real good and fast.
Well me and Cissa, real in love, were smashing it up in the Big Apple for a number of years before the scene got tired, and we decided it was time to move on. I worked as a PR rep to the Cayuse people for those good old Christian fellows like myself, and they transferred me to the western division. So me and some other cohorts, along with the little wifey, hitched up our wagons, headed west and played the Oregon Trail all the way there.
I opened up our new PR “mission” headquarters in the west in a town that would become Walla Walla, Wash., all thanks to yours truly. Now we were livin’ the high life up in W2, adopting little orphans left and right and building a big ole’ happy family. The little missus worked as a teacher––she was real educated having a fine liberal arts degree in both physics and chemistry––while I myself got to doctoring all the traders and settlers in the area. I tell you, life was good until everyone ran into a spot o’ trouble with the measles…
Anyways, maybe my plans required time and distance, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t know how to cut loose and enjoy the view in this gorgeous town.
