josephfromkerala

There was an incessant downpour that day, as I accompanied my dad to Pala, a small town in the eastern hilly regions of Kerala (wikied it). The rain infused new life into all it fell upon and the outside sped by in a blur of green, mottled by occassional splashes of red and pink hibiscus, as I sat back in my seat and pondered over the several ramifications and philosophies of an old jungle saying I had heard (apparently, it can only be passed on by word of mouth) - "When the rain falls, the ground beneath gets wet".
I was interrupted from my reverie when I caught sight of an ancient orange behemoth of a road roller, standing abondoned by the side of the road, in stark contrast to all around it. It had seen better days and had obviously lost the battle against time and the elements. Rust had laid the chasis to waste and the drivers seat sported a green afro of moss and ferns. Common sight, you'd say.
Yet admist all of the decay,six letters stenciled onto the orange caught my attention. Letters that meant nothing, yet letters that spelt j e s s o p. Letters from which I now derive the sole purpose of my existence as JessoptheWessop, JessietheWessie, DontMesswiththeJess etc. Stress on the ss.

Sorry for the first introduction
it is just a misunderstandification