The land flowed then, in the magic years, with milk, honey, and plenty of water for overnight primitive camping. All was right with the world. Then the bright blue jug was taken from them, and darkness joined chaos to rule the land. Camping trips became a dry search for life-giving water. Only the legend of the jug survived, and with it, one clue. That clue pointed east toward the Watermelon Mountains of Albuquerque. Only a pure heart, in search of the One True Love, would be worthy of finding the Holy Jug. The seeker would have to endure many trials and disappointments in his search. He would fight traffic, go to REI, Sportsman's Warehouse, Ace Hardware, Walmart, Big 5, only to find empty shelves and stories of where The Jug might be found. Many would point the way, but their offers of help would prove fruitless and would lead to dead-end promises. Only after all others had given up the search would the seeker become worthy of The Jug, the Oracle told him. The last stone of a final phone call would be the one with the answer, and the Angel of the Jug would open the door, lift the veil, and reveal the shining, blue, seven-gallon wonder, complete with a "hold" tag with his name on it. With the Jug held close to his heart he made his way home, home to fulfillment, peace, joy, and plenty of water for the next adventure.
