A retelling of an old story

A Man Of Many Stories

      This is not a story, well I say it is not a story but that is because I have yet to get to the story part.  You see, I tell stories as a hobby but I learned the talent from my father.  And yes it is a talent which can be learned.  My father and I talk about story telling quite a lot and that is why I will tell you one.  The part of this that is a story is about a man, a simple man, which has no ego.  The story goes something like this…
      In a town not far from hear in a land very far away.  There was a young man that considered himself quite the intellectual.  He was not known to many but those that did know him called him Barry.   This was not his name but the pronunciation of his true name was too complicated for everyone ells.  So Barry the scholar was fast asleep when he had a dream that he was wining a contest.  Up with a start he proclaimed his dream to be the future.  After a while he realized that if he were to realize the dream he would have to study.  So to the books he ventured, investigating all known volumes on philosophy, psychology, theology, and cartoons, for who doesn't like cartoons.  Finally after many weeks of this he emerged disheveled and unshaven, but with knowledge he felt could rival any other. 
      On the other side of town was a man, a simple man, a man with no ego.  This man was named Nasreddin.  He was the local Mullah and went about steeling arguments as was the job of Mullah.  Though he himself disagreed many thought Nasreddin the wisest man of all time.
      Barry decided that the contest that he was fated to win was with the Mullah.  So he boasted his inelegance around the town and even set a date for the competition.  On the day the contest was supposed to be heeled Nasreddin was not to be found for he was asleep in bed.  On the next day he was also asleep in bed, but on the third day he wondered out of his house and was rushed to the contest by spectators.  Bewildered he found a seat not realizing it was the one across from Barry.  After a long silence the two men locked eyes and that's when Barry knew he would begin.  First Barry drew a cercal.  Then Nasreddin drew a line splitting it in half.  Barry pondered this and drew another line splitting the cercal into fours.  Nasreddin confused by this scratched it all out.  As the realization dawned on Barry his jaw dropped he had lost. 
      The two men went there separate ways and soon after no one saw Barry again.  But before he disappeared he was asked what it all meant.  In reply he stated that the cercal represented truth.  That the split meant there is always a lie with every truth.  That the quartering symbolized the only four truths that there are: the four elements.  Finally when the Mullah rubbed out the picture he was saying everything is nothing, and this is the one ultimate truth.  On the other hand when Nasreddin was asked what happened he simply said "He wanted a pie, I thought lets share it, but when he cut into fours I realized this is ridiculous its not real food." 
      So there you have it the true reason I like pie, because it's the one and only truth.  And that is not a story.