The rest of us stayed in Europe. Another BIG mistake. As I said before, Europe got sooooooo crowded so fast with human people, that the rent went through the roof and the food everywhere (except in France) became vastly overrated.    Sadly, Dragons and Humans eventually clashed. I guess it had to happen. Often we clashed because we were wearing the same clothing; but mostly we clashed over shared living space and air quality. We Dragons discovered the hard way that humans don’t fight fairly. I want to go on record as saying that ‘St. George’ was NOT a saint; at least among us Dragons. George was this big weenie who was extremely sneaky and conniving. This so-called saint as we remember him, was a drunken con-man and self-proclaimed knight who reeked of potato wine and never took proper care of his armor. In short, he was a potted weenie in a rusty can who smelled like cold french fries. The humans apparently never noticed THAT side of him. Unfortunately, we Dragons didn't catch on to Georgie's human deviousness until it was too late. The Dragon he eventually murdered, was my dear, sweet, somewhat vain, respected, elderly Aunt Mavis. (Her Dragon nickname was Old Flame.) Let the real record show: Mavis the Dragon, was a benevolent and trusting senior reptile, a matriarch of our species, who NEVER so much as ate those sheep or touched those children. She also didn't torch anybody's huts either. Why would she need to do that? She was a rich aristocrat among our people. Sure she had hoarded vaults and vaults of gold over her long, long lifetime; but she was not a miser. No, not my beloved Aunt Mavis. Her only ‘crime' was that she over-tipped. That's it. Can you believe it? It's true. She tipped waaaaaaaaaaaay too much. The pizza delivery man couldn't stop blabbing about it to the townsfolk (even when he didn't get to her cave in thirty minutes or less). Sadly for Mavis, the word of her generousity got out. Enter a greedy little conman named "George". Georgie stole some armor and went to stand outside of Mavis' lair hoping that she'd be scared away when she saw that he was an armed knight. Instead, it was George who became frightened when he first saw my great aunt. Aunt Mavis was huge and stately. Georgie was so terrified that he couldn't get his armor off fast enough. (That explains the rust, huh?). Mavis, who was prepared to do battle with what she though was a door-to-door saleman, was terribly embarrassed for the little guy. So she closed her door and retired deep into her cave. The drunken con-man quickly sized up that a direct confrontation wasn't going to work, so he changed his story before Mavis could seal up her door. He somehow convinced the old girl that he wasn’t really a knight at all, but (believe it or not) a plastic surgeon. Well, like I said at the beginning of this story, Mavis was terribly, terribly vain. She'd do anything to look thousands of years younger. George implied that his sword was really a dragon-sized scalpel. Oh my poor trusting Aunt Mavis. ...Well, at least she died while under anesthesia.      Of course there was a government inquiry, but the clever little Georgie used a lot of Mavis’ gold to hire a good lawyer AND an even better Public Relations staff. Goergie's PR people quickly sent off a few thousand parchments to all of the known world's news agencies, town criers, and balladeers, announcing that a person named George had slayed a horrible, fearsome Dragon. (Oh, pleeeeeeeze. She just looked that way out of make-up.) Eventually, he swayed public opinion and it was Georgie who was made a saint. ...Couldn’t you just?