Helping You Get the Most Out of Your Misery






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Thursday, March 02, 2006


The Good Samaritan

My apologies for not writing yesterday. I left work with the intention of coming straight home and writing the horoscopes I know so many thousands of you depend on to guide your every step through this life, but then something happened.

I saw a woman walking around with a smudge of some sort on her forehead. Now, I know that most people, when confronted with something as socially awkard as this, would simply ignore it and try not to stare. But I'm not most people. So, as politely as I could, I walked up beside her and I whispered, "Ma'am, you have something on your face," and I used my trusty pocket handkerchief. (No "kleenex" for this fella.) When I'd finished, she looked a little confused and couldn't seem to find the words to express her gratitude. I smiled and doffed my hat to her and continued on down the street.

Now, I realize it may sound like I'm making this next part up, but I swear on my mint-condition copy of Brave and the Bold #14 that it's true. I saw another person with a smudge similar to the one I'd just removed from the nice lady's face. I didn't know what to make of that. What are the odds of two people with the same dirt not two blocks apart?

So I took my handkerchief out and--using the other side, so as not to be unhygenic--I wiped the soot (or what have you) from his face. He, too, seemed too grateful to express in words. He just sort of gaped at me.

As I headed further down the street--I think I may have been near St. Paul's when this part happened--I began to see person after person with similar smudges. Some practical joking bastard had gone around putting his "mark" on people. I was outraged.

At first, I just did what came instinctually: I licked my thumb and removed the grime from these poor unaware bastards one at a time. Eventually, my thumb began to taste too horrid to lick, so I ducked into a Duane Reade and grabbed a packet of baby wipes. I dashed back outside and just began cleaning every stranger I saw in need. There were hundreds of these victims. I didn't have time to explain to them, I just cleaned them and moved immediately on to the next one.

Because I was so rushed, some of them were confused by what I was doing and I had a few people take swings at me. (My right eye is swollen shut, actually, from the three-hundred-pounder who really connected.) But, no matter the personal risk, I felt I had to help these poor sods.

I mean, think about it: all these strangers, in need of someone to take the time to help. I just thought to myself, "What would Jesus do?"

you must, if you have not already read
Lamb by Christopher Moore. :)
you bastard, you made me drop my bong.
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