In a former life I was a cigar cutter living on a remote mountainside in Europe. Everyday I’d have a basket of berries and cheese delivered to me. Having no digestive system, I told the delivery boy “No thanks” and asked that he not waste his time visiting me. He acknowledged that he understood, but each day would return as though we’d never had that discussion.
A few years went by and I felt my springs weakening from age and lack of use. I decided it was time for one final cut.
The delivery boy showed up one warm Sunday evening and after refusing the items, I suggested he pull up a rock. I told him that I wanted to share the beginnings of a stand-up act I’d been developing that was a little Jerry Seinfeld and a whole lot Carrot Top. About five jokes deep I approached a punch line and asked the boy to throw a raspberry into my cutting hole. I pretended he’d thrown it wrong and asked him to do it again. As he reached through me to get the berry, I clamped down with all my might. I cut that generous boy in two. He was severed diagonally between the shoulder blades and just below his heart. Loosely translated, his last words were, “I don’t blame you for doing this.”
Before I took my own life later that night, I had a dream about a fat Canadian guy who one day went to Calgary. The fat guy recorded some footage while he was there, then stuck it away in his attic and when the internet was later invented, he put it there. Well, here: