A Mild Stroke

I had a mild stroke five years ago, mostly because I don’t take care of myself. I have diabetes, and refuse to exercise or eat properly. I am able to walk, talk and clean up after myself, but decided I should move in with my sister because I couldn’t handle living alone.

Now her entire life focuses on me. I have no privacy. She waits on me hand and foot, and will not allow me to perform the simplest tasks, she won’t even let me shower alone, which, by the way, I am perfectly capable of doing by myself. She has moved so much of my furniture into her house there is no room for her things.

I have become irritable lately and take it out on her. I am only 28, and my sister is 23. I cannot bear the thought of living like this for another minute. It is like having a boyfriend, and it rules out the possibility of having a man of my own. I think she is in love with me.

Dear Tracy,

I fail to see the problem with the situation you find yourself in. You think you got it bad. HA!

One day I came upon a man vomiting whole potatoes. I asked him if he was ok but he became infuriated, “DO I LOOK OK!”

He must have been pretty aggravated from the potato thing, because he seemed keen on thrashing the hell out of me. I was so mystified by the potato thing that I just ran. He chased me out into the middle of the street where I was hit by a car, which snatched me up at about 50 miles per hour. I flew about 3 blocks and slammed into the side of a tall building.

I was a good three stories up and was about to lose my grasp. Two ravens came along and began to peck at my fingers. I remembered the poison in my pocket and drank it. It tasted super!

Death came for me. “I hate you Bastards.”

“Who?” I asked.

Death: “Why is it that saints prevail on as many lives as they imagine they can make off with?”

“I could explain it to you.” I informed him.

“No thanks.” Death replied.

Death kicked at the birds and took my hand. “Common, hurry up. I haven’t got all day.”

Death looked like he made a decision, and offered, “Look, accompany me for a time, help make up for the time I’ve wasted saving your saintly ass, or you hit the round.” I looked confused so he explained further, “You won’t die. Won’t that be nice.”

“OK, sure I’ll help you out. Can I borrow your stick?” Death began mumbling to himself but let me borrow the stick.

I went back to see the “Potato Man”, seems his time was up. Only 3999 more people to go. Death said he doesn’t mind so much who I get, just so long as I meet my quota. What a great guy!

More Psycho Sermons

Saint Garion

Bel Garion, who also goes by the name Saint Garion started writing columns in our early years and continued to 2006. He often refers to "The Lord" and "Buddah" which are the names of his dogs which speak to him on a regular basis.

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