Friday, January 05, 2007


Mortimer knew he was dying.

He had traveled to the deepest, darkest jungles of Africa to spread the Lord’s Good News. He had started a school and, later, opened a hospital that offered rudimentary health care to the impoverished natives of his village.

Rudimentary, indeed. They could do nothing there to save him.

He had hit the trifecta, coming down with amoebic dysentery, a monster tapeworm, and, finally, a raging case of cholera that had sapped his last reserves.

To die in your sleep is God’s kiss, Mortimer thought, ruefully.

But to shit yourself to death is God’s Hershey’s kiss.

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