By Joe Elliott
Chicken soup for the mind-body problem
As my faith in human nature has been slowly waning over the past 22 years, in a previous column, I urged my loyal readers to send me heartwarming and/or inspiring stories to soften up my ever-so-callous heart. (Editor’s Note: He made this up; It never happened.) Therefore, from the thousands upon thousands of letters and emails I have received in the past month, I have carefully compiled my three favorite stories. (Editor’s Note: He made these up too.) Enjoy.
“Yo Joe! As an (sic) seventeen year old male I only have one thing to say: Jackass The Movie rules! Last week I goed (sic) to the theaters 14 times, snuck in 3, paid for 2 and got kicked out 12 times to see Jonny (sic) Knoxville. Yeah! Jackass Rules! Knoxville is my hero! I also videotaped every try to send it to Jackass and sees (sic) if they put me on the show. Wooooooooo! Damn that would be so cool.
–Pozzo”
“Dear Joe,
Nothing to be done. I’m a thirty-seven year old single computer programmer. Upon reading your previous column, I was about to write a heartwarming story about how a child’s innocent nature revealed the prejudices of an old, grumpy (yet honorable) World War II veteran. But then, as I’m about to eat my third bowl of Cheerios for the day, I stare outside at the cold, barren landscape and realize that heartwarming stories are exactly that, stories. They never happen. I complacently stumble back up to my computer and refresh fark.com for the forty-third time in the past hour, realizing that my only connection with another human being from this abysmal one-room apartment is my desperate and pathetic attempt to make friends that I will never meet by posting on a news website. It’s 8 o’clock. Maybe I’ll download the latest Coldplay album. Or maybe I’ll just lay in bed, staring at the wall, until I fall asleep. It’s not worthwhile now…
–Estragon
“We have little revolvers, and such stupid choices.” –Adam Duritz”
“Mr. Elliott,
My father, an 82-year-old World War 2 veteran, bravely served his country and risked his life to preserve freedom for his children. He was a simple man, but he knew right from wrong. Unfortunately, after the war, he was deeply prejudiced against Germans and almost anyone with fair hair and blue eyes. I know he has a caring heart, but sometimes he just couldn’t see past someone’s outer appearance.
However, one fine spring morning, we were sharing a walk in the park when a small blonde-headed blue-eyed boy came up neatly clad in lederhosen. The lad spoke up, “Aufenthalt weg aus meinem Land,” poured a large stein full of Beck’s Oktoberfest beer on my father’s shoes, kicked him in the shins and then skipped away singing Deutschland-Lied. Ever since then my father has hated Germans even more.
–Lucky
Just last weekend, I drank some hot apple cider, wrapped myself in a giant fuzzy blanket with a fire blazing in the fireplace, and read through these stories, each one more touching than the last. A tear runs down my face when I think of Pozzo, struggling against all odds to make his dream of appearing on Jackass come true. Or Lucky’s father, who just when it seemed as if nothing would change, met a small boy who changed him forever. Even Estragon, with his obvious pleas to end his long and bitter loneliness, brings warmth to my heart. Thank you for your time, Dear Reader. Until next time, remember: whenever you’re feeling blue, down in the dumps, or just plain sad, you’re probably not nearly as pathetic as Pozzo, Estragon, or Lucky.
