Christopher Saint's Humor Column

**No rabbits, hamsters, hedgehogs, echidnas, or moles were hurt in the making of this column. I cannot, however, speak for humans as some of them may--despite my best efforts--read this.

***The facts and opinions presented in this column are strictly the opinions of the column itself and in no way represent the author's opinions or beliefs. Furthermore, the author cannot and will not be held responsible for any injury, physical or otherwise, that may result from the reading of this column.

****Keep out of reach of children.

*****Column may contain small parts which could, possibly, on a slight off-chance, be harmful if jammed up one's nostril.

******Warning, possible radiation. Your brain may be mutating even as we speak.


I had it out with my editor today. The moron kept changing my columns around so that they would be more "accurate" and "factual".

"Facts have no place in modern reporting!" Said I. "And besides, this is an opinion column!"

"I'm sorry." He replied. "But when you say that Portugal is the fifth largest country in the world and that Istanbul is in fact a way to cook chicken, something has to be done."

"Well excuse me!" I shouted back. "Those just happen to be genuine facts that I found on the internet, which as you know is the source for all truth!"

"You only found them on the net because YOU put them there! You wacko!"

"That's hardly the point!" I replied. "The point is that I'm just writing my opinion, and those facts happen to fit my opinion! I always choose the correct facts to fit my opinions, and just because my opinions don't happen to agree with YOUR facts doesn't mean they aren't valid."

"What?" He asked.

"I really don't know, that just came right out."

"Whatever." He answered irritably. "The point is that you're fired."

"What?!" I shouted. "You can't fire your only writer! I'm irreplacable! You editors, on the other hand, are a dime a dozen! So YOU'RE fired!"

A scuffle ensued, in which I clobbered him on the nose. That was when I realized that I was alone in my room, fighting with myself. Needless to say, I felt a certain amount of chagrin: similar to how you'd feel if you were driving to your job in New York one day and suddenly realized that you live in Paris, France, and that you are a street bum who doesn't have a car or a shirt even, and that your refrigerator box is leaking badly through a gaping hole in the roof.

This also brings to mind the street person who, upon ingesting a snail found on the side of a building, realizes that he has just had the equivalent of a high-class dinner at an exclusive club. He's reminded then of the fact that being a bum is often much less stupid that being a dandy.

I mean, let's face it: do you really think a street bum would have been fooled by the whole "Emperor's New Clothes" thing? I say no.

And on that deep and ear-shattering note, I say adieu, or actually, good-by, because I can't quite get the accent right with adieu.