I'll prove it.
It was a cold February's day in the heart of old Bytowne. I had just indulged the tooth beside the sweet one, the one that insists on garlicky middle eastern sandwiches (I think it's one of the incisors but I've never been much for cryptozoology) when I hit old Rideau, promenade of filth. Now I'm something of a fast walker, and that something is a bipedal colon with a lackadaisical bohemian Greenwhich village agenda to end the tyranny of my bourgeois white-collar obsession with dignity and cleanliness.
Forward then! My two minds were as one.
Imagine my terrOR, when, on coming to Rideau and Dalhousie, and, stopping at the crosswalk with the hopes of a quick light-change, I saw on the opposing side a pair of browbeater youths in parkas and wielding the omnifrightful COLOURED TOME OF CARITAS, aka the charity Begging Binder Bonobos of Borneo.
"O wretch, o foulest hellspitoon, I, born on this day!" I hollered to the smiling south asian octogenerian at my side. Nor was my reaction over the bounds of common decency. Has anyone ever made it unscathed past the Sphincter's riddle that is the Binder Boys? Hast heard their cutting, incisor like comments on one's own person ? Hast not been arrested by their commanding, alpha level, frat boy calls to stand and deliver the excuse for one's own selfish, ungiving, scrooge-like passage through life?
What is charity? Is it, as the apostle saith, that which thinketh no evil?
No. For, as my tale will reveal, much evil it thoughteth then, and good whatfor...
And now the Kuten Rag Peasant and Pea-Munching Players present:
THE LORD OF THE MANOR IN DIRE STRAITS
a cosmic ballet in a single act, in which an unwitting and selfish miser encounters a pair of grift men with an eye on his fortune.
(Lord Abdelhadishire enters the scene with his head lowered and his parka hood set to monkish "Umberto Eco". He grits his teeth and proceeds forward. He is not prepared for the zen koan-type ass kicking he is about to receive).
Binder boy: Hey! I like your, uh ... POCKET MUG!
(The Lord looks at his right parka pocket, in which he seemingly stuffed a coffee thermos in his haste to hustle.)
Lord Abdelhadishire: uh, thanks. *mumble mumble*
Binder Boy (getting excited): How about we TALK ABOUT IT!!!
Lord Abdelhadishire: i cant its cold and im late for *mumblemumble* and tottenam hotspur *mumblemubmble* carpark and ya...
Binder Boys (x2): BOOO. We're cold too! It'll be fine.
Lord Abdelhadishire: Well, I...
Binder Boy: "Well you..."? Well you what? Have you ever thought about "well anyone else"?
Lord Abdelhadishire: It's not that, it's...
Binder Boy: Oh it isn't is it? Isn't it that? What is it then? I tell you what it is. Did you know that in Africa there are over twelve children who are hungry? You know how much it costs to feed a child? Less than a cup of coffee. *points to pocket mug* About the same amount as a coffee for abused children. They cost more to feed. Abuse is taxing. And talk about tragedy! Have you ever bought a slave? Over twelve slaves have been purchased in this very century. You know how much it costs to purchase a slave? More than a cup of Starbucks. *points to pocket mug* Who's playing Stars and Stripes now, buster? Speaking of stripes, what about the Zebras? Did you know there are over twelve herds of stampeding zebras? Starving zebras! Do you know how much it costs to stop a Zebra from stampeding?
(Lord Abdelhadishire meekly lifts up his coffee thermos)
Binder Boy: That's right! Just fifteen thousand cups of coffee! Now I'm not here to ask you for money today. I don't even want to bring up money. I'm not even going to mention it, right bro?
Binder Boy 2: He never mentions it.
Binder Boy: I never even dream of mentioning money, ever, ever, never and not once more. But IF you felt that this might be something you could support, we could start the donations at say twelve cups of coffee per child/zebra combo, and this is just for you, I can give you a pen to seal the deal...
Lord Abdelhadishire: I must protest...
Binder Boy: Oh? Methinks thou dost protest too much!
Binder Boy 2: I was gonna just say that lol.
Binder Boy: Lol. But seriously, if you'll just sign...
Lord Abdelhadishire: Oh fine! Take it! Take it all!
Binder Boys: GRAB IT!!!
(Lord Abdelhadishire throws his wallet, containing his entire fortune of thirteen cups of coffee's worth of various currencies plus two coffee-type gift cards, redeemable at all good charities)
Lord Abdelhadishire: Well then. Now that we're all chummy, I just have one question. What do you keep in those binder anyway?
Binder Boy:Well, I suppose I can tell him now, right bro? You see, we're not your average bros. We're actually lost soul bros. All of us binder-folk are. We are the ectoplasmic remains of every frat boy who chugged too much a-lug. In order to get into Heaven, St. Peter (a real awesome bro btw) assigned us each a mission, to collect ten thousand cups of coffee (Starbucks) for charity. Once our duty is complete, we can ascend on high the Empyrean where we can delight in the splendour of Our Lord and Saviour, the Bro of Bros.
(A golden light appears from the heaven. A chorus of men starts to sing, something like "Up In Here" accompanied by harps cymbals. The two Binder Boys smile knowingly at each other and start to ascend to heaven in the golden beam)
Binder Boy: It's time.
Binder Boy 2: Never forget us.
Binder Boy: Be cool!
(Awestruck freeze).
FIN
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