Hi. My little brother has colonic cancer. It is a very rare disease that affects approximately 1 in 30,000 people and is caused by polyps. I am eaten by guilt everytime I think about him.
You see, ten years ago my brother was healthy like Spartacus. He was captain of the football team, captain of the math team and captain of our boat. Dad owned a crocodile hunting business in Louisiana and we used to bring a record catch in every day. We used to catch so many crocodiles they were put on the endangered list and we had to hunt alligators instead. We sold them for boots, and soon had quite a collection.
Anyway, as I was saying, our brother, or skipper as we like to call him, was a bright young boy full of life. He used to run around the marshes in the heady summer afternoons and his feet barely touched the ground. The local people called him a witch, but he passed the test because he could not float. Life was good.
Then one day tragedy struck. We found a letter in Skipper's bed, telling us he had to go to the big city for an x-ray. Things went downhill from there. Soon there were doctors buzzing around his bed like flies, and we had to get a special lamp to thin their numbers. I still remember the pain on Skipper's face everytime that buzzing noise woke him up from his peaceful slumber. It keeps me up at night, too.
We were told Skipper had only four days to live. We panicked. Ordered clowns, cakes. Russian brides. PBS, CBS, ABS and even Fox News. All to no avail. Skipper could not crack a smile. In desperation, I ran through the streets looking for something, anything to cheer him up. Then it hit me, like a punch to the gut. In front of me rose a ziggurat of gigantic proportions, a beacon of hope in the dark night of my misery. Truly was our winter of discontent made glorious summer by this Comic Store. I rushed inside and bought The Complete Maus, by Art Spiegelman, The Dark Knight Returns and X-Men #45 with the traechotomy. Elated, I sprinted back to the hospital, hurtling over pedestrians and taxi cabs like they were nothing. Like a kind messiah I opened my arms wide and threw the comics on my brother's bed, shouting "Hallelujah, brother! Hallelujah!!"
Well guess wheat. They were not funny at all.