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Mr Muffins was a candystriper at the cancer ward of St. John's General. Apart from the standard sponge-bathing and bottom-wiping, he brought the patients small gifts like posters, coloring books, and flowers -- anything to brighten up the antiseptic rooms and make their treatment a little bit more bearable. He knew how the word "candystriper" sounded to a vulgar mind. He was aware of the way the doctors laughed behind his back when he walked down the hall. But what did those cretins know? Their spiritual lives were barren. After work they went home to appease their supermodel trophy wives before a night on the town in their Hummers. Mr Muffins wouldn't switch places with them for the world. People here were suffering, they needed comforting, and Mr Muffins brought sunshine into their lives. He should be called "sunshine guy." Mr Muffins reflected on all of this as he rolled off the chemo patient, finishing off his third mercy-fuck of the day. The woman's blubbery thighs left him no room on the bed. Alas, he sighed. Why, just once, couldn't Consuelo get cervical cancer?

Date Written: December 31, 2006
Author: blow-up
Average Vote: 4

01/5/2007 Litcube (4): "abnormally shaped ginger root smeared with Vaseline," is probably the osimest way I've heard stubbies described.