Once upon a time, there was a boy whom no one liked. He wasn't a bad boy. In fact, he did his best to do the most to make and keep friends and keep those friends at least moderately interested. He struggled with the handicap of forthrightness, though, and never could master the art of the wink.
His friends had come in waves, found, lost, found, then lost. Tall ones, fat ones, smart ones, starry-eyed ones: the variety seemed dazzling. All these friends in part or in whole meant something to him in a deeper way, he knew, than he would ever be remembered by them. He saw he was merely an outrigger, the perpetual third wheel, a chill wind, a gnat.
He knew that he should have learned the skills he needed to jostle his friends into place so that they would be there when he needed them. Instead, he failed at this schoolyard lesson and fought to be absolute. Only, his friends didn't like that. This abrogated their power politic and that would not stand as, silly boy, there could be no equality in a relationship, no true give and take unless the favours were of a sultry variety.
One day, after years of frustration at failing to learn what had come so easily to his peers, he met another that was just like him. Slightly unhinged, this new friend wailed and railed with him at the injustices of man and society. They regaled the world with their pent-up anger and hatred for the pain the unmeek visited upon those who, let's face it, would never inherit the earth.
They are to be buried together at Mount Olive this Tuesday, Christmas Day, death due to unnatural, soul-damning causes. They will not be remembered except for the undefined discomfort they caused. They are survived by absolutely no one nor will they be missed. Deus Caritas Est.
