Truly a Work of Art

Greetings to my sycophants of cynicism,
I know that those of you reading this have come here in the hopes of being catapulted along on your journey of impertinence. Like the serfs of a kingdom, you wait expectantly along the road where your cynical king will be passing, salivating at the thought of catching a cynical morsel to feed your growing taste for acrimony. Trust me, that’s why you’re here.
Well, you won’t be disappointed, for just as the Dung Beetle must be ever vigilant in his search for fresh dung to wallow in, so I am always on the lookout for that which is in dire need of caustic derision. Indeed, I have found a target more than worthy of a moments time to dissect and spit upon: “Chicken Soup for the Soul”.
My wife and I recently made a trip down to the grand centre of Red Deer to meet with my Aunt, Uncle and my cousin, whom I have not seen for quite some time. The trip down was less than memorable in many ways, not the least of which was a flat tire just outside of Edmonton. Luckily not all my time has been spent in the Fortress of Solitude, so I have learned to change a tire. The real agony began, however, once the excursion had recovered from this momentary setback. My wife had picked up one of the many editions of “Chicken Soup for the Soul” and proceeded to read out loud some of the emotional drivel contained therein. Stories of blind kids becoming pole vaulters and soldiers who pass the test to meet their never before seen pen pal sweetheart. The stories ranged from mildly believable to unbearably absurd. Finally, with the story of the legless dog that saves an entire family from a burning house by propelling himself with his own flatulence, I could take no more. This series of books is a perfect example of how the lack of cynicism in so many individuals in our society creates circumstances in which those willing to prey on the gullible are wallowing in a veritable cornucopia of money making opportunities. Chicken Soup for the Soul, Chicken Soup for the Christian Soul, Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul, Chicken Soup for the Cooked Chicken’s Soul, Chicken Soup for the Gothic Soul (featuring stories of Vampires realizing that immortality sucks). Apparently every kind of Soul imaginable is covered, I’m sure as a result of the compassion and concern of the authors for all these sucke… I mean, souls. I seriously doubt that the fact that so many people will pay $20 per book to soothe their tortured souls with stories of heart-warming fiction masquerading as true accounts had anything to do with their decision to publish 50 million different varieties of this life changing book. Well, I’ve come up with my own edition called “Chicken Soup for the Cynical Soul”. I think it will feature stories much like this:

Little Billy sat patiently and expectantly in the comfortable couch of the waiting room, reading “My Favourite Puppy” from the broad selection of animal loving children’s books on the rack near the wall. This particular waiting room had obviously been decorated with great care and attention to any detail a child waiting to hear of the fate of their beloved pet could ask for. A small plastic cube with openings to crawl through and a slide to skim down sat in the corner, the aforementioned rack of books stood against the wall directly under a tv that played every Disney movie imaginable.
Billy was in the Hopeville Animal hospital, waiting to hear how his beloved pet dog was fairing in the operating room. It had been a long 2 hours so far, but Billy had no doubt that his precious Clancy would be right as rain in no time. It was appropriate that Billy was reading “My Favourite Puppy”, since Clancy was Billy’s best friend in every respect. The young boy was quite withdrawn around most people which left him with few very few friends, but Clancy was the only friend little Billy ever needed. They did everything together, and had both pulled through some seemingly perilous situations to emerge unscathed. Billy remember fondly the time that he and Clancy had been caught sneaking ripe tomatoes from the vine in the neighbours yard. Mr. Telve had been mighty angry, but together Billy and Clancy had run as fast as their little legs could carry them. If they could get through that together, then nothing could separate him from his beloved Clancy, Billy thought, not even that giant Buick that had hit Clancy on the road, or the fact that after hitting the canine the car had stopped, backed up over the dog, and run over it again. Billy smiled as he thought of the great fun that he and Clancy would have just as soon as the doctors had finished playing with him.
Just then, Billy’s daddy came running into the waiting room. Billy was puzzled, his father was wearing a bib with “Tony Roma’s” written on it, and he had bar-b-que sauce on his face. And most curiously of all, Clancy was nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Clancy?” Billy asked, mildly confused by the situation but still with an unshakeable faith that Clancy was going to be just fine.
Billy’s dad looked slightly sheepish as he hesitantly replied, “I’m sorry Billy, but Clancy was dead before we even got him here. After we left Clancy here to be cremated your mom and sister and I went to Tony Roma’s to cheer us all up, but we forgot you here.”
Billy never fully recovered from the emotional blow of this horrifying revelation, and remains an emotional head case to this day. True story.


Ah yes, I can already feel the silky soft brush of hundred dollar bills across my palm as my hordes of cynical admirers line up to get their hands on a copy of this timeless classic. Look for it in stores near you this holiday season.