Laughter is the Second Best Medicine.
Have you ever noticed that the best medicine of all is, without question, your own hands? I mean seriously, if you have a headache, and you put your hand on your head - it instantly feels better. Maybe the headache doesn't go away, but it does feel better.
Example two: your stomach is riling around in pain from whatever grease fiend sandwich you just put into your mouth. The stomach didn't want it and pawned it off into the intestines, which are now knotting up in fear. It's one of the least comfortable feelings around. However, cup your belly in your hands, and the magical healing oil that apparently resides in my useful duo of tools absorbs some of the hurt, and all is momentarily better.
That's what made Jesus so special. He just had a truckload of healing oil in his hands. It's like a one in a million shot, but he got it. That's why they crucified him. He could have healed himself if his hands were free. It's a sad fact, and I'm not proud to report it. But this is an unwanted tangent that's interrupting my original trivial tangent, so I now cease and desist.
Massages don't feel good from those chairs you get at The Sharper Image. You know why? No magical oil. It's becoming a scientific fact that hands are, in fact, the best medicine. Someone needs to write a formal thesis. I would, but I'm not in the mood to conduct a study.
And on that note, I'm spent for the night. Adieu.
Example two: your stomach is riling around in pain from whatever grease fiend sandwich you just put into your mouth. The stomach didn't want it and pawned it off into the intestines, which are now knotting up in fear. It's one of the least comfortable feelings around. However, cup your belly in your hands, and the magical healing oil that apparently resides in my useful duo of tools absorbs some of the hurt, and all is momentarily better.
That's what made Jesus so special. He just had a truckload of healing oil in his hands. It's like a one in a million shot, but he got it. That's why they crucified him. He could have healed himself if his hands were free. It's a sad fact, and I'm not proud to report it. But this is an unwanted tangent that's interrupting my original trivial tangent, so I now cease and desist.
Massages don't feel good from those chairs you get at The Sharper Image. You know why? No magical oil. It's becoming a scientific fact that hands are, in fact, the best medicine. Someone needs to write a formal thesis. I would, but I'm not in the mood to conduct a study.
And on that note, I'm spent for the night. Adieu.