On his deathbed, Malcolm pondered the joys in his life: quail’s egg, lark-tongues, caviar and Kobe-beef washed down with Chateau Chéval Blanc.
Both ruthless and fortunate, he left in his wake swindled business-partners and mistresses dumped for bodies turning limp.
His pale whale-like body reflected his diet; in need of assistance folding flesh into his Permobil.
He rang, and noiselessly his staff appeared, the young masseuse, his chef, the butler and his footmen.
He needed one final service.
“Relieve me of my wealth to push me through the needle’s eye.”
Malcolm died, signing the papers condemning his servants to hell.
Needles(s) to say I thought out of the box here, thinking of the quote “it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God”. I am not sure it will help Malcolm
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October 23, 2019