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The Miracle On Mustache Street

By: Jerry Landry

To Clifford Hetherington, it was just another normal day in Manhattan. Thebottleneck into and out of his office building a constant, the harsh New YorkWinter crisp in the air, the habitual moving parts in motion. Yet for everyelement of detraction, there was an overwhelming element of attraction in thehopes that a greater profit margin could be attained. Such is the life as a wildlysuccessful hedge fund manager. Such was the day-to-day for Clifford.

He poured 75 hours a week into his job, and whatever was left of his soul.Seemingly forgetting that he also had two children and a beautiful wife.

However, as many a story has been penned, so too was the story of Clifford, andhow he was obviously incomplete, and how an intangible something was missing.

One day, December 24th to be exact, Clifford took an unusual early departurefrom work that strayed from his daily routine. Having closed business with aclient early in the afternoon, Cliff decided to head home for the holidays. As hetrotted down the stairs in his freshly-pressed Valentino suit, his equally expensiveloafers swiftly caressing each step, he came to an abrupt stop upon a ratherinquisitive fellow. Little did Cliff know, that fate had just led him to TheChristmas Dude.

Who is this unkempt gentleman, Clifford muttered to himself. Why it is I, TheChristmas Dude! the highly perceptive vagabond exclaimed. I am here to fillyou with a true sense of Christmas spirit, he continued. But I have all theChristmas spirit I need, Clifford pseudo-confidently retorted. Ahh yes, but doyou have this? The Christmas Dude then promptly produced a most radiantlybrilliant polyhedron from his tattered coat pocket. What the F*** is that?!?Clifford inquired mid-grimace as this seemingly grody guttersnipe revealed anobject so uselessly perplexing.

Your prejudice proceeds you, Clifford, the Christmas Dude remarked

omnipotently. You assumed I was just another homeless wretch whom lurkedaround your place of work until I brandished this brilliantly bright polyhedron.Yes, that is true, Clifford falsely conceded. But you must understand, your foulstench coupled with your patchwork clothing had thrown me astray, Cliffordsaid as he checked his watch.I know, the Christmas dude responded as hewiped the sweat from his left palm. You are probably still wondering why Imhere, and why I have presented to you the most precious polyhedron in the

http://thisweekindude.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00399095489685354769http://thisweekindude.com/http://thisweekindude.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00399095489685354769http://www.blogger.com/profile/00399095489685354769

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World. Not exactly, Clifford chided... Its just that you are standing betweenme and where I plan on heading, and the radius of your raunch odor is quitelenghty, Clifford noted as he raised his handkerchief to his upper lip andnostrils.

The Christmas Dude insisted on fully explaining himself. He provided Cliffordwith an entire backstory. He would go on to explain how he too had once had twokids and a beautiful wife. He spoke of his downward spiral into psychedelicdrugs, and how he had to sell some of his teeth once just to get a bite to eat andhow incredibly ironic that situation was. Clifford however, listened patiently sincehe had both left early from work, and since he could now not keep his eyes off ofthe Christmas Dudes remarkable polyhedron, which was in and of itself, a truesight to behold.

The Christmas Dude went on to explain that Clifford was heading down a

tumultuous path of misfortune if he continued to hold on to life as tightly as hehad. You need to spend more time with your wife and two kids, dude, theChristmas Dude finally said in summation. Where is the dude your friendsbecame enamored with in college... better yet... where are your friends now?The last of the Christmas Dudes insights had resonated deeply with Clifford.

How do you know so much about me? Clifford bristled. To which theChristmas Dude replied psychedelics arent all bad. Dismissing what theChristmas Dude had just said, Clifford went on to exclaim: Youre right Dude!This shall be the last year I will work on Christmas Eve. This shall be the last

time I attempt to use scarcely worked working hours to pad myself financially.When I get home I will embrace my wife, I will let my kids open a few presentsearly, and I will drink just as much hot chocolate as the next guy! Good, good,the Christmas Dude said as the stripper glitter on his forehead glistened in theweak Winter sunlight. But first, let us go to the bar and have a few epiphany-encouraged lagers. Sounds great! Clifford gushed gayly.

The two went on their merry way that day to a local public house of brewery andtalked for hours, they talked so long in fact, that Clifford had lost all track of time.He arrived late with the smell of Pabst on his breath and was greeted by his angry

wife. Clifford attempted to explain his encounter with The Christmas Dude, buthis slurred speech and Nick Nolte mugshot appearance failed to pay dividends.Clifford awoke several hours later on the basement couch and was greeted bynews that his wife and kids would be spending the 12 days of Christmas with hisin-laws. Thanks to the Christmas Dude, this would be the shittiest Christmasever.