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 Welcome to my world Hi, guise! For this special installment of the mr.ham show, I shall be recounting my life history thus far, due to popular demand. I love you guys! My story has to begin with my pa, who has unquestionably been the dominant figure in my life. And his story really began with his pa, who is very probably my grandpa, who told him to "be a good hamster" on his deathbed. It came out a bit garbled though - grandpappy was old - and pa heard "be a good gangster", and there we have it. But the two are clearly not mutually incompatible - six or seven mas can't all be wrong! You people might not believe it, but pa is maybe the most religious ham around town; he admitted that he was originally one of them no-good godless atheists, but came to his senses after realising how useful God was with the wimmen. Today, he has a whole box of them in the attic, with several versions of the most popular ones, headed by a prized mint-condition first-edition Darth Vader that he had to beat a nerd up for. In accordance with the laws of our great nation, he does not display any favouritism, but prays to them all at one go. One of my mas once said that he wasn't supposed to do that, but he said that he wanted no truck with gods that are all uppity and wouldn't share, and that was the end of the matter. In any case, as far as I have observed, very few hams, holy or not, care to debate the finer points of theology with a heavily-scarred ham standing a head and half above them, who is sporting a strangely reassuring smile and very sincerely insisting that he believes in the same thing as them. From what I see, they usually come off relieved that they are walking on the same side, and also that they are still walking. Pa's devoutness worked superbly, and despite living in one of the roughest parts of town, we have not been burgled for years. The last time someone tried to do that when I was a little ham, the poor guy blasted himself in the ass with a shotgun after tripping down the stairs and breaking both his arms, as he swore blind to the cops afterwards. A very, very unfortunate and regrettable accident, but as pa said without any trace of irony afterwards, God takes care of his own. Pa, being the good Samaritan that he is, forgave him immediately and very kindly called for an ambulance - he has the hospital on speeddial for business purposes - saying that he understood that we all have to start out somewhere. Last I heard, the would-be burglar was recovering very nicely. Pa's a very fair ham who doesn't hold grudges. If any of his bros messes up on business, he hands out a hiding, but they'll all be out drinking afterwards. Of course, this applies to gods too, and I've happily never seen pa as angry as when he missed winning the Megabucks Lotto by a single digit on four of his numbers. Now, he figured that someone had to be responsible, and after much silent deliberation went to the box of gods and extracted a representative at random. He then stomped it into the floor very thoroughly, and made it stand in the corner for the night. The next day, a twenty-dollar note blew into my face at the playground. I handed it to pa, who considered it fair recompense, seeing as that the unlucky god turned out to not be one of the major ones after all. As a sign of goodwill, he then promoted it to the first rank in his box, in the place of honour to the right hand of mighty Vader. Ma found another fiver in the parking lot the week after. Now, I didn't understand how this could work then, and pa explained that gods and women are much the same - show them too much respect, and they walk all over you. Wise ham, my pa. I did not completely agree with him then, being young and all, and I remember attending religious services after a few of my pals told me that it was a great way to pick up chicks; one of them remarked that it paid to position oneself properly when the time for hugs came along, since some children of God are eminently more huggable than others. However, I had my principles even as a kid, and at the next service I stood up and questioned why women were allowed to speak up there, since it was very clearly laid out in their book of rules that it was forbidden. Also, many of the girls were wearing pantsuits instead of yummy skirts, and cropping their hair short, both in defiance of what was written.  My friend Mr. Bow demonstrates how to respond to proselytism, financial product salesmen, and general purveyors of rubbish There was much whispering and looking around but no answer as I continued pointing out inconsistencies, and finally I got hauled out by security. This, I felt, was rather disappointing. As pa said, we may be gangsters, but we have a Code, and we keep every single word of it till the end of our days. We also honour the letter and spirit of our arrangements, which is why they are very short. When our family loansha... easy-credit enterprise is unable to collect on the specified date, we just break the previously agreed-upon limb very cleanly, and as a professional courtesy book the ambulance in advance if our customer is kind enough not to try and run away. No disgusting word-weaseling as lawyers try to do; the last smartass legal eagle who tried it in our part of town hasn't been found. Well, most of him hasn't, anyway. To make it short, I have made it big by keeping to pa's very simple set of moral values in an increasingly decadent and fallen world: Believe in the gods, all of them, but beat them up if you have to; love your fellow men, except those who don't pay their debts on time; and love your women, as many as you can. It's that straightforward, really. Mr. Paper Bag will continue when the mr.ham show returns! Next: Taxonomus Modernus Westernus Societus
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