He was a proper charlie, what does that mean, can anyone explain what that means. No, not the 100% cocaine you only find in the jungles of south america, no, not that, if that is all you can think of, well, you must be a proper charlie then, well, it sounds appropriate, amen.
Is this stuff real, the money man has a briefcase full of cash, he wont hand it over until he has the stuff tested. His accomplice in the deal, assures him, pharmaceutical grade he says, as if they can make unlimited quantities, at any time they want. Is that not reassuring, they can make it in any lab too, it’s just a chemical formula. But its not proper charlie.or Charles as some say.
What is real that is left in the world,no,this is not a Jewish sense of humor, whatever. This is the story of the zealot minded, who wanted to appear perfect in the eyes of men, the type that would turn over anyone, on a notion, the person who over buys insurance, in order to assure those close, it’s all covered, the work bench, tidy, tools in their original casts, perfection, the approval of men, and the more authority they have, the bigger the smile, a proper charlie in other words, amen.
The faithful friend stands by his pal, there isn’t much time,but their relationship is unique. His friend is a sheep, his is a sheep dog, over the years they became great pals. Let out in the morning, lassie as we’ll call our dog hero, he went looking for his pals, a few fields away. Hearing faint bleeps, lassie rushes to the field, what he see’s is devastation, wounded bodies,dead ones, his old pal one of them. Lassie sides up to his pal, his breath faint, there is not much time, he does his best to ease the pain, rests his paw on his pals side,dirtying himself with the blood on the wool,and decides to remain there, until the close pal expires, his close friend.
A proper charlie of a farmer is out in his tractor, spots the carnage,sees the dog biting into his pal he thinks, well, sheep are friends to everyone. In a mad rage, he rushes home, gets the shot gun, hurries back to the field, hoping, yes, hoping, that the dog will still be there. A more compassionate farmer might have got off his tractor and tried to do something useful, but our other world hero type,only wanted revenge. He smirks when he sees the dog beside the sheep,an opportunity.
The end of the story does not need telling, too many gloat over the wretched details, the press for one, and how they think sometimes. Jesus was lucky that there was no newspapers first time around,imagine the bad press they would have gladly written,purely for the approval of men, and we know that type,don’t we,amen. Proper charlie, amen.