I found out last night that I do not need anything. I repeat, I-NEED-NOTHING. How do I know that I need nothing? Why, it's quite simple really, a fortune cookie told me so. Okay, so it didn't actually speak right up and verbally tell me that I need nothing, but when I found it there, alone on the street, and I cracked it open, there it was on printed in black laser printer ink on a slip of expertly cut white, low gloss paper. Now of course I had to eat the cookie, or else the fortune wouldn't come true. That is the way that the tradition goes, isn't it? Well anyway, after that my stomach really started to hurt. I found myself lying on the sidewalk, all curled up in a fetal ball, while some teenagers ransacked the contents of my wallet, and coat pockets. "That's okay I don't need any of that stuff anyway", I muttered in between pained gasps for a lungful of air, "The cookie told me so." I probably shouldn't have muttered that last part, for they redoubled their ransacking of my person, all the while asking me where I stashed the good stuff. I tried to tell them that I didn't need the good stuff, or the bad stuff. I tried to tell them that I didn't need anything at all. Those kids must have finally believed that, because they took off with my coat, and designer Italian Leather boots. That's okay though, because I don't need them. A little while later, a Good Samaritan came by and called the paramedics for me just before making off with my cellular phone-which is fine because I don't need a phone.
Upon arriving at the scene, the paramedics asked me if I was injured. I admitted that I wasn't feeling terribly wonderful, and I recounted my story to them about how destiny had planted that fortune cookie in my path upon the sidewalk, they looked at each other, and then one of them said to me: "Sir you definitely need a doctor." "Oh no I don't!" I said firmly. I told them how the fortune cookie never said: "You need a doctor." I even went so far as to show them the message which had been contained within the bowels of said cookie. Once again, they looked at each other. I wondered why they kept doing that. I asked if they were in some secret relationship which required mutual self affirmation every five minutes or so. They didn't much like that though, for they grabbed a hold of me, stuffed me in the back of their ambulance, and drove me away somewhere.
The hospital it turned out was where they were taking me. I tried to explain to them that I did not need to go to the hospital, and that I did not need a doctor, because the cookie had informed me that I did not need anything. Or rather to be more precise, the cookie had read to me "you need nothing." I explained as much to five nurses, four orderlies, three maintenance personnel, two turtle doves, and the attending physician. None of whom seemed in the least bit convinced. Except the turtle doves, they seemed most concerned, but had confessed to an inability to do anything to help me, or otherwise get me out of there. I told the doctor on duty, and the nurses as much. Instead of listening to me however, they pumped my stomach, shot me up with some serious antibiotics, a few pain killers, and I think a new coat, but the sleeves were on backwards, so I politely asked if they would kindly remove it. Their answer had been vague instance that I needed it for my own protection. I told them, a little more huffy this time-you'd be huffy too if no one listened to you when you tried to tell them about what a cookie told you-that the fortune cookie from the sidewalk had told me I need nothing. I explained that the message scrawled on the fortune cookie's entrails was not: "You need nothing but an ambulance, a doctor, a stomach pump, or a jacket with backward sleeves. All that the cookie's message read was and I quote 'You Need Nothing.'" NOTHING! What, oh what is so hard to understand about nothing? I got really worked up trying to explain that to them, that they injected me with something. I woke up this morning, with new clothes-jammies I think-and earlier this afternoon I finally got to talk to a man who seemed most sympathetic. He even took the time to write down everything that I said. He agreed with me that the cookie is right and that I need nothing. He did suggest to me though that I might get some rest. Not because I need it, but because he understood how tiring ordeals involving random fortune cookies can be.
All I have to say about that is: Finally someone just sits there and listens to me. Well, there's this other guy too. He says he's General Patton's pet ostrich, but I don't know about that. I think he might need a little professional mental help. Not me though, I need nothing. The fortune cookie's large intestine even told me so.