STIGMATA BLUES AND BLACKS
Battered black and blue, little Tommy ran into the living-room balling his eyes and tear ducts out.
"Good Lord," exclaimed the new neighbors who'd been invited over for a friendly little pow-wow of "where-you-from"s and "how-you-like-the-neighorhood"s.
Tommy's mother slowly got to her feet and took her wreckage of a child into the bathroom for some ointments, ice-packs and aspirins. The usual routine of going through diminishing first-aid supplies that had become second-aid, third-aid and was now at the umpteenth-aid stage.
The new neighbors were left in a state of shock over being thrust into the role of witnesses to some kind of beating. The casualness of the parents terrified them all the more.
"Oh yeah, well Tommy gets these mysterious bruises. Turns out he's getting the bruises of a Mexican pro wrestler who himself had been the vessel of some kind of stigmata of Christ. I mean that's what the medium said. If you believe in that kind of stuff." He took a sip from his coffee and continued with the previous conversation, "So Karl what did you do in Cincinnati?"
It took him 54 seconds to respond.