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Hey. Hey buddy.


You've got a ... a thing ...

*clumsily paws at my own face to indicate where you might do the same*

No, you missed it. What is that?


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Is it food? A bit of jam? Some bread crumbs?

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An entire drumstick?

OK, well ... OK. I don't want to disrespect you. I don't know where you come from, but that seems like a lot of food to have on one's face. Unless you're getting paid for it, like those Japanese ladies who let dudes eat sushi off them. Is that it? Have I interrupted you on the way to a gig?

Holy shit, it's moving!

A Bug

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Is that a bug!? It's moving around like it has intent of its own. No food could do that.

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Some bugs barely could.

Wait. Maybe that was just your cheek moving, understandably flinching as a stranger reached out to touch it.

So what is that?

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A Mole

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I'm so sorry. That's a mole, isn't it? An unfortunate-looking birthmark that could be mistaken for a bug or an entire drumstick.

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Though I bet in some cultures, you would be worshiped.

I feel awful for bringing this up and then going on and on about it at length, way, way past the point where a normal person would have stopped. And oh pickles, I'm still doing it, aren't I? You deserve respect and dignity, and for people to not reach out and touch your face and ...

Oh shit. That's not a birthmark at all.

A Tattoo

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OK, I get it now. It's a tattoo. Cool! I guess. Let's try that again. Cool?

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You must have a fun time on job interviews.

Odd that you would get a tattoo so reminiscent of a beetle / an entire drumstick. But then again, I'm one of the least cool people alive, so I'm hardly the best judge of what's fly these days.

It's not a tattoo?

Wait. Hang on. Oh, I see what it is now.

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A Religious Headdress

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Oh God, I'm so sorry. That's a head dress or partial face covering of religious significance! I'm so sorry for calling attention to it, and also for shrieking "Oh God," earlier in this apology.

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To be fair, the head coverings of my religion are considerably different than yours.

Oh, hang on, no. That was just the shadow falling over your face as you stepped from the light. Quit trying to get away from me. Come on now. Let's solve this together.

The Mark Of The Chosen One

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Oh holy crap. It couldn't be. The mark of the chosen one! The sign of the one who will lead us to greatness!

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And pay the ultimate price!

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Please, chosen one. Allow me to anoint you.

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Oh, calm down. Yes, I sprayed you with blood. Relax. It's my blood.

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It's fine.

Look, we've all read the prophecy. Smearing blood on the face of the Chosen One is a necessary part of the rite. Besides, the Chosen One is going to see some shit. This is nothing compared to what's going to be spattered on you next.

What do you mean you haven't read the prophecy? What do they teach in school these days? Those fucking liberal professors.

Anyways, it's viscera. It'll be viscera. The prophecy is super clear about that.


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Told you so.

Who were those guys? Coming out of nowhere to attack you, shrieking threats about this definitely-not-made-up prophecy, then exploding with little warning. It's almost as if the ancient sect they belonged to was more interested in spraying your face with various unsavory substances than anything else. Truly a mysterious foe, this, whom both the prophecy and this column leave loosely explained.

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It really will depend on what stock images I can find.

Nevertheless, the prophecy is clear on one thing: That battle was but the first you'll face with your face, and so much worse will land on it yet, Chosen One.

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A Terrified Expression

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What's that? Are you scared?

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I suppose you have a right to be scared. The Chosen One is said to have to deal with so much more viscera than what you've seen so far. And although the final words of the prophecy are illegible and do not say what happens to the Chosen One, experts on stains suggest that the prophecy was itself coated in viscera at one point, likely from the last Chosen One.

In retrospect, I'd say you have less of a "terrified" expression and more of an "appropriate" one.

Oh shit! One of your ancient enemies hasn't fully exploded! And he's throwing something at you!

A Mole

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OK, now that's an actual mole this time. Presumably the beast the prophecy spoke of: the great viscera-spiller.

It occurs to me, watching you struggle for your life, that this isn't a very good prophecy. That some dude would get attacked by masked strangers and then a mole just doesn't seem that worthy of a prophecy. Hell, this has to happen by chance every now and then. Also, this doesn't seem to be leading us to greatness so much as it makes me contemplate the fragility of human existence and the sharpness of mole teeth.

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Not so pretty any more, are you, Chosen One?

Though I suppose that kind of reflection is one of the things that makes the human mind unique -- a capability which, in a sense, does lead us to greatness. Yeah, that's probably it. Well done, Chosen One!

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You've survived! Well done again, Chosen One!

The mole is vanquished, sent back to the shadows whence it came. And look! Some of the mole's last meal -- some worms, it would seem -- has been left on your face, vomited up as you rained blows upon it. That looks positively nasty.

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This will also prove problematic during job interviews.

So, uh, you gonna get that?

*clumsily paws at my own face to indicate where you might do the same*

There. You got it.

Chris Bucholz is a Cracked columnist and pretty much always has something on his face. His first novel, Severance, is incredible and available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Apex Books. Join him on Facebook or Twitter.

For more direct confrontations from Chris Bucholz, check out Greatest Customer Feedback Ever Sent to McDonald's. And you might want to start saving for retirement now so that you never end up like the people in An Apology to the Residents of My Illegal Retirement Home.

Subscribe to our YouTube channel to see how those bruises got on this boxer's face in If Boxing Were Even Less Legitimate, and watch other videos you won't see on the site!

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