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Waldo, You Rat Bastard: Where the Hell ARE You?!?!?

Guest editorial by Will Gerharding, frustrated searcher

So I picked up this stupid Where's Waldo book my kid had the other day and started flipping through it.

"No problem," I thought to myself, "this should be easy as hell. They make these books for kids, and just because I had brain surgery a few weeks ago, that doesn't mean I can't do this kid puzzle."

I could not be more wrong. I can't find that Rat Bastard Waldo anywhere in this fucking book.

It's like I'm not only recovering from the lumbosacral spinal subdural hematoma I got after that burr hole craniotomy, but like I'm color-blind and retarded as well. I can't find that fucker anywhere in this book.

I've turned the book upside-down. I've held it against a mirror. I even put on a pair of those 3-D xray specs that are supposed to help you see right through a chick's bra to her titties, but no Waldo.

I mean, just look at this shit: they've got dozens of dudes in stripey shirts and polka-dots and clowns and all kinds of goofy-ass colors. My fucking head already hurts, and now this.

But once you start looking for that squirrelly-looking fruitcake, you can't stop. I swear to God, Waldo: I will find you, and I will rip your fucking head off, you smarmy little prick!

You hear me, you Rat Bastard?

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