When I am dead, I hope it is said;

We're dealing with a man I see very infrequently, and if he continues damaging himself at the actual rate I observe, filtered through my natural exaggeration, then filtered through my black, vicious sense of humor, he'll just be made of a single piece of scar tissue by the time I see him again. He won't look like I remember him, and he won't be able to move or bend properly. And it'll be very sad. Largely because I'll have to clean up after him when he dribbles the meal we're sharing on his "Kiss Me--I'm an Immobile Piece of Scar Tissue" t-shirt.

I'm struggling to prevent this. My mission is noble, and my goals are just.