So Sharp

I met him in the ICU. He was gushing like a fountain. I was so focused on stopping the bleeding that I almost missed those things on his hands.

"Hi, I'm Edmund Razorfingers!" the convalescent greeted me, extending a hand, which I gracefully side stepped. "I'm incredibly smart!"

"Um, mighty ... cutting grip you have there," I observed. "Are you, by any chance, a creation of some Dr. Franken-something?"

"Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha," he laughed tinklingly. "No, indeed, doctor! These ... appliances are my own creations."

"Um, .... why?" I asked, withholding with difficulty the "in God's name."

"It started," said Mr. Razorfingers, "with shaving. I realized long ago that unattached razors were inefficient and prone to be forgotten. So I had my right forefinger replaced by a razor. Then I realized that it would be more efficient to have one on each hand, so I did the same for my left forefinger.

"After that, it occurred to me that razors would be awfully handy for cutting up my meat, and if I used my shaving fingers for food-cutting, they would get too dull. So I had two more fingers done. Then I thought it would be nice to save on haircuts, so I had another couple of fingers done. And that worked out splendidly. Although, I confess, combing became a bit of an ordeal. Well, after that, I could see the potential for self-defense, so that was yet another two."

"That still leaves you two flesh and blood fingers," I pointed out. "And yet, you seem to have none of that kind."

"Indeed, I do not," continued Mr. Razorfingers. "What I discovered after adding the self-defense fingers was that people started giving me a rather wide berth. And I found that, if pressed, they were actually willing to give me things, such as money and valuables, for agreeing to leave them alone. It only made sense to fix my last two fingers."

"So you are happy with your keen-edged digits?" I asked.

"Most definitely," said Mr. Razorfingers contentedly.

"And yet I encountered you in the Intensive Care Unit," I quibbled shamelessly, "expelling blood like a fire hose. Is there anything you would like to tell me?"

"I suppose there are disadvantages," admitted Mr. Razorfingers. "Sometimes I wish I had the fine motor control to pick up small things, like my friend Edgar Tweezertoes. And I do have a bit of trouble with women. Although I still get more dates than my friend Edwin Pokerpenis."

"How," I asked him, "can you do anything without cutting yourself?"

"Oh, pish-tosh!" he scoffed, slashing away my objections with a sweep of his hand, and taking off an ear lobe in the process. "I'm too smart to do that."