We All Need a Karl to Call Our Own

Some women yearn for a Braveheart or a Jerry Maguire in their lives. Some even dream of caring for an English patient, though preferably one with burns over less that 90% of his body.

Meanwhile their male counterparts probably could work up a good fantasy behind Juliette Binoche soothing their fevered brows, or Renee Zellweger assuring them “You had me at ‘hello.’ ” And let’s not even talk about that whole Liv Tyler thing.

As for me, all I want is Karl from “Sling Blade.”

First off, I like the way he talks. What’s more, I reckon if’n I tole him I like the way he talks, he’d prob’ly tell me he likes the way I talk too. Mmm-hmm. If you listen to Karl for long, it’s hard not to start talking like him. Which is OK, because Karl is very polite. He says “please” and “thank you” and “yessir” and “yes ma’am.” No one is more polite than Karl, even when he’s about to kill you.

Which brings me to the main reason I think it would come in extremely handy, having a Karl of one’s own.

Someone’s mean to you, he’ll kill them. Simple as that. Oh, and first he’ll warn you to stay out of the way and leave you a note assuring you that “you will be happy.” He won’t clean up afterward, but he will call 911. And all he wants in return is a little kindness and some mustard and biscuits.

With Karl on your side, there’s no need to worry about domestic violence. No need to protect yourself, move out, take legal action, or even explore the possibility of seeking professional help for the alcoholic abuser who’s got you in his clutches. Don’t mess with 12-step programs. Don’t bother with interventions. Just call on Karl. He’ll take care of the whole thing, without evident remorse or guilt. There are no bad consequences--except, of course, for the victim. And if Karl must be re-incarcerated, it’s not a problem. He likes it better in the institution, after all. The outside world is too big. So don’t worry, be happy. Just the way Karl tells you to.

Somehow Karl has the unerring ability to distinguish between bad people, who must be killed because they have no chance of ever turning out right and are bound to ruin things for everybody else, and good people, who might just be a little mixed up and need steering in the right direction, toward their own personal happiness.

For instance, Karl doesn’t approve of homosexuality, but he would never be a gay basher. Unless, of course, one member of a same-sex couple was abusing the other one, who happened to be Karl’s friend. Then I’m not sure what he’d do, but I know it would be the right thing.

I don’t know if Karl’s as smart as Rain Man--I doubt he could do the math--but he’s got the same kind of essential goodness. A kind of noble quality that I guess all differently mentally abled people have, at least in the movies. Forrest Gump had it. Lennie had it too, even though he killed the puppy and the woman.

If I had Karl living in my garage, I’d be happy to fix biscuits for him any time. It would be a small price to pay for the total peace of mind and security Karl would afford. Forget Westec--talk about your armed response!

Also--and here’s a big plus--Karl either owns a lot of identical outfits or has the ability to wear the same clothing for weeks at a time without ever getting it soiled or mussed, kind of like Superman. Even when he kills someone with a freshly sharpened lawn mower blade he doesn’t get any blood on him. I mean, with Karl, neatness really counts. So the upkeep would be minimal.

Don’t get me wrong: It’s not that I want Karl to have to kill anyone for me. I can’t think of anyone I want killed, really.

Oh, there’s the person who kept jiggling the back of my seat in the movies the other day, and the guy who cut me off when I tried to change lanes on the freeway this morning, and of course the kid at Starbucks who forgot I wanted nonfat milk in my latte. But I don’t really want them dead. Not really. A good scare would do just fine. Until the next time.

That’s the beauty of Karl.

Picture this scenario: Some idiot cuts you off, and before you know it you’ve gotten into a minor fender bender. But you’ve got your secret weapon, Karl, in the passenger’s seat. You let him out and, before you can say “proof of insurance,” the other driver is sweating profusely and apologizing all over the place. Of course it helps if the other driver has seen “Sling Blade.” Otherwise Karl might have to show him his.

I feel it would be a comfort to have Karl standing by when you asked your boss for a raise, or more vacation time, or please to refer to you in future as “the Exalted One” whenever he spoke to you, which Karl could guarantee would be seldom.

Of course, we know Karl, being basically good, and having this uncanny knack of sensing good in other people, wouldn’t go along with any of this unless your boss was an absolute doink, but whose boss isn’t? So it should all work out.

Imagine you’re about to get a ticket for jaywalking, the cleaners have ruined your favorite shirt, the parking guy wants another buck-fifty ‘cause you’ve overstayed your validation period. Let’s say you’ve entered the “cash only” line at the supermarket by mistake and now you want to pay by check.

Everything changes when you’ve got Karl.

There’s probably not one of life’s little negotiations, from buying a home to getting a good table in a fancy restaurant, that wouldn’t be made easier by Karl’s presence. And if you’re ordering in that fancy restaurant, be sure and get some French fries, because Karl likes French fries. And we want Karl to be happy, don’t we? As long as Karl is happy, as long as Karl likes us, as long as Karl is our friend--hey, no problem!

There could be a problem only if Karl found us doing something he didn’t want us to do, like having sex with someone he disapproved of. I mean, he killed his mother for just that reason, didn’t he? Hit her upside the head and killed her. But Karl would never do something like that to someone like you or me, someone who was his friend, someone who was basically good, or good most of the time, anyway. I’m sure of it.

And that’s why we’d all be lucky to have a Karl in our lives. Old Karl. He might even get you an Academy Award, you play your cards right.

Mmm-hmm. All right then. Mmmm.