Give a man a fish, and he eats for a day.  Give a man an air-conditioning unit — and a building that isn’t wired like the inside of Ted Bundy’s head, so that cooling the oven that doubles as his apartment is possible without blowing the 20 amp fuse that helps power everything in the 2 bedroom duplex except for the refrigerator — and he doesn’t get so hot that he immediately regurgitates that tasty little seafood dish he prepared with your gift.

I would call myself Jesus’ editor, except that all of us writers know that editors are the devil’s tools.