Kleptomania (klep-toe-MAY-nee-uh) is the inability to resist the urge to steal items, usually for reasons other than personal use or financial gain. It's a mental health disorder that involves repeatedly being unable to resist urges to steal items that you generally don't really need.
Now, Ramses was a kleptomaniac. A person who has kleptomania.
In Ramses' case, he figured it out during his early school years. And like all good success stories, it started small. Humble beginnings, as they say. Though I suppose there's nothing particularly humble about theft.
He stole pens, pencils, erasers, rulers—the usual suspects of elementary larceny. Other times it was crayons, paintbrushes, and pastels. He didn't care what it was, just that he wanted it. A simple philosophy, really. Pure in its honesty.
As he grew up, he got emboldened. Never caught, and with the impulsiveness that can only belong to a child (or a Florida man, but we'll get to that), he started stealing bigger things. Sometimes it was a mobile phone from a professor's purse. Other times, a school camera that mysteriously vanished during picture day.
But who would suspect such a good boy? All who snitched got stitches—though obviously this was due to some playground roughhousing. Because who could suspect such a good boy?
Nobody.
Now here came the problem—school could no longer challenge him. The teachers were blind, the students dumb, and frankly, the whole operation was getting stale. The excitement before a steal and the pleasure after one had started to fade. The secretion of dopamine had fallen. So, as all good drug addicts do, he started expanding his "selection."
His next targets were the local convenience stores dotting the surrounding streets. With every visit to the store, his local homeless shelter's candy and snacks donation would mysteriously rise. He was charitable that way. And as they say: "Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God." Though I suspect God might have some notes on his methodology.
Nevertheless, his donations in the beginning were small. A toffee here, a candy there. But like all true Americans, his real calling was going BIG. Big drinks, big houses, big cars, big dreams... in Ramses' case—big donations.
With practice, the candies turned into chocolate bars, which soon turned into cookies and biscuit packets. Finally, one very fine day, he walked out the door carrying a huge packet barely hidden beneath his coat. No one caught him, and that day the local homeless were treated to an abundance of chips.
But Ramses was not happy anymore.
Everything was just too simple. Too easy. Too boring.
And like all good people of Florida, he couldn't let boredom win.
But he was too young to dance with alligators and wrestle with pythons—the traditional Florida rites of passage would have to wait.
Thus, he grabbed a car. The car was not his. The car was a Chevrolet SSR.
So it was a deed considered very good—for both the owner and the people whose eyes had to lay upon that monstrosity. Really, Ramses was doing the world a favor.
The car would be found two days later in a local swamp, presumably dancing with alligators and wrestling with pythons. Full circle, as they say.
As a good Samaritan, he decided it was up to him to relieve the rich people of Florida of their material burdens and turn them away from the path of materialism. That particular year, the community would be declared a hotspot for grand theft auto.
But our story is not about young Ramses.
It is about what comes later.
Ramses had now grown into a fine young man. He had obtained his master's degree in a useless subject—which, let's be honest, describes most of them. He dressed nicely. Wore a nice watch—a classic Seiko, bought with his own hard-earned money. His shoes were always polished. His beard trimmed. He was now a politician.
His job was now to steal from people legally.
The funny thing is, no one expected him to join politics. But there was a weird sense of amusement in stealing from people and the government. Plus, no one questions a politician. Even if he robs the country blind. But who cares? It's tradition at this point.
With stealing from taxpayers as his day job, Ramses contemplated a night job. It wasn't like he was doing anything productive during the day anyway. So at night, he turned into a full-fledged Batman wannabe—ninja thief.
The problem was that Ramses was now a knowledgeable person, thanks to the useless degree. And with knowledge came culture. At least to some people.
Therefore, he didn't target cars anymore. Nor convenience stores. They had become passing fads. He went bigger. Personally, as a narrator, I think he was compensating for something. But anyway.
So, as a cultured person, he targeted places where cultured people go: museums and art galleries. Many think it would be difficult to relieve museums of their ill-gotten possessions. But it was a wonder how much a reflective jacket, a ladder, and a hard helmet could accomplish. Often, he could just walk in, grab the things, and walk out.
No one expected it. No one questioned it. Until one day, a YouTube video went ahead and broke his modus operandi. The YouTuber was soon found bankrupt, with all his belongings mysteriously donated to a charity working in Africa.
Fortunately, Ramses was prepared. With changing times, security went digital. Cameras, sensors, lasers, and all the gizmos.
So, as all good thieves do, he got himself a crew. He even followed the Hollywood template for good luck: a brawny, all-muscles-no-brain man (he was bald, obviously), a lanky nerd who would always be discriminated against, a technician who could build a space rocket out of scraps (unfortunately, this one was one model lower), and a black man and a sexy girl for diversity purposes. No one could label him as someone who discriminates!
They had a few good heists. Their exploits became topics of discussion in certain circles.
Therefore, Ramses took the next obvious step. As per all Hollywood models, a good run should be followed by betrayal. So it would be better for him to betray others than have others betray him.
He reported all of them to police. Secretly.
All of them were caught.
Except Ramses.
Because Ramses was a fine man. And a politician. And who could suspect such a fine man?
But snitches get stitches.
Very soon our dear Ramses found himself with late-stage cancer. Unfortunately, he couldn't steal a treatment. Some things, it turns out, are beyond even the most skilled kleptomaniac.
So close to his death, Ramses decided to once again go big. Because an American should never be happy with what he has—it's practically written in the Constitution.
He bought a large piece of land in the middle of nowhere.
He built a large warehouse on it.
Of course, he recorded it and shared it on YouTube. He even got a decent following! The algorithm loves mysterious construction projects, apparently.
Over the next month, he slowly installed and placed various objects across the warehouse. Each covered to maintain a sense of mystery.
His YouTube channel flooded with people wondering what it was. The comment section was a beautiful chaos of theories and speculation.
Finally, on the 4th of July, on a live stream addressing around 100,000 people, he decided to steal the most ambitious thing ever: people's time, memory, and of course, hot searches.
With one press, the white cloths were swept away.
And under them was... everything he had stolen but never got around to donating. It wasn't like the local orphanage was accepting Monets, after all.
And with another press, he died.
And all hell broke loose.
But our story is not about adult Ramses.
It is about what comes later.
Ramses, now as a specter, found himself in limbo. Neither hell—apparently, hell didn't have a special place for politicians. Nor heaven—apparently, donations were not a way to get a ticket to heaven.
Fortunately for ghost Ramses, he didn't have to wait long.
He was greeted by a figure in white and a figure in black. They could have been angels and devils, but Ramses did not label. He was an equal supporter of he/she/they/them and all the other pronouns.
"So, what to do with you?" questioned the figure in white.
"You have us in a quandary," said the figure in black.
"Your actions are both despicable and honest," claimed the figure in white.
"Your actions are full of hurt but without any malice," proclaimed the figure in black.
"You stole medicines from a hospital," accused the figure in white.
"But you distributed them to the needy," finished the figure in black.
"You scammed a marketing cult," charged the figure in black.
"And built an orphanage," conceded the figure in white.
"You stole people's identities," stated the figure in white.
"But gave money to them," grumbled the figure in black.
"You stole the Pope's slippers..." rebuked the figure in black.
"And displayed them?" exasperated the figure in white.
"Frankly, in your life you were a pain in the ass," concluded the figure in white.
"And frankly, in the afterlife you will be a pain in the ass," concluded the figure in black.
"You are a contradiction," sighed both of them.
"Which brings us to the crux of the matter," exclaimed the figure in white.
"We want you out," ordered the figure in black.
"Of Heaven," continued the figure in white.
"And Hell," finished the figure in black.
The figures glanced at one another.
"So we have an offer for you," proposed the figure in white.
"We give you a gift... a boon," offered the figure in black.
"In exchange, you go to some other world," pleaded the figure in white.
Ramses looked at both of them and nodded. He had no plans to stay dead, and a new world sounded as good as salt in ice cream. Which is to say, questionable but potentially interesting.
Both figures grinned. The figure in white brought out a turntable out of thin air, while the figure in black created a buzzer.
"The turntable spins and you press the button," instructed the figure in white.
"The gift could be anything... a good family, a divine weapon, talent," cautioned the figure in black.
"Now press!"
The turntable spun. The text written on it was hidden beneath stickers. It went round and round... but Ramses never pressed.
"What are you waiting for?" questioned the figure in white.
"Where are you sending me?" asked Ramses, tilting his head.
"We will just... direct you outside. Where you go is entirely up to you," smiled the figure in black. A bit too widely.
"Outside where?"
"Outside here."
"Define here?"
"Not there," said the figure in white with finality, waving an impatient hand.
"Just spin the damned thing," threatened the figure in black.
Ramses sighed. He pressed the buzzer.
The turntable spun, the stickers fluttered.
CLICK.
A golden beam shot up, illuminating a single square beneath a peeling sticker.
BOON: Born in a good family.
Ramses looked at it with underwhelming disappointment. Seriously? That's it?
He glanced around. No one was paying attention. The figures were busy arguing about whether this counted toward their quota of processed souls. So he did what came naturally: he reached out a ghostly hand and ever so delicately peeled up another sticker. Underneath, in shimmering letters:
BONUS: Holy Body
He touched it. Just a little. Just enough to borrow it.
Gasping filled the air.
The figures spun back toward him, their eyes wide.
"Did you just—" started the figure in white.
"No, he didn't," interrupted the figure in black, clearly wanting to be done with this whole situation.
"You know what? Let's be done with this," spluttered the figure in white.
"Not before I curse him..." mumbled the figure in black.
"Out," chorused both figures, snapping their fingers.
Reality folded up. Ramses felt himself squeezed through something like a drain pipe filled with glitter and existential dread. Then there was darkness.
And then—
Light.
"Wait... You really cursed him?"
"He was pissing me off."
"True."
"So what now?"
"Beer?"
"Sure."
And thus ends the first chapter of Ramses' adventures, though something tells me this is just the beginning. After all, you can't keep a good kleptomaniac down. Even death is apparently just another thing to steal from.