"Almost there" I mumbled. Don't worry, this isn't a sex blog... Or is it?
Anyway, I wasn't having sex, I was reattaching Max's eyes. In a cartoon fashion, they had popped out of their sockets when an attractive woman passed by, and hadn't gone back in. After a few minutes of blind wandering, and accompanied by the mocking of heartless children and cocker spaniels, he had arrived at mine. And, as usual, I had to sort out his problems.
Frankly, I think Max is becoming to reliant on me. But, since his eyeballs were hanging off his face by the stalks, I didn't think this was the right time to discuss our (platonic) relationship. Actually, I didn't really help him much: When I went to get medical books for help, a passing dog wandered in and ate his eyes. Fortunately, I've drawn pupils on ping-pong balls, and stuck them in his eye sockets. Somehow, he seems to be operating fine.
Max is, as always, a medical mystery. I don't want to ask him how his body still works though, in case the whole thing collapses. That'd be far too much effort to clean up, to be honest.
I suppose I could just let that dog eat all of him... Nah...