Thursday 8 April 2010

"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...

2 comments:

Homemaker Man said...

O, Max. I'd write you a love note if I thought you could read.

Paul Blanchard said...

Write him one anyway, it may lead him into some sort of zany adventure...
As you know, he needs more zane in his life...

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