PAUL: Death if you don’t answer! What’s a great blog topic for my next post? Chop! Chop! Hurry up!
TERESUMS: Perhaps a long overdue apology to your readers for inflicting your trashy opinions on them?
PAUL: Realism, Toots, realism. My flesh-eaters don’t care about quality, they just want steaming, raw chunks of nearly living meat shoveled into their cages at frequent intervals.
TERESUMS: I think you’re confusing “don’t want quality” with “having given up all hope of ever getting quality” from you.
PAUL: Got you! “EXPOSÉ: How My Savage Blog Readers Rip Prose and Poetry From My Furiously Flying Fingers!” Excellent idea, Toots. It’ll make ’em cry!
TERESUMS: More like boooooring. And the last time anyone cried over you was when your mother figured out you’d never be quite right in the head.
PAUL: Not true! It was when I gave her a vibrator for her birthday.
TERESUMS: You what?
PAUL: It was a mix up. I meant it for my brother’s fiancé. I figured she’d need it if she was determined to marry him. Instead, she got the painting of me dressed as Elvis on black velvet that was intended for mom. Neither one of them ever forgave me.
TERESUMS: Are you trying to tell me you think you know more about sex than your married brother?
PAUL: He taught me everything I know.
TERESUMS: I see your reasoning.
PAUL: “EXCLUSIVE: Sydney’s Infamous Harbor Slut Endorses Giving Vibrators to Your Own Mother”.
TERESUMS: Hello, Secret Service? Yes, I just overheard a plausible plot to assassinate the President of your country. Sunstone. Paul Sunstone. Armed and dangerous. Better go in guns blazing…