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Saturday, July 29, 2006
My toe wants boots
"Hey, I want boots," said my once-blood-squirting toe, now dry and encased in Band Aid.
"What the fug," I remarked. "You already have boots. And a sandal to boot."
"No, no," said former blood-squirter. "Those are your boots. I want some boots for me. Boots that I alone get to wear. Boots that I don't have to share with -- [looks right, looks left] -- any other toes."
"Dude, you got to be kidding me," I said. "You do not get any boots of your own, and if you don't pipe down I'll drop another mixie on you."
"I won't pipe down. I want boots!"
"Yeah, right, you want boots. You'll get boots the day sheep in Germany wear Wellingtons."
"Wow, thanks so much," said blood-sucker toe. "Click here."
"What the fug," I remarked. "You already have boots. And a sandal to boot."
"No, no," said former blood-squirter. "Those are your boots. I want some boots for me. Boots that I alone get to wear. Boots that I don't have to share with -- [looks right, looks left] -- any other toes."
"Dude, you got to be kidding me," I said. "You do not get any boots of your own, and if you don't pipe down I'll drop another mixie on you."
"I won't pipe down. I want boots!"
"Yeah, right, you want boots. You'll get boots the day sheep in Germany wear Wellingtons."
"Wow, thanks so much," said blood-sucker toe. "Click here."