So I had cold toes. My toes fell off. I ate them. They gave me indigestion. I said fuck. I vomited my toes. Larry ate them. Larry the dog. Larry farted. One of my toes stuck out his arse.
“Don’t get toey,” I said.
Larry is a dog. He didn’t understand. He dragged his arse. The carpet dislodged my toe.
I gave Larry a bone. Larry gagged on it. Larry the dog.
The phone rang. Larry answered. “It’s for you,” Larry said. Larry jumped into the spa with his bitches.
“Hello?”
“Do you have Lyme disease?” A deep, manly voice.
“No. Leprosy. Who is this?”
“Your old girlfriend Sarah.”
“Sarah? You don’t sound like Sarah.”
“I’m Sam now. Sex change operation. Want to hook up for a drink?”
“I lost my toes. They fell off. My dog ate them. Larry the dog. He farted one out. On the carpet. Larry.”
“Look, if you don’t want to catch up you only had to say so rather than making up bullshit excuses you homophobic fuck I hope you fall over and die from rabies AIDS and a student coroner exfoliates your body and stuffs your colon full of apples.”
Sam hung up.
I tried to tell Larry. Larry couldn’t talk right then. Doggy style in the spa. I wished I were a dog. No sex change operations to your bitches.