Klupper, it appears as though you have only one nostril. Just a blessed hole in your nose, and you hold it as though it were a camera and you were threatening me with it. Stand down, you foul smelling little troll, stand down. Point that thing somewhere else, if you would.
Mercy me, but your nostril is moist. It currently matches the bottom of your trousers in that regard - and with that very useful connection I will attempt to tactfully point out that you are in dire need of diapers. Not those “adult absorbent briefs,” mind you, but real, honest-to-goodness diapers. I do believe that the ones with the small cartoon characters emblazoned upon them might be the cheeriest and the easiest to use, owning to their convenient adhesive tabs. Go ahead, Klupper, select for yourself a fine, fine diaper from among those many viable options.
Klupper, you must sit up straight. You are slouching down so drearily, and there is such a blank expression on your face. Wipe your nose. There is something upon your shirt as well. My, my, Klupper...we can dress you up but we cannot take you out. Please do try to keep your mouth closed when I am talking to you.
This reminds me of the time we ate lunch together in the park. I had opted for fried sweetbreads on rye and you placed several of those pickled string beans side by side in an extra-long hot dog bun and covered them liberally with a bright red chutney. I kept asking you if you would like a taste of the sweetbreads, but you continued to recite a litany of how it is that fried foods made your gout flare up. Likewise, you continued to offer me a bite of those succulent green beans, but I was reticent. So reticent. In the end you finished your sandwich and I finished mine and we were both quite content until that pinata celebration began in the same park in which we had just eaten. You hated pinatas, and I merely hated long wooden sticks and blindfolds. The pinatas made you sweaty and the blindfolds made me urinate uncontrollably. We should have just gone out for for prime rib, I do suppose.
Your eyeglasses have gone missing, my boy. Aha. Here they are on the floor. You will never be able to see through these eyeglasses the way they are, I am sorry to tell you. It was like my friend Pete the Marine used to say, “good idea.” That is what he would say. He would say that it was a good idea, as he said, “to wash your glasses a little bit.” I think, Klupper, that you are going to need to clean those glasses quite extensively – you have made a pure mess out of them.
I see. I see, Klupper. I see what is going on here. I knew a young priest by the name of David who had done the same thing as you have done. I see. Well, this is really no way to solve things. You are just fooling yourself. “Same prostate fluid, different day”, as my cousin Tico used to have embroidered upon his Nehru jacket. And furthermore, you should never leave loaded firearms out in plain view, where young people could potentially find them and use them for acts of aggression against local haberdashers and foodstuff vendors.