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Being an author, I decided I was all powerful and omniscient.
So it was that I wrote myself onto the veranda of a mansion at the base of Olympus Mons, taking my early supper with Vonnegut and my robot attendant, Percival. Though it dawned on me we might not even be members of the same Karass, I felt I should say something to cheer him, as Vonnegut was visibly upset. Watching him carefully work toward the center of his french toast, I could not decide if he seemed impossibly old or somehow new, a hungry little Hoosier sweetly oblivious on some forgotten Sunday morning.
"Say, Kurt, why so colon-dash-open-paren?" I asked, pulling an old joke from the file and expecting scoop to call me out on it.
Vonnegut blinked, unimpressed. "It's Dresden, Richard," he said. Percival blinked his slotted eyes, too. "Dresden."
Speechelss, I grabbed my fork and stabbed the last morsel of french toast off Vonnegut's plate and stuffed it into my mouth. God, it was perfect! Toasted bread, neither too eggy nor too soggy, slathered in the perfect blend of butter and syrup and just a hint of cinnamon!
This got a reaction. "Dammit, Richard!" he gasped. "You knew I was saving the best bite for last!"
"Ha!" I spoke with my fucking mouth full. "Well, Kurt, the early bird does not always get the worm."
"Evidently not," he barked. "Sometimes he gets fucked in his ass by the late bird!"
At this, Percival went HA HA HA in that robotish font from the 80's, precisely as I imagined it.
Date Written: December 10, 2004
Author: Dick Vomit
Average Vote: 4.33333