Another Phone Option

Editor’s note: This one gets a little rough, folks.

Alternately you could swallow hot coals after calling my work number.  When I pick up I’ll revel in the sound of you choking on the embers as they stick to the side of your throat.  I will laugh uproariously at the whistling sound produced when they burn through the wall of your trachea and your oxygen-starved lungs suck in air through hundreds of pinholes – air that becomes superheated by this negative-pressure bellows action.  I will giggle with glee at the crackling sound of your alveoli being seared into crispy lung-nuggets (for a moment I’ll think about coating them in chocolate so that I’d have a snack to bring to the movie theater).

The sound of your final gasp and rattle will likely cause me to unleash yet another yard-long man-serpent onto the underside of my work surface.  I will calmly reach for the staple gun which is kept holstered at arm’s reach, and then I will secure the writhing beast in place, its bifurcated tail lashing back and forth, caustic venom sizzling on my mailed fist.  Finally I will reach for the serrated wooden plug – the one with the lead handle gouged with crude runes filled with feces – and I will ram it home into my urethra, once again sealing that battered tunnel before it can vomit forth further abominations into this fragile plane.

–Steve Kilian

Epideme

Bromance

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