You ask DAVE if he has any DUCT TAPE with which you could fashion for yourself a RUDIMENTARY SPLINT for your broken LEG. DAVE laughs. Of course he has DUCT TAPE! He didn't bring it to the BREAK ROOM, though. He didn't expect to need it at the PARTY.
Noting what he did, in fact, bring with him, you ask him what the DEAL is with the TOOTHBRUSH.
For a time, he doesn't reply.
Silently, Dave puts down his punch and hat, drawing the toothbrush from his pocket. His movements are smooth and deliberate, performing an action he had perfected a thousand times before. His countenance, sorrowful, is that born of a grief too deep to bear, a grief that each moment threatens its bearer's very soul. He turns away, contemplating the object of his despair. His stare goes beyond the toothbrush, beyond the walls of the break room, beyond the temple itself and through time to something in the past so drenched in sadness that even its reflection in his one good eye is almost enough to bring a man to tears. Finally, his voice, scarred by torments echoing across the gulf of time, wrenches itself from the very depths of Dave's being.
"Don't forget to brush your teeth," Dave says.
2 comments:
Better find a BARREL and SMASH IT, then.
NOTICE that the SKULL has VERY CLEAN TEETH.
Dave is a murderer.
PANIC.
EXCUSE SELF.
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