session today with dr. ruxpin. the telecommute to his earthen lair is no picnic.  the connections placed in the lobes of my brain are cumbersome, but the hard wiring of my genitals just seems excessive. (if it weren't for the precision lacerations i may consider seeking new council).

purple linda was already in the lobby at ruxpin's, sniffing at the older magazines, waiting for his calling bell. (purple linda writes suicide notes and eulogies for alley-cats). she sniffed longingly at a page particularly laden with sentient oils. (eyes closed, but ready).

linda was called into dr. ruxpin's office and my mind went white with rage. i knew ruxpin could sense this on his monitors. i swiftly kicked linda in the calf, she went down like a sack of old junk. (carpe diem and an agile maneuver put me on the bearskin rug in ruxpin's office).

ruxpin stood over me with his waxen eyes.(the shock in my genitals the only lasting memoir).