Hello. Have I reached customer service?
What is your name?
What is your question, human?
How do I solve an ambulance turd?
Clean it out with bleach. Rub down. Deodorize.
. . . . . . . .
The lights were glimming softly. Twas brillig. My clock said buzz buzz buzz time for Tea.
You were there. That was the best thing of all. Not just another tea-time, oh no, I had known too many of them already, stealing poetry from other masters in the room, no, this was not just another time for tea when I struggled to remind myself why I was there. No. This was the time that you returned, and sat with me, that teatime, yes that tea-time, do you remember? I do.
It had been two hundred years, or was it three, spelled differant, since the opium wars when we addicted the west to tea? Was something like that, right? Yes, it was.
But now the foo was on the other shout, and they had addicted us to phentonal, or whatever it was you know that knock-out drug from hospital anaesthesia? There’s a word always gives me a little shudder, anaesthesia, yes, because it is derived from esthetic, you know, aesthesia, yes, it is. There. You see it. Good.
So I was walking hard just to get here on time, little dreaming that this time you would come back again. You did. And saved me from an abulance turd, you did.