“But whatever might be my opinion of friendship, to mention only the pleasure that it procured me, of a quality so mediocre as to be something half-way between physical exhaustion and mental boredom, there is no brew so deadly that it cannot at certain moments become precious and invigorating by giving us just the stimulus that was necessary, the warmth that we cannot generate ourselves.”
— Marcel Proust, A la recherché du temps perdu
─ Thank you for cuhling Whurlld Spice this is Anu Singh speaking how may I hulp you?
─ Rrrm yes, do you take fiery curry shits when you shit?
─ Axcuse me, sir, I am naht sure what you are meaning?
─ I mean don’t it burn your asshole and all?
─ Ai do nuht dhink you are being kind, sir. Why do you cuhll?
─ Because I’m milking a goat and all that’s come out–
─ No! I duhnt want to know.
─ And all that’s coming out is boiled eggs and thread spools and I just wanted your help.
─ Dhat is nuht possible; do nuht try to pull on my leg. I am hanging up dhe phone. Good. Day.
─ Okay you have a good one now, ya hear?
Jessie put the phone down and let out a cackle that had more consonants than vowels and more dissonance than assonance. He looked at his two accomplices with a toddler’s grin, his mangy jowls upturned and his teeth gleaming like electricity.