Skink called me up, it was good to hear he was still alive. I asked if he needed any supplies.
"Sanitary napkins," he said.
"Oo...kay" I said.
"But not just any kind," he said. "They have to fit through the mail slot."
"Didn't you seal up the mail slot? Y'know, germs?"
"I did seal up the mail slot."
"Oo...kay" I said again.
"I put an airlock on it."
"Oh. So a big carton of wet-wipes isn't gonna cut it, eh?"
"Are you kidding?"
"What if I fed them through one by one?"
"That'd mean you'd have to touch them."
"KFC, much as I hate to say it. That's the only place you can get 'em individually wrapped."
"Alrighty. Uh, want some chicken while I'm there?"
"God no. But hey, if you want to die of high colesterol or salmonella you go right ahead and buy some on me."
At which point I said "Sweet, see you in half an hour," and went down the street to the Colonel's greasy chicken shack.
I ordered a bucketful of chicken bits and some fries, then, as they handed me my order, asked for some wet-naps. They handed me two.
"I'm gonna need more than that," I said with a drumstick sticking out of my mouth.
"Sir, two is the maximum allowed per order. If you want more I'm afraid you're gonna have to make another order."
"Hmm..." I said. "I'll be right back."
I returned a moment later minus my bucket-o-chicken.
"One piece of chicken, please, and two wet-naps."
After about the fifth time they caved and handed me a whole box of the things, which was just as well, cos I wasn't that hungry.
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