Mortmain

by Miles Klee

"You are aware that we ourselves cannot perform the surgery required to reattach your hand. Were you aware?" Naw. Girl comes at you with that infomercial knife screaming I told you not to leave your wet towel on the bed, what goes through your head is: hell, I'll be fixed in no time. Doctor has the gall to pretend his nose-pick is a nose-scratch as he inquires would I like to see the appendage. Well come on if you're gonna 'cause baby I'm gettin' on the news tonight.

6S

Miles Klee, a McSweeney's contributor, wouldn't mind having an agent. He blogs here.