Happy St. Patrick’s Day 3.5 readers.
What is your favorite Irish book/movie/or other Irish person or thing?
Happy St. Patrick’s Day 3.5 readers.
What is your favorite Irish book/movie/or other Irish person or thing?
So, I take it the general consensus is the idea for a killer dummy didn’t really wow anyone?
Ehh…I’m still working on How the West Was Zombed. I’ve been pretty bogged down though lately but hopefully have new chapter soon.
I’m not going to fall into that trap of starting new novel halfway through another novel anymore. That’s like leaving your wife for a supermodel. Sure, she turns heads and looks great at parties, but once you skim the surface she’s kind of dumb and won’t make you a sandwich.
Not that your wife did either but she at least cared enough to suggest you go to McDonalds or something if you looked hungry.
I think the Killer Dummy novel will quite possibly be my next novel though. I know what I posted was kind of primitive but after thinking about it, I think I will switch to first person and it will basically read as a confession/tell-all book from “Kit” himself, after having been caught, explaining to a shocked public how this beloved comedian/actor was in secret an evil serial killer who talked to his dummy.
I’m debating just how evil “Mr. Kaboodle” will be. Part of me thinks he will egg Kit on. Then another idea is that he tries to talk Kit out of his evil ways but, being a loyal pal, serves as consigliere, advising Kit how to cover up his crimes once he’s done them.
On a larger scale, it will give me the chance to lampoon Hollywood, how movies are made, and the whole idea of celebrity worship.
But fear not. Zombed is still underway. One thing I’ve had to learn is to not rush things. None of this is going to happen overnight. I want quality but I also want to not kill myself either so if it takes longer, then it takes longer.
If that means just one book a year then so be it I guess.
Also, it is weird I’m gravitating towards horror with my ideas lately. It is hard for me as I don’t really like the idea of anyone dying.
Well ok, no one does, but when a writer bumps off a character it is like that writer is actually doing the bumping off. I don’t want to bump off my fictional characters.
Hey 3.5 readers.
Have you seen the trailer for Sausage Party yet?
So here’s the setup. Seth Rogen and James Franco (the comedy duo behind Pineapple Express and also that movie that almost led to a war with North Korea) have made a cartoon.
For the first thirty seconds of the trailer, you almost think it is another Pixar style cartoon. What’s every Pixar movie about? Talking toys. Talking cars. Talking bugs. Talking planes. Talking fish. Always about something that doesn’t talk only now it is talking.
This one is about food. Yes. All this time you never knew that food products can talk. They sit on the store shelves, waiting for you to pick them up with the hope that you’re going to do something great with them and….
…yup…the food products engage in all kinds of obscenity once they learn what people actually do with food.
Here’s the Sony Red Band Trailer. If you don’t want to be offended you probably shouldn’t watch:
I’ve been hearing these guys talk about this project on different talk shows for awhile now.
It sounds like a funny concept to me but I’m a male with a warped sense of humor so I’m basically their target demographic.
I give them credit for actually getting the studio to put up the money needed for Pixar quality rendering…or for getting a studio for doing something completely outside of the box for that matter.
PREDICTIONS:
Anyway, I will have to check this out and write a review for my 3.5 readers when it comes out.
I’m a day late but what the hell.
What is your favorite kind of pie, 3.5 readers? (Hey, 3.5 is pretty close to 3.14.)
Maybe I should call you “pi readers.”
That could become my new thing. “Hi. I’m Bookshelf Q. Battler and I run a blog dedicated to entertaining pi readers.”
A lot of stuff going on here.
This whole part of the story is called “History Repeats Itself” because it does.
Joe is basically in the same predicament he was with the slave master. Except now he’s being held captive by Blythe, his vampire master. I purposely tried to make a lot of similarities between the two chapters.
Lorant, the slave master, tells the slaves “how good they have it.” Blythe does the same here. Both masters take his wife to use as leverage against him.
You learn about the “hierarchy of evil.” Vampires, Werewolves, Zombies in that order.
Vampires have brains but no souls so they’re on the top. They can hatch evil plots and carry them out because their lack of a soul means no weakness or remorse.
Werewolves are in the middle. They have brains so they can carry out the vampires’ bidding, but they have souls, so they can sometimes be reasoned with or talked into doing the right thing.
Zombies have no brains or souls…they’re just super dumb.
They walk around aimlessly doing what zombies do, though the vampire whose blood they drank can control them.
Purists will say these aren’t zombies but ghouls but whatever. Same thing.
One lesson here is writing can sometimes limit what you want to do. He’s in some kind of evil dungeon. Normally, you’d pick up your dead wife and carry her away, give her a decent burial.
But he’s got Miles with him…and after thinking about it, it just seemed unlikely he’d want him to see that so…he just leaves her there.
Sometimes you get boxed in and you have to go with the flow.

1870
History has an uncanny way in which it repeats itself. Eleven years had passed since Joe discovered the monster that dwelled within him. For a time, he found money. Happiness. Success. A wife. A son. A home.
Alas, when he found himself in the middle of a dank, dark dungeon, his hands and feet bound to a stone table by silver chains, he began to realize that compared to his new master, Lorante had been a teetotaler.
An iron door opened and two werewolves lumbered in, their heads just barely scraping the ceiling. Blythe stepped into the room as merry as could be, as if he were off to a stroll in a park and not a torture session.
Joe struggled but the silver burned his skin. The more he moved, the worse it got.
Blythe looked down and wagged a finger in his captive’s face. “Bad dog. Bad, bad…
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This chapter marked the point of no return, pushing the story deeper into violence, uncomfortableness, swearing etc.
The slave master uses the N-word. I worry about that. People are understandably very sensitive about stuff like that these days.
But Joe does turn into a damn werewolf and tears the master in half so…Tarantino style revenge fantasy, right?

Louisiana, 1859
THWAP!
The whip cracking across Joe’s back might as well have been a knife. It cut just as deep and with as much precision. There wasn’t much he could do about it. His hands were bound tight and tied to a hook above his head. His body had already told him to fall down, but his captors wouldn’t allow it.
THWAP!
The man wielding the whip was Edmund Lorante, Overseer of the Marchand Plantation. That was more or less a fancy title that meant he kept an eye on slaves and made sure they didn’t get out of line. He relished “educational opportunities” and had called in over a hundred of Monsieur Marchand’s pieces of property from the field to watch. A few of his white subordinates stood by, shotguns at the ready.
THWAP!
“What did you do with it, n****r?” Lorante asked. He tossed out the word so nonchalantly…
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Hey 3.5 Readers.
SPOILERS!!!!!!
What an episode. Very woman-centric. Lots of chicks young and old fighting, scheming and being evil and shit.
I like Alicia Witt. She was Paula last episode and this one. She was on a season of Justified. She just seems very smart and fun and like her last name, witty.
Carol, as usual, is adept at tricking everyone into thinking she’s just a harmless old lady and then she straight up takes everyone down like a gangsta.
There was a suggestion this group might have been good. What do you think? Could there have been info that Rick’s group didn’t know?
Maggie was a badass. Anyone know what accent the lady who plays her has?
NOTE: Ummm…yeah. So this is where it starts to get pretty awful and I started to have second thoughts.
“Kaboodle” starts talking on his own for the first time. You’ll notice in previous chapters, he never spoke unless Kit was there.
Kaboodle does move around on his own here. But I’d chaulk that up to maybe he’s a possessed doll and really can move on his own or maybe Kit’s so crazy he’s just imagining the whole thing.
I don’t like the whole violence against women thing…and that he’s the main character but he’s doing horrible things.
I haven’t written what happens next but in my mind:
- Lindsey, we find out is an aspiring actress. She asks Kit if he’d talk to Luther about taking her on as a client. Kit snaps, thinking Lindsey was just using him and well…does as Kaboodle suggests.
And then what’s basically in my mind for the rest of the book:
- Kaboodle helps Kit have a “come to Jesus” moment where he needs to realize he’s got to get off of all the various substances he’s on and “quit murdering cold turkey.” He’s about to become a big star now and it’s too much too lose.
- Kit blames Kaboodle for suggesting the murder in the first place. Kaboodle retorts that he’s just a dummy and Kit should be his own man and shouldn’t do things just because a dummy tells him to.
- Kit becomes a super mega movie star. Kaboodle is pissed he’s left out of the film business. Kit promises when he has enough star power that he’ll demand a Kit N Kaboodle movie be made, thus satiating Kaboodle’s anger for now.
- Ultra mega star Diana Fairbanks is very odd in her personal life and proposes a fake, arranged relationship with Kit to keep the tabloids off her back.
- Luther advises against this, telling Kit that a superstar like Diana will never let someone she’s with become more famous than she is and will sabotage Kit’s career.
- She does.
- Kit ends up a loser.
- There’s a private detective hired by Lindsey’s family who is hot Kit’s trail throughout the book, putting the pieces together that Kit murdered Lindsey and his previous girlfriends.
- There’s an ongoing plot that Kit might like to get with his old friend Molly and put his terrible secrets behind him.
- I forsee some Mr. and Mrs. Smith type showdown in which Kit and Diana engage in a massive mansion destroying duel to the finish. (Because she knows karate or whatever)
- I can’t allow Kit to have a happy ending because he’s a horrible person. I’m not sure what the ending will be but he needs to be punished somehow.
- In the end it is revealed if Kaboodle is really alive or if he’s just a figment of Kit’s imagination.
So that’s all I’ve written. Like I said, this chapter is where it gets dicey and makes me worried.
This might be one of those novels where I need to get several “winners” under my belt and then this could be the experimental one where it’s either considered good or a dud and people forgive me for a dud.
For the record, I don’t approve of any of the evil activities discussed below.
“WHO DOES THAT BITCH THINK SHE IS?”
Kaboodle was irate.
“Oh don’t start that shit,” Kit said.
“I didn’t start anything,” Caboodle said. “She did! Who is she, the Queen of England or something? That I’m not worthy to be in her royal majesty’s presence?!”
“She doesn’t want a third wheel while we…you know.”
“There’s a fucking zombie in that room but I have to be put away?” Caboodle squeaked. “The nerve of that bitch. I hate her!”
“Stop!”
In a spare room, Kaboodle sat on the edge of a baby grand piano while Kit fumbled through the keys on his key chain until he finally found one that unlocked his “special closet.”
“Cut her damn head off already and be done with it!”
“I said, ‘stop.’”
“You know you’re going to…”
“I’m not listening to this,” Kit said.
“You damn well better listen to this because I will not be treated like garbage, Kit!”
“No one’s treating you like garbage,” Kit replied as he unlocked the closet. It was a big walk-in. Kit retrieved a Caboodle’s trunk, laid it out on the piano bench and clacked the lid open.
“Every couple needs their privacy,” Kit explained. “It’s nothing personal. Hop in.”
On his own, Caboodle turned his head toward the trunk.
“Aw, come on, warden!” Kaboodle quipped. “Don’t throw me in the hole. I’ll be on my best behavior!”
“Get in!” Kit said.
“Sir, might I refer you to the case of Broes vs. Hoes,” Caboodle said. “In which it was distinctly ruled that bros must always come before hoes?”
“I’ll counter that argument with the legal precedent that one bro will never cock block another bro,” Kit said. “Get in the box.”
“Why’d you tell her you love her?” Caboodle asked.
“Because I do.”
“Bullshit!”
“What do you know about it?” Kit asked.
“Love is a bullshit feeling,” Caboodle said. “It’s like a heart palpitation, or a stomach pain or bad gas. People have all this physical, chemical reactions and they assign various so-called ‘emotions’ to them. Sadness. Happiness. Love. It’s all one hundred percent grade A bullshit. You’re all just a bunch of stupid meat bags who’ve tricked yourselves into thinking your thoughts and feelings actually matter.”
“OK,” Kit said. “I’m cutting you off from TV. You’ve been watching too much True Detective. Get in the trunk.”
“You’re going to throw me in there without a book?” Caboodle asked.
“Sorry,” Kit said as he walked into the closet. A moment later, he returned with a flashlight, two books, and a small, felt box.
“Gone Girl or Mockingjay?” Kit asked.
“Gone Girl I guess,” Caboodle said. “I haven’t read Catching Fire yet so I don’t want to be lost.”
Kit tossed Gillian Flynn’s signature work into the trunk along with the flashlight.
“Anything else?” Kit asked. “Suppose you want a mint on your pillow too, my lord?”
Kaboodle stretched out his hand and pointed a finger at the little felt box Kit was carrying.
“What is that?”
“What’s what?”
“Don’t play dumb with me!” Kaboodle shouted. “What is that?”
Sighing heavily, Kit rolled his eyes and opened the felt box up to reveal a gorgeous diamond engagement ring.
“YOU SON OF A BITCH!”
“Kaboodle, please.”
“I thought we’re a team, Kit!” Caboodle said. “I thought we consult each other on everything!”
“Consider yourself consulted.”
“And my answer is a resounding, ‘NO!’”
“Duly noted and rejected,” Kit said.
Kaboodle hopped off the piano and let out an “oomph!” as he hit the ground. He stood up and walked into the closet. Kit followed.
“You know I don’t like it when you come in here.”
“Well I don’t know how else to talk any sense into your dumb ass,” Caboodle said.
The diminutive dummy rolled open the bottom drawer, climbed in and rummaged around for awhile, the tops of his feet kicking around in the air. He came out with a photograph in his hand.
Kit sat on the floor. Caboodle handed over the picture. It showed Kit as a chubby, horn rimmed spectacled teenager, far from the good looking specimen he’d become, but not unlike Caboodle’s current appearance.
“Do you have any idea how much work we did to separate you from this guy?” Caboodle asked.
“I know,” Kit said.
“I became the butt of all the jokes so you wouldn’t have to be anymore,” Caboodle said.
“I know,” Kit repeated.
“And what do I get to show for it?” Caboodle asked. “Shoved in a trunk to make some cheap slut happy.”
“Lindsey is not a slut,” Kit protested.
“THEY’RE ALL SLUTS!” Kaboodle shouted. “No woman can ever be trusted!”
Kit sat there and sulked with no response.
“Could Jenny be trusted?” Caboodle asked.
“No,” Kit said.
“Always ‘borrowing’ money from you, wasn’t she?” Caboodle asked. “Promised to pay you back but left you flat broke. Shit, you were about to hit Skid Row until Luther discovered you.”
“I know,” Kit said.
“Howsabout Irina?” Caboodle asked.
“Do we really need to rehash everything?” Kit asked.
“Apparently we do because you never learn, jerkface,” Caboodle said. “You were sure it was true love with that one until you figured out all she wanted out of you was a green card.”
“I’ve made mistakes,” Kit said. “I’m not perfect.”
“I’ll say,” Caboodle said. “And you know what else I always say.”
“Yup.”
“Say it.”
“No.”
“SAY IT!”
Kit rolled his eyes and mumbled under his breath… “There’s no such thing as free pussy.”
“Louder!” the dummy said.
“There’s no such thing as free pussy,” Kit said.
“Correctamundo!” Kaboodle cried. “There is no such thing as free pussy! Every broad is working some kind of an angle and your little redheaded cumquat out there is no different.”
“She is.”
“Isn’t.”
“IS!”
“She has always been there for me and she’s never asked me for a damn thing,” Kit said.
“Give her time,” Caboodle said. “It’s only been six months. Wait a little before you pop the question. I guarantee you she’ll reveal her true colors.”
“She’s the love of my life,” Kit said.
Kaboodle grabbed his sides and doubled over with laughter.
“Oh God,” Caboodle said. “Thanks buddy. Thanks. I needed that.”
“Whatever,” Kit said as he stood up. “Get used to her because she isn’t going anywhere.”
“Whatever you say,” Caboodle said. “Just a word of advice. I know you’ve got a sentimental attachment to Mr. Slashy but if you ask me, you should just choke the bitch out.”
“Goddamn you,” Kit said as he grabbed Caboodle by the leg and dragged him out of the closet, allowing the little guy’s head to scrape across the rug.
“I mean, sure Mr. Slashy makes for a dramatic effect but he leaves way too much forensic evidence. Some CSI tech is sure to come in here with a black light one of these days and find it all!”
“STOP IT!” Kit said as he stuffed Caboodle into the trunk.
“Just wrap your hands around her neck and give her a good, clean choke. You’re a big, strong guy. She’s got a little neck. You can just snap it in half, no muss, no fuss, no big clean up job afterwards.”
Kit’s eyes grew wide as he wrapped his hands around Caboodle’s neck.
“Yeah, baby!” Kaboodle shouted. “Just like that!”
“Shut the fuck up!” Kit said. “Not another word out of you!”
The comedian slammed the lid shut, clacked down the latches and carried the trunk to the special closet. Caboodle broke out in a rousing jailhouse spiritual.
“Nobody knows…the trouble I seen! Nobody knows….my sorrow!”
“This time it’ll be different,” Kit said. “You’ll see!”
Kit walked out of the closet, slammed the door and locked it. He shoved his key ring into his pocket, composed himself, and made his way out of the spare room.
As he switched off the light, he could hear Caboodle shout, “You’ll be sorry!”
Sunday morning…
Over the years, Kit had turned his loft into a veritable museum of geekery. Much like a suit of armor one might find in an old castle, a Star Wars storm trooper outfit stood at attention on a pedestal in the right hand corner of the living room. In the far left corner, there was a scowling zombie statute that had once been a prop from the horror flick, Zombageddon. A full size TARDIS phone booth that had actually been used in the Dr. Who series was in the back of the room, next to a display case filled with limited edition action figures still in the original packaging. Characters from Star Wars, Star Trek, GI Joe, Transformers, Battlestar Galactica, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were just a few of the selections on display. He had even more, but figures he deemed too rare or expensive he kept in a special closet.
Hanging over the fire place? A framed poster of John Travolta and Samuel L. Jackson from Pulp Fiction, their pistol packing hands extended towards their impending victims. It was signed by the actors themselves, as well as the classic film’s legendary director, Quentin Tarantino. On the mantle, there were over a hundred jiggly bobble head dolls. The characters more or less ran the same gamut of his action figure collection.
Various lightsabers sat on a rack as if they were samurai swords and a tauntaun’s head was mounted on Kit’s wall as if it were a big game hunter’s prize. As for vintage arcade games, there were too many too mention. Pac Man, Galaga, Dig Dug, Frogger, Centipede, Space Invaders…he had them all.
Clad in a terrycloth bathrobe emblazoned with Batman’s logo on the back, Kit marched into the room holding a breakfast tray. Scrambled eggs, French toast, hash browns, orange juice and coffee…he’d gone all out.
“My my, quite the gourmet chef!” Lindsey said.
“Bon appetit, mon cheri,” Kit said as he took a spot on the couch next to his lady love. “What are we watching?”
“You!”
“What?” Kit asked as he chomped into a piece of toast.
“Look!” Lindsey said as she pointed to the TV, where an anchorman was babbling away.
“And in lighter news, comedian Kit Crawford, best known for his ventriloquism act ‘Kit N’ Caboodle….”
Footage of Friday night’s show ran as the anchorman continued.
“…wowed the world as he made his dummy sing a rap song while being water boarded. Vick Tanner, Executive Producer for Friday Night Follies, said the stunt brought the show its highest ratings ever in its twenty-five year history.”
“You’re literally on every channel,” Lindsey said as she clicked the remote. The next channel? Kit. The channel after that? Kit. The next one? Kit again. Lindsey stopped when she reached an episode of Entertainment Beat in progress.
“Wowza! A star is born!” announced the beautiful host, Julie Broderick. “Kit Crawford and his pal Caboodle have made a number of cameos on various television shows, most recently on this episode of Dumb Dad…”
Dumb Dad was the most popular sitcom on television. It followed the exploits of Pete Gentry, the world’s dumbest dad. Kit N’ Caboodle guest starred as a pair of psychiatrists.
Pete laid down on a black leather sofa and poured his heart out as Kit N’ Caboodle listened.
“I’m so depressed, doctor…”
“Doctors,” Caboodle said, leaning into the “s.”
“Excuse me?” Pete asked.
“There’s two doctors in the room,” Caboodle said. “I did complete seven years of medical school, I’ll have you know.”
“Really?” Pete asked, surprised.
“Yeah, the University of Barbados has pretty lax standards,” Caboodle replied. “They’ll let any dummy in.”
Cue canned laugh track.
“OK,” Pete corrected himself. “I’m so depressed, doctors…”
“Why is that, Peter?” Kit asked as he pretended to scrawl notes on a legal pad.
“I’m a constant disappointment to my wife and children,” Pete said. “Every week I fail them in a kooky, off the wall manner. Like just last week, my daughter Becky baked a chocolate cake and I ate a slice only I didn’t know it was for the school bake sale.”
“Absolutely riveting,” Caboodle said.
“So I got the recipe and tried to bake a replacement cake only I blew up my wife’s stove…”
“Uh huh,” Kaboodle said.
“Soo then I…I’m sorry, is the dummy going to keep talking?”
“No, you can stick a sock in it whenever you want,” Caboodle said.
Cue Caboodle’s head spin, followed by his catchphrase, “Wowza!” topped off with more canned laughter.
Cut to Julie’s voice over the Friday Night Follies opener. “But Hollywood insiders are all a-twitter over this sketch, saying it’s sure to propel Crawford to super stardom.”
Cut to Luther walking to his car.
“Our cameras caught up with Crawford’s agent, Luther Beaumont.”
“Aww hell I always knew that boy had a light in him and it was finally his turn to shine,” Luther said. “Get used to his face because you’re going to be seeing it all over the place, America.”
Kit grabbed the remote and switched the TV off.
“You don’t want to watch yourself?” Lindsey asked.
“Nah,” Kit replied as he looked into Lindsey’s blue eyes. “I’d rather watch you.”
Lindsey snuggled up under Kit’s arm. “Oh you would, would you?”
“Yes…”
The couple locked lips. Kit eased himself back on the couch, pulling Lindsey on top of him. He stopped kissing for a moment and just studied his girlfriend’s perfect, porcelain skin. Her red hair was pulled up in a bun and she was wearing one of Kit’s shirts as a night shirt, but it didn’t matter. To Kit, she’d look good in anything.
“What?” Lindsey asked.
“You’re so beautiful,” Kit answered.
“Shut up!” Lindsey said playfully as she moved in to nibble on Kit’s earlobe.
BZZZTTTT!
Kit’s phone vibrated and shook all over the coffee table.
“Oh my God,” Lindsey said. “That thing’s been ringing off the hook.”
“It has?” Kit asked as he reached for it.
“Like ten times while you were in the kitchen.”
Kit swiped right to answer.
“Hello?”
“Star playa.”
“Hey Luther.”
“What’re you doing tomorrow?” Luther asked.
“I’ve got no plans.”
“Wrong baby,” Luther said. “Your ass is meeting Diana Fairbanks tomorrow.”
Diana Fairbanks was universally considered to be the most breathtakingly hot actress in the entire world, capable of making men erect with a single glance.
Kit sprang to his feet, practically knocking Lindsey off the couch. “Get the fuck out!”
Luther laughed. “I will get the fuck in, bitch!”
The comedian was full of questions. “How? What? What’s this about?”
“Her people loved your shit,” Luther explained. “She wants you as her love interest in her next rom-com.”
“What’s it’s about?”
“Hell if I know,” Luther replied. “Star crossed lovers find each other against the odds and fuck. What’s it matter? My office. Get there at ten a.m. sharp and don’t be a second late or I’ll hunt you down and beat your ass with a two by four. Got it?”
“I got it. Jesus, Luther. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Anything for my star playa.”
Kit sat back, stunned and speechless.
“Good news?” Lindsey asked.
“You could say that,” Kit said. “Do you think me being in a movie with Diana Fairbanks is good news?”
“OH MY GOD!” Lindsey squealed. She threw her arms around Kit and planted kisses all over him. “I can’t believe it!”
“Me neither!” Kit said.
“Baby!” Lindsey said. “I’m so proud of you!”
Kit reached his hand underneath Lindsey’s panties and was about to move in even deeper when she pulled away.
..
“Baby…”
“What?” Kit asked.
Lindsey looked at the coffee table were Caboodle was lying on his side, taking in the entire spectacle through his big goofy eyes.
“Could you…”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Kit said as he picked Caboodle up and set him down on his knee. “I was practicing with him earlier and forgot I left him out.”
Kaboodle perked up. “Well of course you did, you big loser, you’d forget your own head if it wasn’t attached.”
Lindsey giggled.
The dummy’s head turned toward Lindsey. “What’s up sweetie, are we gonna get this three-way started or what?”
Amazed, Lindsey leaned over and poked Caboodle’s cheek.
“Whoa baby I love it when you get handsy,” Caboodle said.
“How do you do that?” Lindsey asked.
“Do what?” replied.
“Make your dummy talk.”
“I just put a little bit of peanut butter on Kit’s lips and he does the rest,” Caboodle answered. “Wowza!”
“Its just…he seems so real,” Lindsey said. “Like I almost forget you’re making him talk.”
“Him?” Caboodle asked. “Everyone knows I’m the brains of the operation!”
“You’re just so good I can’t believe it,” Lindsey said.
“It takes a lot of practice and patience,” Kit said. “Years of learning how to throw my voice, control my vocal chords, my tone, pitch, talking while keeping my lips closed.”
“I swear I’ve never seen your lips move once,” Lindsey said.
“It’s a gift,” Kit said. “Oh and growing up as the geek that no one wants to hang out with helped. Left me a lot of time to practice with this guy.”
“Awww,” Lindsey said as she kissed Kit on the cheek. “Well I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend all my time with, Mr. Big Handsome Geek.”
Kit smiled.
Lindsey patted him on the knee. “But put him away, ok? I’m sorry but he just creeps me out.”
“He does?” Kit asked.
“Yeah, I can feel him staring at me.”
“That’s silly,” Kit said.
“I know,” Lindsay said as stood up. “But just do it anyway.”
“OK.”
Kit strolled across the living room floor, listening as Lindsey cooed, “meet me in the bedroom when you’re done, baby.”