Hey, Tom, how's it going?
Joe! Great to see you! How the hell are you?
Well, I'm –
No, seriously – how the bleeding Christ on the cross are you?
Come on, how the stack of dead babies killed by Crusaders in the Thirteenth Century are you doing, man?
Gee, Tom –
Don't bullshit me, Joe! How the wave after wave of Mongol raiders pillaging and raping their way across the lower steppe-lands are you getting on?
Tom, I don't –
It's me, Joe! It's ME. How the shipping container full of fifteen-to-nineteen-year old eastern European girls being sent into a short and thankless life of heroin addiction and jizz-encrusted prostitution are you doing?
Tom, I think –
Joe, come off it. You can tell me. Back up and start from the beginning: How the melanine-poisoned troupe of crippled Chinese acrobats serving as the video backdrop to your twisted jerk-off session in the special room beneath your stairs are things going in your neck of the woods?
What's wrong, Joe?
I have spinal cancer.
-- Steve Kilian