It's my precious necklace of cow teeth.

The warm sun on my face, the soft hum of the fluorescent tubes as they give us additional holy light, the constant familiar itching and burning in my left ear, and of course the cool sensation of my skin crawling with microscopic insects.

I guess tomorrow I've got to start practicing talking out of other parts of my body.

Drinking my own concoction of coke and pop rocks three times a day should stimulate the vocal cords.

My only regret is that much of its original delicate scent is now faded.

Geez, I can't tell you how comforting it is to be in the hands of my old family doctor.

Told you how to act so you wouldn't scare me out of my underpants, huh?

He's just coming out of the anesthesia.

Because I'm the smartest human being on the face of the Earth.

Isolated from the rest of the world like a free-floating blob of cellulite cast adrift in a sea of cotton candy soaked in dog saliva.

Well, now it's time to savor my last day of life on this big, beautiful planet we call... Pluto?

You know, my slacks are neatly pressed and not a hair is out of place and sports is fun.

And twelve hours a day on the Migra 2000 to keep my rear end from putting too much drag on my throat.

It's like experiencing all the wonderful sensations of life anew.

But I'm already going through the seven stages of death.

Oh, good, because this is one of the few times I'm actually prepared for one of your little visits, Chris.

Well, I've made my peace with the world, and now I'm ready to face the unknown like a man.

I think he's looking for another glass of water in the puss.

What you got is a plain old simple run-of-the-mill sore throat.

I guess I'm just gonna have to rely on the kindness of others to accept the new mute me.