It’s a Little Hot Around Here

(Relatively speaking, it’s not hot at all. I’m looking at you, MERCURY.)

Gravabrabbit Luigi Munglebroop, he of the shiny eyelashes and lustrous toenails, was at a loss for words. This was unusual, because he was a professional talker. Just talking, talking, talking all the livelong day. Some people thought it odd you could get paid for such a thing, but these were the times he lived in. Some people also thought it odd that you could make money off of pickling foods, but there you go.

Yes, this was quite the time to be a Talk-Talker. People seemed to eat it up. They’d even listen to him Talk-Talking at double-time speed, just so they could catch up on all of his past Talk-Talks. Any little thought just came into his head, he said it, and then it was recorded and beamed out to his goozabillions of listeners.

At least people could do other things while listening to his Talk-Talks. Gravabrabbit Luigi Munglebroop (“Grav” or “Gloom” to his fans) couldn’t understand the appeal of watching the Watch-Watches created by the Watch-Watchers. No Talk-Talk listener of his had stepped in front of a hyperloop trolley or a rabid neo-genegineered sabre tooth thingy.

“Grav” had woken up that morning with a groan and flurried right into it, as he put on his socks, brushed his teeth, and gave his feet a bath. Just Talk-Talking away. Even when he’d stubbed his toe on the ugly ironwork chimera–or was it a gorgon? He never could remember–he’d just kept Talk-Talking away, comforted, even in the midst of his pain, that, being classified as an adult Talk-Talky, he’d not be reprimanded for the expletives he’d let fly. He pitied Gorgomon Jeev “Childmans” Goot his child-oriented Talk-Talky, forced, as he was, to babble nonsensically about the latest Gobberfrop fad or Tumblederry cereal of the week.

All that was fine. “Gloom” had Talk-Talked away most of the morning with happy inconsequentialities. (Things had gotten a little dicey from 09:11:42 to 09:27:12 when his ex had called to complain about the turkeys in the dumbwaiter. But that was neither here nor there. His fans lived for that kind of thing. Even so, he’d almost lost his cool. Turkeys! Dumbwaiters! Plaid spats! It never ended.) That is, until that happened.

Yes, Gravabrabbit Luigi Munglebroop was at a loss for words. And he didn’t even know why.

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