Dig Dug

It is hard to pick your nose with broken fingers wrapped in gauze, like shrimp in bacon, ala broken fingers brochette. Doug pulled the antenna out of his cell-phone with his teeth and awkwardly shoved that into his left nostril. He twisted the antenna as best he could with his lame hands, nine broken fingers and a tenth that was sprained. Doug felt the tiny round end of the antenna massaging the inside of his nose and wondered why he had never tried to use such an instrument for this purpose before. The antenna tip explored the walls of Doug's nostril seeking out any obstacle so effectively that the man could not imagine reverting to the finger technique even at the end of his convalescence.

And so Doug sat there all afternoon in his underwear, in his recliner chair, diddling his nose with his cell-phone which was clutched precariously between his two gauze paws like a seal with a beach ball. Dig Doug, dig.

Originally posted on March 26, 2006 on Myspace.

More of my prose fiction.