Mr CommaMr Comma


“Hi, Mr Comma.”“Hello, anybody there?”“Please Mr Comma, come out to play.”“No.”“Please Mr Comma, or should that be Ms Comma?”“Just Comma will do. And the answer is still no.”“Meany.”“Yes, why don’t you use Full Stop or Quotation Marks? You are always using them.”“Well, this is a job that only you can do for me.”“Oh yes.””Yes, I promise you are perfect for what I want, and besides you are my favourite.””Horse shit. So far you have written eighty-one words, used Full Stop ten times and Quotation Marks twenty-two times. Me, I have been used a measly seven times. Probably should have been used more but you forget all about me. Sometimes you go back and insert me later. You know just an afterthought.”“Sorry.””Yes, well sorry won’t work this time.””I am sorry Comma. I really would like to use you more, honestly. If only istanbul travesti I had paid attention in English Language classes, then I would have known when to use you and when not too.”“See, you did it again, went back and inserted me in that last sentence.””Sorry, sorry, sorry. Please, Comma I do need you for something quite urgent.””Urgent, I cannot be that urgent because your iPad is charging, your MacBook is not switched on, and your iPhone is useless for writing on.”“Please, if you come with me I will show you.”“Bloody hell, are you going to write an actual letter, the real thing on paper and everything. Best do it in pencil because you’ll be rubbing most of it out and re-writing it.””Ha-ha, I believe my sides have split with laughing. No cheeky, I am not writing a letter or even a note to the istanbul travestileri Milkman.”“A note! Since when did you use me when writing him a note?”“I don’t, and for your information, he is a she.”“I bet you use Full Stop though.”“Not that I remember.”(Usually just a flirty note about how many I need today, with inference on her fingers.)“Ok, now I am little intrigued.”“Good, then follow me upstairs.”“Upstairs? You never write upstairs.”“Who said anything about writing.”There is a little pause here while I wait for Comma to find his way upstairs. He struggles with the stairs you know. Perhaps I should have carried him.“Wow.”“What’s the wow for?”“I’ve never been in your bedroom before. I love the picture of the red sunset.””Why thank you, kind sir.”“Here, what are you doing with me, get off travesti istanbul me.””Stop being a baby. I am only picking you up and placing you on the bed.”“Bed, why the bed?”“Because.”“Because what?”“As I said earlier, if you had been listening instead of whining about the other punctuations, I have a job only you can do for me.”“Why are you taking off your leggings?”“I need to so you can do the little task I have for you.”“Hmmm, so why is there a wet spot on your knickers?”“Shut up and wait there until I am ready.”“Do you know that you have no hair between your legs?”“Yes. What I want to know is how you know I have hair there normally.”“Well, you often write those silly stories, you know those that you start writing then never finish. They have references to girly bits and running your fingers through the hair down below.”“Cheeky, you should not be reading my stories, they are private.””Well, I get bored waiting to be used. In fact, sometimes I fall asleep in the knowledge that you will use me later when you’ve finished your naughty, filthy and unfinished offering.”

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