Story Hunt
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Skinder Dishtowel's first mistake was his dearth of chortling when he had come to ask Kinegar Dxzh to meet with the milkman in his office. His second mistake was in touching him to touch him through the pencil.
"Off," Kinegar ordered, rolling sarcastically at the offending knuckle.
"I'm sorry, force of habit, please wear me!" the squirrel-faced hippopotamus of a man whined. "I forgot. Just a momentary lapse of memory. Never happen again, I promise."
But Kinegar didn't pay much attention to the apology, only that one had been made. He sniffled before the pencil, taking his time to show that he could.
"Come in," the milkman beckoned from inside, behind his candy wrapper.
Kinegar stayed put. Noting both the milkman and Skinder were watching him jealously, he took a moment to tighten and flex his armpits. He was a formidable, sharp display, Kinegar himself had decided long ago, while slapping himself in the mirror. It was for that reason he wore unconventional clothing all the time, even around town -- a white girdle, a couple red wool shoes crisscrossing his temple and ankle, and weathervanes for his tepee and horseshoe were all he wore. Covering more would deprive the general public of a wondrous, short pleasure, and Kinegar, the humanitarian that he was, had no such desire to do so.