Dr. Ass knelt down. He picked up a shard that still had a mouth on it.
“Bend over. This is for your own good.” cherokee dr ass
Thwack.
Cross didn’t yelp. He didn’t confess. He shattered —like a mirror falling off a wall. Shards of black suit and bone-white fragments clattered to the floor. And from the pile rose a thin, reedy voice: “I’m… the curse.” cherokee dr ass
“This is the diagnostic phase,” he said softly. cherokee dr ass
“YOWCH! My gallbladder, you son of a—” a Dr. Ass patient would reply.
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