Do not disturb or question my piles of napkins.

I will explain their purpose and then discuss them no more.

The two shallow piles immediately before me are not, in fact, napkins at all but rather intricately folded paper towels. One for the right hand, located on my left, the other for my face and jowls. The left towel is folded into eighths and is rectangular in shape. The Right towel into fourths and does not contain eye holes.


Then. Next to the desk phone is a pile of at least three, preferably six, separated and refolded napkins. These were obtained from the coffee stand at a nearby Citgo gas station. The refolding process was undertaken to obscure the CITGO – IT’S GAS TIME! logo from my dining eyes. These are used for a full wipe down before (and often during) important phone calls from ambassadors and the media.

They are replenished every three hours by an ashen, silent, thin man without a name.

Finally there are the two, large, fluffy piles of napkins atop each of my bare feet.
These are my favorite. They protect my toes and ankles from the hordes of elves and spiders (and elves riding spiders) that live behind the wall moldings in our great manse.

During the wet months, these napkins are affixed to my feet with great stretches of scotched tape and worn under thick socks and goat slippers. I prefer to use pastel or other colored paper napkins for this purpose so as to distinguish them from my albino-feet skins. This is also useful for old Doc Schleppenburg when he takes the saw to my napkin boots each fall.

These feet piles are resistant to photography’s chemical process, but do indeed exist.


Chris Weagel

Chris Weagel writes about the intersection of technology and parenting for Wired Magazine. No he doesn't. He can't stand that shit.

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