Mitt was giving Duke an ear full. “You figure life’s just a happy grope and shake, and if things go bad, you’ll just palm it off on the next grip that comes along. Well, it’s not!” he declared, pointing a finger. “Sure, life can be as fun as a slippery handrail going down, but it’s a stubborn bitch pulling back up again!”
Duke just clinched up and gave Mitt the finger. Mitt continued, “You just don’t grasp the consequences, do you Duke?” Mitt could be a drama ham sometimes, but he only wanted what was best for his mate. “So....you going to give up all this lazy groping and copping free feels and finally get out and get a real hand job??
Duke went limp wrist for moment. The last thing he wanted to do was flex up and get a job. He was sure he suffered from Carpal tunnel syndrome, but that didn’t hack it with Mitt, the old raw knuckle brawler himself. Fact was, Duke did work for a while at the Fist and Tickle Bar, but he ended up getting the clap off some Norwegian phalanges he pawed one night. All part of his wayward life. What he really wanted to do was play pocket ball with the big guys, but he tended to be all thumbs, when it came to anything digitally demanding.
Mitt was losing his hold on the situation, and he knew it. Everyone had always commented about what a great pair they were, but very few knew that Duke had turned into a lazy nose picker and habitual wanker. He had failed at learning the piano, wrote like he had an habitual sprain and tended to go to sleep at the worst times. Fact was, Duke was never going to change. He was what he was....just a sad hand-me-down appendage with all his applause years behind him. Besides, Mitt had more to contend with now, such as arthritis and nail fungus, and, fortunately, Duke was what he was....the ass wiper of the pair.