AJ Says: Jeffrey Hollar had an edge to it that appealed to me, a real gritty vibe.
AJ Says: And for Sheilagh’s I loved the idea of Walken reading to kids and not being able to NOT be creepy. That made me chuckle.
AJ Says: For Michael K’s, I totally heard Walken in the dialogue, he captured it well.
AJ Says: The Judge’s Pet has to be R.B (@etcet) for putting shit in Christopher Walken’s stocking–that takes balls lol.
“I only ordered one egg roll,” he muttered, “but there are two here. Thanks.”
“For sharing,” the whip-thin kid behind the counter said, showing a gapped grille like a Dodge Diplomat that had kissed too many mailboxes.
Turning back to me, he sighed. “Not that you’ll eat it. I don’t even want to know where it’ll end up; as long as you don’t shit in Walken’s sock drawer again.”
The podiatrist’s waiting room smelled, predictably, of feet. Judy glanced at her watch and hissed in displeasure.
The old guy leaning on the counter turned and grinned at her. “Cheer up, love. Not long now.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re next.”
“Oh, I’m not in the queue, love. I just come here for the feet.”
What did you say to that? She had to say something, or the silence would just get worse. Cursing the verruca that brought her here, Judy managed, “Feet..?”
He smiled, leaned closer – the smell came from him, she realised – and whispered, “Yes indeed. You see, I’m the God of Stockings. And I love interesting feet.”
Terror closed a cold fist around her bowels and forced the question out of her. “Interesting?”
He licked his lips, nodding at the counter. “Oh yes. Take the old fella. Athlete’s Foot all over. Delicious. Not the best, mind.”
Every inch of Judy’s skin crawled, but she couldn’t help herself. “Who’s that?”
“Would you believe Christopher Walken?” The god chuckled. “I wouldn’t want to be Santa putting stuff in his stocking.”
“Thanks for sharing.” Judy felt her gorge rise. “Is there a loo in here?”