Oh, the Audacity! Oh, the Horror!

“Climb, you bitch, climb!”
“I keep sliding off. I can’t help it.”
“Well maybe if you used some of the gear that I attached to your back, you’d be less inclined to decline during this inclination, faggot.”
“Why do you berate me father? I show you nothing but love and you repay me with criticism and hate. Have I done something?”
“No, you pissy little ingrate. You’ve been a disappointment since the day you were born. I’ve tried to accept you as you are and raise you as my son, but you’ve let me down in every way possible.”
“But look father, I’m almost to the top.”
“YOU’RE ON THE FIRST FUCKING STAIR.”
“But I’m almost there.”
“If you don’t stop talking to me, by the ridges on your back I will slaughter you.”
A light frost found its way on his face as he lie in a puddle of his own acid. It had been three days since Jellaglo was abandoned by his father and he had given up. The cool, calm Lucius Clay crowded the clouded campground with a crop of colonoscopy tubes. Face value = trumpets of the valiant kind, for he who lays in fragrant towers sows in fallen hands. Hands. Hands.