All things boil

As the great and wonderful teapot said, "all things boil." And as Mr. Fingers brushed his tips across the burnished surface of the kettle, he felt that it, indeed, was true. He noted the burning sensation as skin reacted to intense heat and blistered and popped as would corn. He wondered briefly at his own surprise for the sudden sharp stab of red he felt in his core, thinking how is it that just such a small part of him could cause the wholeness of him to react so. And breifly he surmised that, all things considered, it would be terribly stupid to let this go on. So he did what any normal Mr. fingers would do: he told the palm to tell the wrist to tell the arm to tell neck, etc.. to tell the brain: "Wot are you doin' you fuckin' idiot! Get me the hell away from this damn kettle!" The brain obeyed, thus relieving Mr. Fingers of the intense pain he was suffering. It took the better part of a half-second for all this to happen. Because the brain was half a second too late in obeying Mr. Fingers' orders, Mr. Fingers admonished it for a whole day and a half by stubbornly telling it he was in constant pain and that whatever decisions coming from "up where it was supposed to be" might as well be coming from where the ass was. This breakdown in the chain of command happens alot though, so the brain was used to these kinds of things. After all, Mr. Fingers is just part of the whole that is me. And I've been called an ass alot.