[Scene: This morning, driving Mr. Shakes to the train. Having our usual morning chat about things.]
Mr. Shakes: What are yoor plans foor the day?
Shakes: Same as every day—fight the forces of evil.
Mr. Shakes: Good stooff.
[We pass the skankiest porn shop on the planet, creatively named “XXX Adult Bookstore XXX.”]
Mr. Shakes: If you get boored, you shoold do soome broosing at the Adoolt Bookstoore.
Shakes: Fantastic idea. I’ve never been in an “adult bookstore” before. What kind of adult books do they have? Is it like the adult books section of the library? Can I expect to find Tolstoy, James Joyce? Things like that? Or is it mostly wankrags?
Mr. Shakes: Moostly wankrags, I’m toold.
Shakes: Ah. Not so much books then at all, really.
Mr. Shakes: Proobably noot.
Shakes: I won’t find The Handmaid’s Tale?
Mr. Shakes: I doobt they carry Margaret Atwood.
Shakes: Didn’t you just read that book, by the way?
Mr. Shakes: Aye. A few weeks agoo. I liked it.
Shakes: DYSTOPIAN NIGHTMARE! [<——said in a 60’s robot voice]
Mr. Shakes: Ooh, I doon’t knoo. It has its good points.
Shakes: Cheeky. Don’t even think about calling me Ofiain.
Mr. Shakes: I wooldn’t. Yoo’re my wife, not my mistress for breedin’. I guess wives get to keep their own names, eh?
Shakes: I wasn’t born with the name McEwan.
Mr. Shakes: Ooh, right! I tootally oon you!
Shakes: [stink eye]
Mr. Shakes: [gazing out the window, almost to himself] I quite liked The Handmaid’s Tale. It was tootally 1984 for girls.
Shakes: I’m blogging that.