Whither Bones?

I live with an anatomist. She has a skeleton - not a real human one, but one that accurately represents the bone structure of your average human being, only made out of plastic or something. It's in our living room. It doesn't like me.

Let me first say that I am the least "spiritual" person you'll ever meet. I don't really have any beliefs that go beyond the material world. I don't think there's sprites or fairies or gods or devils or ghosts or poltergeists or Merv Griffins out there (well, not any more, in the case of Merv). But I do know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that that plastic replica of a human skeleton is not only alive - it wants to consume the flesh of everything in my house.

Everything? you may ask. Yes, you may. The cats & the dogs, the rats & the frogs, the gnats & the hogs. The hats & the logs. The chats & the snogs. The spats & the togs. The fats & the fogs. The mats by the bogs. The pats on the cogs. Everything, but especially those things that rhyme with "cat" & "dog." Also, me. I don't rhyme with cat or dog (though I do rhyme with "Hairy Stickerson") (which, I know, has nothing to do with this, but I was feeling left out) (it isn't a bad rhyme, you know) (my girlfriend rhymes with Bogda Butch-chin-tree - that's a much worse thing to rhyme with) (anyway) I don't rhyme with cat or dog, but it still wants to consume my flesh.

Why does it want to consume my flesh? Because it has no flesh, duh. It will consume the flesh of the living things in the house & then it will look like some kind of fucked up man-woman-beagle-cat thing. But it still won't be able to talk. That's the flaw in its plan! It can't talk.

So, on Self Help Radio this Friday, I am giving it a voice. My theory is this, & a very good one it is at that: since it wants to talk more than it wants flesh - in fact, since it thinks if it gets flesh, it'll be able to talk, but it doesn't know how completely stupid that sounds - if I give it a voice, it won't want to kill me anymore. Ergo, a show about bones. Which is all it is, really. Hungry, envious, murderous bones.

I know, I should just throw it out, but if I do my girlfriend will kill me.