[Anyone who tries to call the Noir household today will be met by a strange-- but disturbingly familiar, for some-- voice.]
Can I help you, dahlin'?
[Housemates will find
a woman, hardly taller than a plastic fork, answering phones and doing assorted chores around the house. She looks exactly like Vince in dress. Vince himself is in the living room,
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Oh, hello. Boy... howdy. I'm looking to speak with... Vince.
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[hey it's Vince now]
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Who picked up the phone earlier? They were claiming to be your brain's secretary or some nonsense like that. I gave her the what-for, of course.
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Because brains can't have secretaries. As you are aware.
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It's physically impossible for your brain to have a secretary. Why can't she just be your secretary? Are you and your brain so far separated?
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There's no place to even keep a potted plant in there.
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How do you even have enough brain to even get a secretary for that little pea-shaped matter?
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What would your secretary even do in there? Lounge around in all the empty space?
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