"Welcome to the Crossed Cleavers Podiatric Clinic. Ward was never trimmed the piggies like this. And the three little piggies just couldn't imagine the comforts of a foot spa built into their houses. And Pigsy would never have traveled to the West with Monkey if his toes had bunions, corns or calluses."
"What's does literary nonsense have to do with feet?"
"Literary? It's like I have a manuscript with me. Allow me to undress your soon-to-be beautiful feet."
"I don’t wear socks." EE smoothed his gray sideburns.
"Kinky, dude, kinky! I promise not to expose your feet to split infinitives, adverbs and dangling participles, especially my dangling participle, waaah-hoooie."
"Were you born of gypsies with silly genes?" EE asked. The podiatrist snorted EE's cheesy sneakers.
"My family was the clown troop with Cirque Du Lichtenstein. They're ready to entertain; fat clowns, skinny clowns, sad clowns, bare-ass naked clowns and," he raised his hand and tooted.
EE raised his voice. "I want is my feet cleaned. I want my feet smelling like roses for an important picnic, and looking pretty too."
"Does it involve a poodle? Perhaps your date is a dog?" the man, smirking and barking like a lapdog.
EE leaned forward and bellowed at the podiatrist. "Take care of my feet!"
"Yes sir. Sorry sir. I'll do that sir." The podiatrist soaped up EE's feet to the ankles.
"I have water from the fabled Fountain of Youth for a slightly higher fee," the podiatrist asked obliquely.
"If I read your manuscript, will you shut up?"
"I'll sing your praises -- This little piggie wrote a novel, this little piggie wrote a query..."
"Pavarotti you ain't. No one shall sing tonight!" EE kicked the bucket. "You're all hat, no cattle!" He strode out of the clinic, shoeless and soggy.