“The dog gets everything it says.”
“It says, I mean, written right here in black and, I’m mean, sorry, various colours and white, ‘The dog gets everything.’”
“I don’t understand.”
“That is The Will I’m afraid. I mean, it literally says ’The dog gets everything.’” That’s it.
Silent stare and scream.
“Literally or metaphorically? I mean you’re just not using the word ‘literally’ incorrectly by any chance because this has become the common practice and not what it actually means?”
“I’m an attorney John. My job is to never say what is not meant.”
“You know, to be honest, I’ve never seen this sort of thing before. It’s not even in legalese. It’s just six words.”
“Do you mean, that you’re being honest with me now, and that otherwise you’ve been lying to me?”
“Touche. In any case, it can’t be right.”
“I’m afraid it is.”
John looked at the lawyer and the lawyer continued to look back at him and then both looked at the single sheet of paper on the broad, dark oak desk, elegantly sparse and appointed. John could see that it was a fine woven 80 gsm sheet. He could make out that it was handwritten in an elaborate script. That was typical. The crayon was not.
“The dog already has everything. The will has been executed and per item 1.4.7, Sparky got his ‘tons of bitches’ I believe yesterday.”
“Tons of bitches he wrote. Yeah, that’s my dad alright. Prick.”